William Shakespeare
SONNET 73
That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou seest the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire
Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by.
This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.
SONNET 29
When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd,
Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
A Brief Guide to Imagism*
In a Station of the Metro
The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.
--Ezra Pound
The Imagist movement included English and American poets in the early twentieth century who wrote free
verse and were devoted to "clarity of expression through the use of precise visual images." A strand of
modernism, Imagism was officially launched in 1912 when Ezra Pound read and marked up a poem by
Hilda Doolittle, signed it "H.D. Imagiste," and sent it to Harriet Monroe at Poetry.
The movement sprang from ideas developed by T.E. Hulme, who as early as 1908 was proposing to the
Poets' Club in London a poetry based on absolutely accurate presentation of its subject with no excess
verbiage. The first tenet of the Imagist manifesto was "To use the language of common speech, but to
employ always the exact word, not the nearly-exact, nor the merely decorative word."
Imagism was a reaction against the flabby abstract language and "careless thinking" of Georgian
Romanticism. Imagist poetry aimed to replace muddy abstractions with exactness of observed detail, apt
metaphors, and economy of language. For example, Pound's "In a Station of the Metro" started from a
glimpse of beautiful faces in a dark subway and elevated that perception into a crisp vision by finding an
intensified equivalent image. The metaphor provokes a sharp, intuitive discovery in order to get at the
essence of life.
Pound's definition of the image was "that which presents an intellectual and emotional complex in an
instant of time." Pound defined the tenets of Imagist poetry as:
I. Direct treatment of the "thing," whether subjective or objective.
II. To use absolutely no word that does not contribute to the presentation.
III. As regarding rhythm: to compose in sequence of the musical phrase, not in sequence of the metronome.
An Imagist anthology was published in 1914 that collected work by William Carlos Williams, Richard
Aldington, and James Joyce, as well as H.D. and Pound. Other imagists included F. S. Flint, D. H.
Lawrence, and John Gould Fletcher. By the time the anthology appeared, Amy Lowell had effectively
appropriated Imagism and was seen as the movement's leader. Three years later, even Amy Lowell thought
the movement had run its course. Pound by then was claiming that he invented Imagism to launch H.D.'s
career. Though Imagism as a movement was over by 1917, the ideas about poetry embedded in the Imagist
doctrine profoundly influenced free verse poets throughout the twentieth century.
* http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/5658
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now i lay(with everywhere around)
me(the great dim deep sound
of rain;and of always and of nowhere)and
what a gently welcoming darkestness—
now i lay me down(in a most steep
more than music)feeling that sunlight is
(life and day are)only loaned:whereas
night is given(night and death and the rain
are given;and given is how beautifully snow)
now i lay me down to dream of(nothing
i or any somebody or you
can begin to begin to imagine)
something which nobody may keep.
now i lay me down to dream of Spring
–e.e. cummings
Arrival
And yet one arrives somehow,
finds himself loosening the hooks of
her dress
in a strange bedroom-feels the autumn
dropping its silk and linen leaves
about her ankles.
The tawdry veined body emerges
twisted upon itself
like a winter wind . . . !
William Carlos Williams
Ars Poetica
By Archibald MacLeish
A poem should be palpable and mute
As a globed fruit,
Dumb
As old medallions to the thumb,
Silent as the sleeve-worn stone
Of casement ledges where the moss has grown—
A poem should be wordless
As the flight of birds.
*
A poem should be motionless in time
As the moon climbs,
Leaving, as the moon releases
Twig by twig the night-entangled trees,
Leaving, as the moon behind the winter leaves.
Memory by memory the mind-A poem should be motionless in time
As the moon climbs.
*
A poem should be equal to:
Not true.
For all the history of grief
An empty doorway and a maple leaf.
For love
The leaning grasses and two lights above the sea-A poem should not mean
But be.
Commentary
“Ars Poetica” has been called MacLeish’s ultimate expression of the art-for-art’s-sake
tenet. Taken as one statement of his theory, the poem does defy the “hair splitting
analysis of modern criticism.” Written in three units of double-line stanzas and in
rhyme, it makes the point that a poem is an intimation rather than a full statement, that
it should “be motionless in time”; that it has no relation to generalities of truth,
historical fact, or love-variations, perhaps, of truth, beauty, and goodness.
Signi Lenea Falk. From Archibald MacLeish
The poem, as “Ars Poetica” makes clear, captures a human experience, an experience
of grief, or of love, or of loneliness, or of memory. Thus a poem becomes a way of
knowing, of seeing, albeit through the senses, the emotions, and the imagination.
MacLeish often said that the function of a poem is to trap “Heaven and Earth in the
cage of form.”
Victor H. Jones. From Dictionary of Literary Biography
Archibald MacLeish, who like Cummings arrived on the poetic scene after the first
imagists had created the new movement, nevertheless can be credited with the poetic
summing up of imagism in his “Ars Poetica” in 1926, written well after the imagist
decade had ended. It is inconceivable that such a poem could have been written
without imagism, because the technique as well as the philosophy of MacLeish’s most
famous poem is imagist. It consists of a sequence of images that are discrete but that at
the same time express and exemplify the imagist principles and practice of poetry.
The Latin title is borrowed from Horace, who wrote a prose treatise in the first
century A.D., the Silver Age of Rome, called “Art of Poetry,” advising poets among
other things to be brief and to make their poems lasting. MacLeish wanted to link the
classical with the modern in his poetic “treatise” as a way of implying that the
standards of good poetry are timeless, that they do not change in essence though actual
poems change from age to age and language to language. His succession of opening
images are all about the enduring of poetry through time, as concrete as “globed fruit”
or ancient coins or stone ledges, and as inspiring to see as a flight of birds or the moon
rising in the sky. The statements are not only concrete but paradoxical, for it is
impossible that poems should be “mute” or “Dumb” or “Silent” or “wordless,” which
would mean that there was no communication in them at all; rather, what MacLeish is
stating in his succession of paradoxical images is that the substance of poetry may be
physical but the meaning of poetry is metaphysical: poems are not about the world of
sensible objects as much as they are about invisible realities, and so the universal
emotions of grief and love can be expressed in words that convey the experience in all
its concreteness, yet the words reach into the visionary realm beyond experience,
toward which all true images point. The final paradox, that “A poem should not mean
but be,” is pure impossibility, but the poet insists it is nevertheless valid, because
beyond the meaning of any poem is the being that it points to, which is ageless and
permanent, a divine essence or spiritual reality behind all appearances. MacLeish’s
modern “Art of Poetry” is a fulfillment of the three rules of imagism (be direct, be brief,
and use free verse), of Pound’s definition of the image, and at the same time of
Horace’s Latin statement on poetry, that good poetry is one proof that there is a
permanence in human experience that does not change but endures through time.
William Pratt. From Singing the Chaos: Madness and Wisdom in Modern Poetry.
Guanahani, 11
by Kamau Brathwaite
like the beginnings - o odales o adagios - of islands
from under the clouds where I write the first poem
its brown warmth now that we recognize them
even from this thunder's distance
still w/out sound. so much hope
now around the heart of lightning that I begin to weep
w/such happiness of familiar landscap
such genius of colour. shape of bay. headland
the dark moors of the mountain
ranges. a door opening in the sky
right down into these new blues & sleeping yellows
greens - like a mother's
embrace like a lover's
enclosure. like schools
of fish migrating towards homeland. into the bright
light of xpectation. birth
of these long roads along the edge of Eleuthera,
now sinking into its memory behind us
Kamau Brathwaite from Stone for Mikey Smith, stoned to death on Stony Hill, Kingston 1954-1983
When the stone fall that morning out of the johncrow sky
it was not dark at first . that opening on to the red sea humming
but something in my mouth like feathers . blue like bubbles
carrying signals & planets & the sliding curve of the
world like a water pic. ture in a raindrop when the pressure. drop
When the stone fall that morning out of the johncrow sky
I couldn't cry out because my mouth was full of beast & plunder
as if I was gnashing badwords among tombstones
as if the road up stony hill . round the bend by the church
yard . on the way to the post office . was a bad bad dream
& the dream was like a snarl of broken copper wire zig
zagging its electric flashes up the hill & splitt. ing spark & flow.
ers high. er up the hill. past the white houses & the ogogs bark.
ing all teeth & fur. nace & my mother like she up. like she up.
like she up. side down up a tree like she was scream.
like she was scream. like she was scream. ing no & no.
body i could hear could hear a word i say. ing . even though
there were so many poems left & the tape was switched on &
runn. ing & runn. ing &
the green light was red & they was stannin up there &
evva. where in london & amsterdam & at unesco in paris &
in west berlin & clapp. ing & clapp. ing & clapp. ing &
not a soul on stony hill to even say amen
& yet it was happening happening happening .
the fences begin to crack in i skull.
& there was a loud booodoooooooooooooooogs like
guns goin off . them ole time magnums .
or like a fireworks a dreadlocks was on fire .
& the gaps where the river comin down
inna the drei gully where my teeth use to be smilin .
& i tuff gong tongue that use to press against them & parade
pronunciation . now unannounce & like a black wick in i head & dead .
& it was like a heavy heavy riddim low down in i belly . bleedin dub .
& there was like this heavy heavy black dog thump. in in i chest &
pump. in
murdererrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
& i throat like dem tie. like dem tie. like dem tie a tight tie a.
round it. twist. ing my name quick crick. quick crick .
& a nevva wear neck. tie yet .
& a hear when de big boot kick down i door . stump
in it foot pun a knot in de floor. board .
a window slam shat at de back a mi heart .
de itch & ooze & damp a de yaaad
in mi sil. ver tam. bourines closer & closer .
st joseph marching bands crash. ing & closer .
bom si. cai si. ca boom ship bell . bom si. cai si. ca boom ship bell
& a laughin more blood & spittin out
lawwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwd
from Middle Passages 1992 (50-52)
Bermudas
By Kamau Brathwaite
marine to noon on AméricasAirplane
First the dark meer
begins to breathe gently into green
into light & light green
until there are like blue
ribs upon the water. dreaming
and the ribs of water’s colour are the gills
of the first fish breathing
the first land the first eye
-lann
until there is what shd not be here
on the water
white
footsteps of sand from the bottom of the ocean
become the thin road to Eleuthera
long & thin upon the water walking
until there is suddenly a black stone
a dark
veil kabala surrounding by whorls
of worship green water scallops
folding into themselves like soft
jewels the first huge fish
out of creation
w/ribs veins glimpse
of a tail & deep channels in between
where they will be mountains & ridges
& villages & ozure indigo sunsets
of lapis lazuli & white salt marking its finely corrugated edges
& stretching out into thousands of tongues. miles
of soft drifting labials. like pellucid love
on the water. this fish
from the air of so many so many untangles
& 10 thousand years later there are trees
glistening sunlight & listening rain & white streets
& houses & people walkin bout & talkn to each other on the water & across
its blue echo
& thinking of horses & houses & now soon after midday there are great ob
-long blotches like a stain
of milk & a great spider spreading itself along the pale glazing bottom of
the water. and this great planet passing upwards towards us
out this silence & drifting & blessing of the water
FOOTNOTES:
*100m sharks are assassinated each year for their fins - their carcasses thrown back into the sex of the sea to make
fine Chinese fin soup for you to sit down & dine
w/yr sip spoon & napkin all over the wide open restaurant eye of the world
CNN NewsReport seen in Ja on the friday of arrival there
Kamau Brathwaite, “Bermudas” from Born to Slow Horses. Copyright © 2005 by Kamau Brathwaite and
reprinted by permission of Wesleyan University Press.
Source: Born to Slow Horses (Wesleyan University Press, 2005)
Kamau Brathwaite Wings of a Dove 1
Brother Man the Rasta
man, beard full of lichens
brain full of lice
watched the mice
come up through the floorboards of his downtown, shanty-town kitchen,
and smiled. Blessed are the poor
in health, he mumbled,
that they should inherit this
wealth. Blessed are the meek
hearted, he grumbled,
for theirs is this stealth.
Brother Man the Rasta
man, hair full of lichens
head hot as ice
watched the mice
walk into his poor
hole, reached for his peace
and the pipe of his gangja
and smiled how the mice
eyes, hot pumice
pieces, glowed into his room
like ruby, like rhinestone
and suddenly startled like
diamond.
And I
Rastafar-I
in Babylon's boom
town, crazed by the moon
and the peace of this chalice, I
prophet and singer, scourge
of the gutter, guardian
Trench Town, the Dungle and Young's
Town, rise and walk through the now silent
streets of affliction, hawk's eyes
hard with fear, with
affection, and hear my people
cry, my people
shout:
Down down
white
man, con
man, brown
man, down
down full
man, frowning fat
man, that
white black
man that
lives in
the town.
Rise rise
locksman, Soloman wise
man, rise
rise rise
leh we
laugh
dem, mock
dem, stop
dem, kill
dem an' go
back back
to the black
man lan'
back back
to Africa.
2
Them doan mean it, yuh know,
them cahn help it
but them clean-face browns in
Babylon town is who I most fear
an' who fears most I.
Watch de vulture dem a-flyin', hear de crow a-dem crow
see what them money a-buy?
Caw caw caw caw.
Ol'crow, ol' crow, cruel ol'
ol' crow, that's all them got
to show.
Crow fly flip flop
hip hop
pun de ground; na
feet feel firm
pun de firm stones; na
good pickney born
from de flesh
o' dem bones;
naw naw naw naw.
3
So beat dem drums
dem, spread
dem wings dem,
watch dem fly
dem, soar dem
high dem,
clear in the glory of the Lord.
Watch dem ship dem
come to town dem
full o' silk dem
full o' food dem
an' dem 'plane dem
come to groun' dem
full o' flash dem
full o' cash dem
silk dem food dem
shoe dem wine dem
that dem drink dem
an' consume dem
praisin' the glory of the Lord.
So beat dem burn
dem, learn
dem that dem
got dem nothin'
but dem
bright bright baubles
that will burst dem
when the flame dem
from on high dem
raze an' roar dem
an' de poor dem
rise an' rage dem
in de glory of the Lord.
from Rights of Passage 1967 (41-44)
The Loch Ness Monster's Song Sssnnnwhuffffll? Hnwhuffl hhnnwfl hnfl hfl? Gdroblboblhobngbl gbl gl g g g g glbgl. Drublhaflablhaflubhafgabhaflhafl fl fl – gm grawwwww grf grawf awfgm graw gm. Hovoplodok – doplodovok – plovodokot-­‐doplodokosh? Splgraw fok fok splgrafhatchgabrlgabrl fok splfok! Zgra kra gka fok! Grof grawff gahf? Gombl mbl bl – blm plm, blm plm, blm plm, blp. Edwin Morgan From From Glasgow to Saturn (Carcanet, 1973). Also published in Collected Poems (Carcanet, 1990) Reprinted by permission of Carcanet Press The First Men on Mercury – We come in peace from the third planet. Would you take us to your leader? – Bawr stretter! Bawr. Bawr. Stretterhawl? – This is a little plastic model of the solar system, with working parts. You are here and we are there and we are now here with you, is this clear? – Gawl horrop. Bawr Abawrhannahanna! – Where we come from is blue and white with brown, you see we call the brown here 'land', the blue is 'sea', and the white is 'clouds' over land and sea, we live on the surface of the brown land, all round is sea and clouds. We are 'men'. Men come – – Glawp men! Gawrbenner menko. Menhawl? – Men come in peace from the third planet which we call 'earth'. We are earthmen. Take us earthmen to your leader. – Thmen? Thmen? Bawr. Bawrhossop. Yuleeda tan hanna. Harrabost yuleeda. – I am the yuleeda. You see my hands, we carry no benner, we come in peace. The spaceways are all stretterhawn. – Glawn peacemen all horrabhanna tantko! Tan come at'mstrossop. Glawp yuleeda! – Atoms are peacegawl in our harraban. Menbat worrabost from tan hannahanna. – You men we know bawrhossoptant. Bawr. We know yuleeda. Go strawg backspetter quick. – We cantantabawr, tantingko backspetter now! – Banghapper now! Yes, third planet back. Yuleeda will go back blue, white, brown nowhanna! There is no more talk. – Gawl han fasthapper? – No. You must go back to your planet. Go back in peace, take what you have gained but quickly. – Stretterworra gawl, gawl… – Of course, but nothing is ever the same, now is it? You'll remember Mercury. Edwin Morgan From From Glasgow to Saturn (Carcanet, 1973). Also published in Collected Poems (Carcanet, 1990) Reprinted by permission of Carcanet Press Wan Chu's Wife In Bed
Wan Chu, my adoring husband,
has returned from another trip
selling trinkets in the provinces.
He pulls off his lavender shirt
as I lie naked in our bed,
waiting for him. He tells me
I am the only woman he'll ever love.
He may wander from one side of China
to the other, but his heart
will always stay with me.
His face glows in the lamplight
with the sincerity of a boy
when I lower the satin sheet
to let him see my breasts.
Outside, it begins to rain
on the cherry trees
he planted with our son,
and when he enters me with a sigh,
the storm begins in earnest,
shaking our little house.
Afterwards, I stroke his back
until he falls asleep.
I'd love to stay awake all night
listening to the rain,
but I should sleep, too.
Tomorrow Wan Chu will be
a hundred miles away
and I will be awake all night
in the arms of Wang Chen,
the tailor from Ming Pao,
the tiny village down the river.
By Richard Jones
from The Quarterly, 1990
W.W. Norton & Company, Inc., New York, NY