Zumwalt Poems Online

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The Sassoon Collection: viii. Middle Age

The Sassoon Collection

viii. Middle Age

I heard a creak, and a groan
And felt a twinge of wooden pain
A man running in a crowd
Deep in its shadow he moved.
‘Ugly work!’ thought I,
Gasping for breath.
‘Time must be cruel and proud,
‘Tearing down this body.’

With gutsy glimmering shone
my dignity as the wind grew colder.
This aging man jogs over the hill,
Bent to make the grade
‘There is no gain without further pain’…
Sluggishly passing the trees.
Aches in the joints were shrill,
As unmeasured steps sank into the hard asphalt.

— Zumwalt (2011)

Copyright © 2011

Category:

2011, M, S, T

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Wednesday Poetry Challenge #7

(Starting Date for this Challenge is Jan, 1, 2012 — posted early to provide  proper advance notice.  Do not start this until the New Year — you can even consider this a New Year’s resolution — will repost this every Wednesday until the New Year.)

As stated in Poetry Challenge #5, the level of participation in that challenge has helped in determining the content of this challenge.

This challenge has been modified appropriately so that participation can range from heavy to light.

This challenge starts with the New Year — a type of New Year resolution.  It is the equivalent of a resolution that for 2012, “I will read a poem a day” — or “I will read a poem a week”

So here it is: for this challenge, read a poem a day by various established, published poets, living or dead and capture the link to the poem and a brief to extended comment on your thoughts, feelings, reaction, learnings, insight, why you like or don’t like the poem, even a full analysis if you wish, etc. in regards to each poem. 

For those that don’t have time for a poem a day, the lighter version of this challenge is a poem a week.

If you are busy on a given day (or week) and miss adding an entry, just read an additional poem the next day (or week) to keep you on target for the year.  If you are doing a poem a day, your goal is to have 366 entries by the end of 2012.  If you are reading a poem a week, your goal is to have 52 entries by the end of 2012.

Ideally, you will start this challenge on Jan. 1, 2012.   Once again, if you miss a day (or week) just make up for it with additional entries at some other point in 2012.

You response to this challenge is a page (or post) with entries for each day (or week) which you update.  Creating a page is as easy as creating a post — just chose “Pages” from the right hand WordPress menu, between “Links” and “Comments” 

Here is a sample of such a log that contains a few sample entries.  

Please be sensitive to copyright and what is public domain and not.  The law varies from country to country.  For example, in one country, a Wallace Stevens poem written in 1930 is public domain, but in another, no Wallace Stevens poems are public domain since 70 years must transpire after the death of an author before the works are in the public domain.

Here is an ordered list of references you can use to find online poems:

Gutenberg Poetry Bookshelf

Poem Hunter: Famous Poets

Gutenberg Australia

Representative Poetry Online

Poetry Foundation

Poetry Daily

Poetry 180

American Verse

American Memory Search (You can do a search for “Poetry”)

Virgo English Language Poetry

A Small Anthology of Poems

Norton Anthology of Poetry (Selected entries)

Bartleby.com/verse (Annoying Pop-up ads)

Barteby.com/verse/indexes (Annoying Pop-up ads)

American Poems (Annoying Pop-up ads)

Famous Poets and Poems (Annoying Pop-up ads)

To link to you post

CLICK ON green Mr. Linky IMAGE BELOW:

If you wish, you can copy the above link and paste at the bottom (or top) of the post or page that contains your response to this challenge.  That gets even more people involved! Just simply copy (as in copy and paste) the Mister Link box above and paste on your post or page.  It’s that easy.  (Thanks to willowdot21 for the idea!)

SUMMARY:

1.  Click on green “Mister Linky” link above.

2. Enter the URL (address of your response to challenge not of your website’s home page) of your post or page that has your response to this challenge.

3. For this challenge, locate and read a poem a day (or week) by an established, published poet, post a link to that poem on a single page that you update with each new entry. Follow link with your comments on poem.

4. Anyone that wishes to see responses can click on the Mister Linky link above to view links.

Category:

Wednesday Poetry Challenge

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Post Example of Response for Wednesday Poetry Challenge #7

Posting this first before posting Poetry Challenge #7.

This is an example of the post or page that can be used for this challenge.

I am creating this as a post as well as a page.

Totally up to you as which option.  Below is the contents:

Journal for Poetry Challenge #7

 

DAY 1: Jan, 1, 2012

The Snowman by Wallace Stevens

The essence of existence: this is the essence of this poem.   By providing one long sentence that one must carefully navigate, Stevens provides the best structure to support the meaning — we must have the right neutral outlook to see the true actuality — but without a viewpoint, we not only stop seeing what we normally impose on our perception, but we stop seeing.  A paradoxical poem, that truly sums up our place in the physical universe.

 

DAY 2: Jan, 2, 2012

Memory of Sun by Anna Akhmatova

Akhmatova nicely captures that deep sense of that terrible loss that leaves one feeling empty and dead. “Memory of sun seeps from the heart”, “Nothing at all will happen here again.”   Is this the loss of  an unborn child the persona had been carrying?  Perhaps she was going to marry the man being spoken to in the poem, but this didn’t occur due to the miscarriage?  Perhaps she can never have a child again.  Dismal and dark, there is no glimmer of hope here.

 

DAY 3: Jan, 3, 2012 

Casey at the Bat by Ernest Lawrence Thayer 

 This is a poem first heard in my childhood — the teacher reading us the text.  It was confusing from the start (hearing that Cooney died and then realizing it wasn’t that he actually died but was tagged at first) and there were many words I didn’t know — but the musicality was amazing and I loved each and every rhyme.

What impressed me the most was the ending — it wasn’t a happy ending — and it clearly sent a message about overconfidence.  At the time I was stunned  — this was not the outcome I had been expecting.  

The richness of the ending stuck with me for days.  And then whenever I heard about baseball or poetry I thought about this poem — and the many messages that were implied including “one doesn’t always get what they want”, “don’t be so sure of yourself that you pass up opportunities” and most of all “put defeat in perspective — this was just a baseball game.”

DAY 4: Jan, 4, 2012

Tell all the Truth  by Emily Dickenson

In 1977, I was looking for a poem to set to music for my Music Bachelor Degree composition recital.  This poem was perfect due to its layers of meaning (is it just guidance on how to create a poem — or more?) and the many opportunity for tone painting (emphasizing or representing the meaning of given words or phrases with appropriate notes, rhythms, musical effects or musical phrases.) 

I was enamoured by Messiaen’s “Quartet for the End of Time” and mimicked his style to some degree but tried my best to underscore the message of the poem.  The amazing thing is that each line can be painted beautifully outside of the context of the poem — but one must balance that against achieving a unified musical message to support the text.

Well, the music is long lost and forgotten, but I still love this poem dearly.

Category:

Wednesday Poetry Challenge

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The Sassoon Collection: vi. The imperfect cook

The Sassoon Collection

vi. The imperfect cook

I never ordered something to be perfect,
Though often I’ve asked for fiery spicy or without sugar as a small invasion
Of mastering cooking.

I never asked that your dishes
Might stand, unburnt, moist and savory
Pointing the way toward gastronomical peaks like a sign-post.

Oh yes, I know the way to the heart is easy.
We found the little menu of our passion
That all can share who walk the road of gourmands.
In wild and succulent feasting we stumbled;
And sweet, sour, bitter, salty and spicy senses.

But I’ve grown sated now. And you have lost
Your early-morning freshness of surprise
At creating new dishes.  You’ve learned to fear
The gloomy, stricken places in my stomach
And the occasional indigestion that haunts me later.

You made me fat; and I can still return
for seconds, the haven of my lonely pride:
But I am sworn to partake of variety
the blossom from invention and disparate exploration
And there shall be no follow-up in a failure;
Since, if we ate like beasts, the plates are clean
And I’ll not redirect portions of portions to pets under the table.

You dream endless assemblies of culinary masterpieces
Yet, in my heart, I dread average results
But, should you grow to hate my critiques, I would ask
No mercy from your feelings. I’d have you turn from the stove
And look me in the eyes, and laugh, and suggest take-out.

Then I should know, at least, that taste prevailed
Though flavor had died of wounds. And you could leave me
unfamished in an atmosphere of ongoing appetite.

— Zumwalt (2011)

Copyright © 2011

Category:

2011, I, T

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Wednesday Poetry Challenge #6

Wednesday Poetry Challenge #6

This and the previous challenge are previews to a pair of challenges that will be posted around early to mid December.  If these first two challenges invoke only limited interest, than that is a good reason for me to re-think the more extensive challenges I have prepared for December.

For this challenge,  please provide a link to a page or post that references a poem on someone’s blog with commentary of your own — whether a note about how you discovered the poem, why you like the poem — or even a full analysis.

Please do not post their text — respect their ownership — just provide a link to their poem on your post or page that responds to this challenge.  (Don’t put a link to their poem on Mr. Linky — put a link to your page or posts that had your comments on the poem plus has a link to the poem discussed.

To explore various poetry blogs start at WordPress/Tag/Poetry and WordPress/Tag/Free-Verse or explore responses to challenges at dVerse.  (For example, links of poets at this week’s Poet’s Pub.)

For challenge introduction and previous challenges please see Wednesday Poetry Challenge Introduction, Challenge #1, Challenge #2 , Challenge #3 , Challenge #4 and Challenge #5. There is no time limit here, these challenges are open until site is forcibly closed down.

To link to you post

CLICK ON green Mr. Linky IMAGE BELOW:

If you wish, you can copy the above link and paste at the bottom (or top) of the post or page that contains your response to this challenge.  That gets even more people involved! Just simply copy (as in copy and paste) the Mister Link box above and paste on your post or page.  It’s that easy.  (Thanks to willowdot21 for the idea!)

SUMMARY:

1.  Click on green “Mister Linky” link above.

2. Enter the URL (address of your response to challenge not of your website’s home page) of your post or page that has your response to this challenge.

3. For this challenge, locate a poem on anyone’s blog, read carefully and provide a link to your page or post that references that poem (a link) and has your comments on that poem. You can read hundreds of poems before choosing!

4. Anyone that wishes to see responses can click on the Mister Linky link above to view links.

Category:

Wednesday Poetry Challenge

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In contest with a hippopotamus

In contest with a hippopotamus

me and the hippo
race
to lose weight
at such a frantic yet erratic pace

me and the fruit fly vie
to try to not age
to postpone the next stage
to delay each and every turn of every single page

Hey babe! What? I’m staying away from the eggs.
And the butter.
So don’t stay away from me.

Hey boy! Look — I am not old.
I expect to send tingles down your spine,
not receive a courteous nod like you’d give to your great-grandmother
several years after she’s been buried.

Gee.

This dog I have smells.
No bath rids the odor.
No change of diet freshens the breath.
The only remaining option is to the change the dog
for I am getting tired of changing the carpet.

me and the sunset
will meet again
at some appointed time
until then I compete against the shadow it causes the body to cast
seeking any remaining light while vanishing in the darkness

— Zumwalt (May 1991)

Reposted for dVerse challenge: http://dversepoets.com/2011/11/19/poetics-changes/

Category:

1991, I, Zumwalt

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The Sassoon Collection: iv. Butter and Eggs

The Sassoon Collection

iv. Butter and eggs

Robust diners, deftly forking in the fat.
O no longer living triglycerides against the heedless tongue
Of buffet and banquet days, what sends them gliding through
This set of dancing teeth?

Theirs are the hungry cadences between
The enraptured chewing of hefty humans that make
Heaven in the booth while second helpings simmer;
And theirs the faintest whispers that hush the desire.

And they are as a released soul that wings its way
Out of the starlit dimness above the moon
And they are the largest beings — born
To know but this, the phantom glare of fullness.

— Zumwalt (2011)

Copyright © 2011

Category:

2011, B, Reader's Choice, S, T

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The ball is in our courts

The ball is in our courts

The shirts press the skins
looking for the turnover.

The skins set screens to break the press
and force overtime.

The two teams play
without arena staff,
relying on unknown referees,
the crowd locked out of the building.

It is a territorial sport
that knows no season
and cares little about the ticking of the clock.

It is a rich person’s sport
like shooting barasingha
or showering with Krug champagne.

Would my boss keep me from working
if I refuse a multi-million dollar contract
and fifty-fifty revenue sharing?

Would I be laughed at
if I asked for vacation from May
through September
with October for retraining?

It’s not so much that I worry
about the players or the owners
it’s more about the lost life-risking excavating opportunities
for the mal-nourished children of Sierra Leone and Angola
as demand for diamonds by the NBA elite precipitously declines.

It’s not so much that I worry
about lost revenue for TNT and ESPN —
it’s whether this ultimately means
that Superbowl pregame coverage starts around St. Patrick’s Day.

Nonetheless, I am patient:
I can do without annoying puppet commercials
and twenty-seven-attempts slam dunk contests,

but I have one question
is it much of a game
when it’s not the players,
not the owners
that lose their shirts
but only the arena employees and nearby small business blue-collar workers?

— Zumwalt 2011

Category:

2011, B, T, Zumwalt

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The Handcuff King

The Handcuff King

Escape pays for now:
suspend me upside down;
lock glass and steel;
fill fully;
water flowing over.

But if my escapes entertains,
understand that it is my existence.
I can handle building-size milk cans, Chinese water torture cells,
underwater crates and being buried alive.

Faced with flight or forced-fight,
the choice is easy
but understand I must force fight to flee:
no escape is without struggle.

But without escape or the opportunity of one,
I must hang on
and for how long?

Until I burst?

Or until I meet the next world:
the destiny of all that depart?

Explain to me the retreat available:
the extrication that sidesteps;
the evasion that slips the lock,
that springs a liberation.

No,  you know no more than I about withdrawal.
You just know more about staying the course
and that won’t help much
when I need to leave, not the visage of death,
but death itself
and its closely shrouded, tightly bound design.

— Zumwalt (2011)

Category:

2011, H, T, Zumwalt

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what soul is not besieged

what soul is not besieged

what soul is not besieged by rotten eggs and soft tomatoes
by answers unreturned and questions unsent
by minutes that make up hours and hours
           that tear down the day

what mind is not put upon and
           once put upon
                           cast off into a corner
what body is not battered and
                   beaten by the blows it shields
itself from

what soul is not bombarded
         by twenty-two gauge shot and mortar fire
by unresolved cadential patterns
         that whine around the head

by invalidation of beliefs and
         of what one has seen and sensed

there is reason to suspect that one can grow
if only the rainy season didn’t last
                                                       the entire year.

—  Zumwalt (1991)

Category:

1991, Reader's Choice, W, Zumwalt

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