Polar Opposites

Here is a poem I wrote while at the Milwaukee Art Museum yesterday.  My inspiration came from the painting below the poem.  The artist is Jules Bastien-Lepage and the painting is titled “Le Père Jacques” (Woodgatherer).  I may still do some more editing but wanted to share what I have now.

Polar Opposites

By Rebecca Klamert

December 29, 2012

A man greying, wrinkled, and fatigued.

Hunched forward, on his back

a heavy load of branches he tossed.

Glazed eyes focused on the mountain ahead;

 a draining strength, a draining energy,

push him to persevere.

A youthful innocence long lost.

A blond child, hair running wild,

dressed in a gown the color of the skies.

Daises gripped in one hand with skin so mild

while the other scavenges, searches….

Cheeks with a hint of strawberry as she spies

her next treasure just beyond,

a dance in her step as she glides in pursuit.

Blue green grass grows at their feet,

flowers flourishing here and there,

leaves of fall scattered all about.

Trees baron of new growth seen everywhere;

their only leaves in the colors of the sun.

The forgotten fall surrounds them with

a mix of spring and summer.

Le Père Jacques (Woodgatherer)
by Jules Bastien-Lepage

Translated poems

I feel that there is always something lost in translation, especially when it comes to poetry.  I have even found that I can say things better in one language verses another language.  So today I would like to share with you a poem by Francisco Icaza along with the English translation in Spanish-American Poetry:  A Dual-Language Anthology edited and translated by Seymour Resnick.  In this poem there are phrases and words with a deeper meaning than the simple translation.  Additionally, word order often cannot be preserved in translation and word order can really add to the meaning.

So as I read poems like the one below which has been translated, I am torn regarding whether to include translations of my Spanish poems when I create my book (for myself and my family - most of which know no Spanish).

La canción del camino
por Francisco Icaza

Aunque voy por tierra extraña
solitario y peregrino,
no voy solo, me acompaña
mi canción en el camino.

Y si la noche está negra,
sus neguras ilumino;
canot, y mi canción alegra
la obscuridad del caminno.

La fatiga no me importa
porque el báculo divino
de la canción, hace corta
la distancia del camino.

¡Ay, triste y desventurado
quien va solo y peregrino,
y no marcha acompañado
por la canción del camino!


The Song of the Road
(translation of above poem by Francisco Icaza)

Although I go through foreign lands
solitary and wandering,
I do no go alone, my song
accompanies me on the road.

And if the night is black,
I illuminate its blackness;
I sing and my song lights up
the darkness of the road.

Fatigue does not matter to me
because the divine staff
of the song makes short
the length of the road.

Alas, sad and unfortunate
is the one who goes alone and wandering,
and does not walk accompanied
by the song of the road!

The Wild Honey Suckle

The Wild Honey Suckle
By Philip Freneau

Fair flower, that dost so comely grow,
Hid in the this silent, dull retreat,
Untouched they honied blossoms blow,
Unseen thy little branches greet:
     No roving foot shall crush thee here,
     No busy hand provoke a tear.

By Nature's self in white arrayed,
She bade thee shun the vulgar eye,
And planted here the guardian shade,
And sent soft waters murmuring by;
     Thus quietly thy summer goes,
     Thy days declining to repose.

Smit with those charms, that must decay,
I grieve to see your future doom;
They died--nor were those flowers more gay,
The flowers that did in Eden bloom;
     Unpitying frosts, and Autumn's power
     Shall leave no vestige of this flower.

From morning suns and evening dews
At first thy little being came:
If nothing once, you nothing lose,
For when you die you are the same;
    The space between, is but an hour,
    The frail duration of a flower.


My favorite line of the whole poem is in the last stanza, "If nothing once, you nothing lose."  We all started as nothing and will end as nothing (at least on this earth) so why not make the most of the time we have here.

Leaves From My Love

My husband spent a lot of time out of town this fall for work.  I had a chance to spend a long weekend with him and when I arrived, he had a leaf that he had found waiting for me knowing how much I like nature and use rocks and nature to center myself.  He later found a second similar leaf for himself to match mine.  Here is a little poem to remember those leaves.

Leaves From My Love
By me

Two burgundy leaves thick as leather
Tiny veins from the stem reaching out
Minor imperfections that enhance their beauty
Hand picked in the heat of fall

Written December 6, 2012

Rubén Darío

Y ahora una poema en español.  Encontré esta poema en el libro Spanish-American Poetry A Dual-Language Anthology Poesía Hispano-americana.  Este libro solo tiene la primera estrofa pero intento buscar la poema entera cuando tengo tiempo.

Sonatina

La princesa está triste... ¿Qué tendrá la princesa?
Los suspiros se escapan de su boca de fresa,
que ha perdido la risa, que ha perdido el color,
La princesa está pálida en su silla de oro,
está mudo el teclado de su clave sonoro;
y un vaso olvidada se desmaya una flor.

Mis pensamientos (recuerda que no soy crítica de poesía):  Se puede ver la rima pero no es tan obvia que distrae del poema y el mensaje.  Hay una contradicción entre "su boca de fresa" y las próximas frases que habla de la risa que ya no está y "que ha perdido el color" y que "está pálida."  Me encanta la palabra suspiros porque en decir la palabra puede oír los suspiros.  Finalmente, la gramática en español se permite un cambio en la orden de las palabras para mantener otros aspectos literarios por ejemplo la rima en la última frase.

Dust of Snow

Here is one from one of my favorite poets.  The interpretations found online for this poem are really interesting.

Dust of Snow

by Robert Frost

The way a crow

Shook down on me

The dust of snow

From a hemlock tree

Has given my heart

A change of mood

And saved some part

Of a day I had rued.

Today as I was trying to read poetry on my e-reader, I was frustrated with the lack of easy of paging back and forth to different sections so I took a trip to my local library and was reminded of why I couldn't get enough of the library as a young adult.  I checked out Three Centuries of American Poetry edited by Allen Mandelbaum & Robert D. Richardson, Jr. among other poetry books and have two poems to share with you.

The first poem is by Walt Whitman and contains a really neat comparison really uses some great descriptive words along with repetition to help you the reader create a neat visual.

A Noiseless Patient Spider

A noiseless patient spider,
I mark'd where on a little promontory it stood isolated,
Mark'd how to explore the vacant vast surrounding,
It launch'd forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself,
Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.

And you O my soul where you stand,
Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them,
Till the bridge you will need be form'd, till the ductile anchor hold,
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.


The second poem I share with you today is by Joyce Kilmer.  This is a fairly simple poem that uses rhyme and rhythm (or is it meter).

Trees

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with the rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

Poetry Writing Tips

I came across a great blog post entitled "36 Poetry Writing Tips."  It is a great read for anyone interested in poetry and confirms my belief that any writer needs to read other writer's work to improve their own work.

Back to poetry

I have been away from poetry for far too long.  Over the past 6 months, I've learned I need to hold on to those those things that have helped me center myself in the past and so I have started writing again.  I have a couple of projects pending including a book of my poetry with photos I have taken to accompany each poem and a display photo of mine with an accompanying poem.  I have found that some thoughts are better portrayed in Spanish than English and so am even working on some Spanish poems.

In addition to writing my own poetry, I am looking to published authors for inspiration and so plan to use this blog to post some of my favorite poems of others.  Today I plan to start with a poem by Emily Dickinson which comes from Series I of this book.

III.  Nature  XI.
Summer Shower
A drop fell on the apple tree,
Another on the roof;
A half a dozen kissed the eaves,
And made the gables laugh.

A few went out to help the brook,
That went to help the sea.
Myself conjectured, Were they pearls,
What necklaces could be!

The dust replaced in hoisted roads,
The birds jocoser sung;
The sunshine threw his hat away,
The orchards spangles hung.

The breezes brought dejected lutes,
And bathed them in the glee;
The East put out a single flag.
And signed the fete away.


I really love the whimsical feeling to many of Emily Dickinson's poems and her use of both rhymes and off rhymes to keep you focused.  Like most poems, it is important to read her poems several times to dig for the deeper meanings.