Word Study (1)

So I was watching "The Colbert Show," honestly one of the smartest and funniest shows on T.V. in my opinion, and Stephen Colbert had Caroline Kennedy on the show talking about a new book of poetry that she complied and edited entitled, "She Walks In Beauty." (a title taken from a Lord Byron poem if you didn't know). They recited a poem I really liked titled, "I Like Americans" by Edna St. Vincent Millay (1924):

I like Americans.
You may say what you will, they are the nicest people in the world.
They sleep with their windows open.
Their bathtubs are never dry.
They are not grown up yet. They still believe in Santa Claus.

They are terribly in earnest.
But they laugh at everything…

I like Americans.
They give the matches free…

I like Americans.
They are the only men in the world, the sight of whom in their shirt-sleeves is not rumpled, embryonic and agonizing…

I like Americans.
They carry such pretty umbrellas.
The Avenue de l’Opera on a rainy day is just an avenue on a rainy day.
But Fifth Avenue on a rainy day is an old-fashioned garden under a shower…

They are always rocking the boat.
I like Americans.
They either shoot the whole nickel, or give up the bones.
You may say what you will, they are the nicest people in the world.

I love the whimsy, the simplicity and the love in this poem. I also love how innocent and naive Americans come off in the poem. There is something to said for words that get where they are going very quickly and entice easy thoughts and a smile. This poem is however very similar to another poem written a year earlier in 1923 by Ernest Hemingway of the same name:

I like Americans.
They are so unlike Canadians.
They do not take their policemen seriously.
They come to Montreal to drink.
Not to criticize.
They claim they won the war.
But they know at heart that they didn't.
They have such respect for Englishmen.
They like to live abroad.
They do not brag about how they take baths.
But they take them.
Their teeth are so good.
And they wear B.V.D.'s all the year round.
I wish they didn't brag about it.
They have the second best navy in the world.
But they never mention it.
They would like to have Henry Ford for president.
But they will not elect him.
They saw through Bill Bryan.
They have gotten tired of Billy Sunday.
Their men have such funny hair cuts.
They are hard to suck in on Europe.
They have been there once.
They produced Barney Google, Mutt and Jeff.
And Jiggs.
They do not hang lady murderers.
They put them in vaudeville.
They read the Saturday Evening Post
And believe in Santa Claus.
When they make money
They make a lot of money.
They are fine people.

Now you can tell that one is clearly influenced by the other, but the thing about the Hemingway joint is that it dates itself, and I'm not ashamed to say I had to google some of the names in it to gather the full weight of the poem. But I think every poet has to have works that transcend, works that you can read any where and any time, and they will still be relevant. But I think that all poets have to create poems that serve as time capsules, poems that force the readers of the future to look up what they are talking about to understand. It's the job of the poet to make the reader think, laugh, reflect, but it's also his job to educate.

Blocked...

So I've come to the point where I have been a little blocked. I received a suggestion from a friend, and accomplished poet in his own right, to start reading more. I took this too heart. I have about 5 books that I have started and not finished, including a book of short stories I picked up last summer that is water-proof for pool reading. I've started to work my way through it, read about 3 of the stories, one of which was really good, and all that have different writing styles that have given me good ideas. What I'm also starting to realize is that I am a horrible poet. Poets know other poets, can quote them, are well versed in them, steal their ideas, try to write their poems, fail horribly, and become better poets because of it. So in addition to posting new poetry as a part of my 50 poems in a year challenge, I think I'm going to start doing some poetry analysis or just posting poems that I find that you might have heard of or might not have in an effort to make myself stay disciplined in my craft. That was a bit of a run on I think, but we'll call it poetic license. Anywho, this is more for myself to learn more about my fellow poets, lawyers know cases, doctors know studies, and I shall know poems.

#10: The Last Leg

Sometimes
I feel
The only thing I've ever completed
Is this poem.
Even that's still...

Politics

Do politicians even think of the people who they are representing when they are running? The minute I stop hearing "I know,"and start hearing, "what the people are saying" is the minute I'll start believing what these people are saying. The issue is I have never seen any politician (and since I was 3 when Harold Washington died he doesn't count) who actually delivered on everything he or she said she was going to do, or at least came to a reasonable compromise. I want to be a politician one day, but my issue is that I refuse to lie to my constituents, I refuse to make back room deals for something I don't believe just to push my agenda, and I plan on using social networking for my advantage. All of these things could spell a very short lived career.

#9: I’ve always had a problem telling time

I.

Optimism is a curse.

The issue is,

knowing something’s coming,

is not knowing when.

II.

Difficulty arises when there’s no guide,

and the hands are too short to tell the difference.

III

There is nothing worse

than arriving late,

to the wrong location,

knowing the directions are in your other pocket.

IV

I’ve always had a problem telling time,

it never listens.

#8: reaching Dreams or Reaching dreams

It must be hard,
not to be who you wish you were.
I strive instead,
to be better than I currently am.

On Love, Actually

I have had the pleasure to be inducted into a sorority, and to become friends with a member, because of that induction. And also because of that induction, I have become friends with her best friend. Over the last 6 months I have spent one day a week with these women. Talking, laughing, getting on each others nerves in a good way, and through them I have gotten to know the men that they spend their time with. Now the thing that makes this story interesting is that both of these men are exceptional. I mean they are good men, handsome, nice, and most important they are good, very good to my friends. And in turn, my friends are very, very good to them. But their relationships are built in two completely different ways. Each couple relates to each other in different ways, and they both work, and work well. But there are somethings that both possess that make them have the dynamic that makes the relationships admirable.

This has all been said to illustrate the reason why I was able to write this poem.

I cannot write about love when I'm in it. I just can't. I have loved a dozen times, I have only been IN love twice in my life. Both of those times I had the biggest writers block, or I was just so selfish with my emotion that I didn't want to share it with the world, the latter being the best explanation.

Now, when I'm not in love, I can write about wanting it. I have no problem with that. I can write about how I imagine it feels, or how it looks, or smells. I can write about having something better than I had before. I can be wishful, hopeful. This is no problem. I also had the horrible disposition of being a "love hater," a person so sick of seeing others in relationships that I never really wanted to know what their love looked like from the outside. I guess I just didn't want to witness what I didn't have.

But until I was around these two women, I did not know what that loved actually looked like, and seeing this makes me realize that I never had what I thought I had.

So I have had the idea of writing about this love that I see often, but I did not know how to voice it, how to put it in tangible words, how to let others read what I see.

Enter a third couple. And goodness, they are just as spectacular as the first two. This couple is actually so well suited for each other it's amazing they didn't meet in a sandbox somewhere. They have the same sense of humor, the same chill personality, and the same caring nature. That being said, it was something that he said to her that gave voice to the idea of this "young love" that I wanted to showcase. (Now I say "young" because I, like most, have the pleasure of being around couples who have been married for years, and even going to the weddings of friends, but I have never had the opportunity to be a witness to the meeting, arranging, and blossoming of couples until now) It was just 140 characters but it summed up what I had been seeing.

Now, I am in a place where other people's happiness, makes me happy. And I seek to be around people who genuinely love each other, I can ask their advice, I can get different perspectives on how they make things work because they are all so different, but work so well together. This is a super long poem explanation, but if one day I become a famous poet, and some senior in some college somewhere is doing a study on my work, I would have at least helped to answer the question, "what was her motivation?" My motivation is not love, or how to be in it, but being surrounded by those caught up in an emotion so strong, that their joy has rubbed off on me.