Poetry-Review

One Art

“One Art” from POEMS by Elizabeth Bishop. Previously published in THE COMPLETE POEMS 1927-1979 by Elizabeth Bishop. Copyright © 1979, 1983 by Alice Helen Methfessel. Reprinted by permission of Farrar, Straus and Giroux. Farrar, Straus and Giroux: New York, 2011; originally published in 1976. We’ve all lost something at some point in our lives, from keys to wallets to homework assignments. Sometimes we lose bigger things: memories, people. Some of us have lost loved ones: grandparents and siblings, parents and friends. Some of us lose ourselves. Loss—all of these kinds of loss— are central to Elizabeth Bishop’s poem “One Art.” In it, Bishop describes how she loses one thing after another, beginning with trivial objects like keys and building up to larger losses: houses, rivers, a continent. A loved one. Those losses, she tells us, were “no disaster,” but as the poem goes on, we come to wonder if she really means it as she repeats that “the art of losing isn’t hard to master.” Elizabeth Bishop was a leading American poet in the 20th century. Though she wrote many extraordinary poems during her life, “One Art” is easily Bishop’s most well-known work, and in my opinion, it is her greatest. What starts off as an observation of loss and a plaintive refusal to recognize that loss is disaster ends with an anguished, heartbreaking denial that even the loss of “you” could have been a disaster. Throughout her life, Bishop herself endured countless losses, beginning in infancy when she lost her father (she wasn’t even a year old). In her grief, her mother fell into depression and had to be hospitalized when Bishop was five. Bishop then grew up afflicted with asthma and spent her childhood alternating between the care of various relatives. As an adult, Bishop lost one lover to death, and at the time of writing “One Art,” she had just separated from another longtime lover, a younger woman named Alice. In response, Bishop rapidly wrote out 17 drafts of a single poem in less than a month, a first for her, since she usually spent months perfecting and revising her work. The result was “One Art,” a tremendously beautiful and heartbreaking read. “One Art” begins with its most famous line: “The art of losing isn’t hard to master.” Bishop starts off slowly, reassuring us that misplaced keys and wasted time are only small losses and encouraging us to practice losing: “Lose something every day,” she writes. She tells us what else she has lost, things that gradually start to seem less and less trivial: the loss of her mother’s watch, her house, her memories. Still, these losses are not disasters. Here the reader begins to realize that Bishop might not take these losses so lightly after all, though she so bravely pretends otherwise, as she describes the losses of “lovely” cities, continents, and realms, which (she claims) are still not disasters. But then she reaches the final stanza, arguably the most important one in the poem. Here is where the twist is. The dash before this stanza makes it seem to be almost a postscript, an addition that couldn’t be held back. “—Even losing you,” Bishop writes here, revealing that the poem is being written for a certain person: “It’s evident that the art of losing’s not too hard to master / though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.” This very last line exposes to us the true nature of Bishop’s immense struggle to cope with her loss, despite her repeated assurances otherwise. “(Write it!),” she commands herself; those two words are the only ones in the entire poem where her true pain is revealed to the reader, leaving us feeling just as torn as she is. The best thing about “One Art”— the thing that, in my eyes, makes it so powerful—is how human it is. As Bishop herself once put it, “One Art” is “pure emotion.” It approaches loss in a way completely novel, yet so familiar to any of us who have lost something we treasured. Though the speaker continues to deny that loss is any disaster, it is evident that the opposite is true, and that is what makes this poem so compelling. It is deep and powerful, simple but complex. To me, “One Art” is exactly what poetry is at its best, laying bare not only the human mind, but the human heart, however agonizing it may be. Kate Choi, 14Seoul, Korea

Baseball’s Sad Lexicon

Warm air, shining flowers, golden sunlight—summer in Chicago. And what summer would be complete without baseball? At historic Wrigley Field in Chicago, baseball has been a central part of summertime excitement for generations. I must confess that I am an avid baseball fan. I watch baseball, play baseball, listen to baseball, and read about baseball. Recently, while flipping through a book about the Chicago Cubs, I came across a short, comedic poem written by Franklin Pierce Adams in 1910. Adams was a newspaper writer for the New York Times, and also a Giants fan. He wrote the short, woeful tale, “Baseball’s Sad Lexicon,” while at a Giants and Cubs game. It tells the story of three Cubs infielders, Joe Tinker, Johnny Evers, and Frank Chance, who were notorious for turning double plays (getting two runners out in the same play). The poem laments the strong teamwork of the trio, and how they always took the championship from the Giants. The Cubs won the National League Championship four times between 1906 and 1910, so Giants fans had good reason for their frustration. This is expressed well in the final few lines of the poem: Ruthlessly pricking our gonfalon bubble, Making a Giant hit into a double— Words that are heavy with nothing but trouble: “Tinker to Evers to Chance.” When I first read the poem, I was very curious as to what “gonfalon” meant. I discovered that it means “pennant” or “banner”. The winner of the Championship would always receive a pennant, which always eluded the Giants. I love poems that accurately reflect the spirit and thoughts of people from long ago. It gives a clear window onto history and helps me understand how people really felt about historic events. When Mr. Adams’s poem first came out in the New York Times, it was wildly popular. Fellow New Yorkers understood and agreed with Adams’ complaints. The poem turned Tinker, Evers, and Chance into double-play legends and is a big part of why they were elected to Baseball’s Hall of Fame in 1946. To a baseball fan, “Baseball’s Sad Lexicon” provides a historic and fascinating view into the talents of these three players. Even someone who is not a baseball fan can appreciate the rich history the poem brings to life. It connects us with the events of the day, makes us feel as if we were there. When reading it, imagine yourself at the ballpark in the early 1900s, cheering on Tinker, Evers and Chance. The warm air, clear blue sky, golden sunshine—summer in Chicago. Catherine Woods, 13Frankfort, IL

Allowables

Has anyone here ever killed a spider? Actually, I have a better question: has anyone here ever not killed a spider? The battle to keep spiders and other bugs out of the house is a fairly constant one, and most everyone, at some point in time, has found the easiest solution is to simply pick up a shoe and smash all small invaders—which is why I was so intrigued by Nikki Giovanni’s “Allowables,” a poem that describes the author’s shame at killing a harmless spider she finds in her house. The poem is written in free verse, with no rhyme or obvious rhythm, but the author nonetheless draws the reader in with ample repetition and a choppy style that reflects the emotions she describes. In order to better explain her feelings, she uses imagery to describe the spider as harmless, explaining that it was “sort of papery.” I was rather surprised to note that there was no punctuation in the entire poem, but decided that the lack of grammatical breaks mimicked the thought process the author is going through. Giovanni gives “Allowables” a very memorable ending with the simple, straightforward phrase “I don’t think / I’m allowed / To kill something / Because I am / Frightened,” using enjambment to give emphasis to certain parts of the sentence. What really drew me to this poem, however, is less the style of the writing than the way in which I connected to it, both on a personal level and on a larger scale. I can’t deny that there have been times when, given a choice between capturing a spider I just encountered in my bathtub and taking it outside or washing it down the drain, I have chosen to kill it. I always regret it after, but I continue to make the same mistake, refusing to overcome my initial fear response and act reasonably. Giovanni’s poem may seem to be making a big deal out of an inconsequential event—until one considers its implications in light of current events. Much of the racial discrimination and violence in our world is due to people allowing fear to rule them, causing them to strike out at all the people of an ethnicity because they are too afraid to remember that most of these people mean them no harm. Sonia Bhaskaran, 14Glendale, CA