https://stonesoup.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/06/Poetry-Soup-Ep.-19.MP3.mp3 Transcript: Hello, and welcome to Poetry Soup! I’m your host, Emma Catherine Hoff. Today, I’ll be talking about a poem by David Shapiro, titled, “Falling Upwards.” David Shapiro was born on January 2, 1947, in Newark, New Jersey. His family was very big on music – they often performed string quartets together. This might’ve been part of what influenced today’s poem, which is about a violin player. Like Kenneth Koch and John Ashbery, poets I have talked about on past episodes of this podcast, Shapiro was a member of the New York School of Poets. Though he was very proficient in violin from a young age and performed with orchestras for many of his teenage years, his first poetry collection was also published when he was young, at the age of 18, titled, “January.” In addition to poetry, Shapiro wrote a lot about art, such as his book, “Jim Dine,” about the works of the painter Jim Dine. Shapiro’s poems are good to read together due to his unique style. Sometimes, it takes reading a few of his poems to understand one, because a lot of his poetry is very abstract and surreal. It also focuses a lot on language and form, adding a rhythmic flow to his writing. For example, in his poem, “The Devil’s Trill Sonata,” he uses subtle rhyme throughout which makes it very musical to the ear. Shapiro often wrote about the bridge between music and poetry. As an adult, Shapiro settled in Riverdale, a neighborhood in The Bronx, New York, which happens to be where I live as well! Shapiro died there on May 4, 2024. A certain violinist had a beautiful violin But before he had time to play her long and listen To her tones as such, he was compelled to renounce music And sell her, and go on a far journey, and leave his violin in the hands of the violin case. What was there to do? It is said You cannot live life in quarter tones. What was there to do? It is said you cannot live your life in silence. What was there to do? It is said you cannot live your life playing scales. What was there to do? It is said you cannot live your life listening to the Americans. What was there to do. It is said you cannot live your life in your room and not go out. What was there to do? It is said music disobeys And reaches the prince’s courtyard even farther than smell and grits its notes like teeth and gives us food and drink. And orders a fire to be lighted, famished silk to hang over it and repetitions to be sharpened. What was there to do? It is said it is the violinists who do not sleep. What was there to do? It is said we think and don’t think; we are asleep. What was there to do? It is said music sinks into the mire up to its neck, wants to crawl out, but cannot. What was there to do? It is said the violin was a swan, seized the boy, falling upwards to some height above the earth. “Falling Upwards” contrasts music with life through repetition. It begins with an almost soothing tone, much like a children’s story or a folktale. However, the mood quickly becomes more somber, this contrast almost foreshadowing the comparison that will be highlighted in the next three stanzas of the poem. The reader is told of a violinist who gives up music and sells his violin, unsure what to do with his life. But the poem itself isn’t that simple. The tale of the violinist is only a way of conveying a larger message – whether or not life and art can coexist, or if an artist has to give themselves up to make something truly meaningful. The repetition is a key part of demonstrating this. The phrase, “what was there to do?” is repeated throughout the poem, and then followed by a statement. The statements, such as “you cannot live life in quarter tones,” connect life and music, and suggest that beautiful art is created by putting the whole of yourself into it and cannot be done any other way. This makes the violinist feel conflicted about what he must do. In a way, he is fighting with himself – it comes across very obviously that he believes that his violin is beautiful, and that music is as well, but he still chooses to sell the violin and try to start anew. The last line of the poem, about the violin “seizing the boy,” suggests that the violinist has enjoyed music from a young age. This makes the poem feel even sadder. The last stanza also portrays music as a kind of trap, one that the violinist is trying to avoid. It’s like music has chained the violinist, and he wants to be set free. At the same time, it’s almost like, at the end of the poem, the violinist comes back to music – the violin calls to him and it is like he is the boy he was before. In this way, music is portrayed as very complicated – and that for some, it could be the life that they want to live. In that case, leaving it could be the wrong decision. Music being “food and drink” and ordering the violinist around makes it seem like it is the only thing in a musician’s life. There can be nothing else. David Shapiro both played violin and wrote poetry, so he probably understood this conflict. Can you create true beauty when you are not dedicated completely to just one art form? In fact, Shapiro wrote a lot about music, almost combining his two talents. However, the violinist in this poem does not have this option. It makes the reader wonder what he does after giving up music – he quit violin so that he could
Poetry Soup
Poetry Soup – Ep. 18: “A Music Sentence” by Mahmoud Darwish
https://stonesoup.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/05/Poetry-Soup-Ep.-18.MP3.mp3 Transcript: Hello, and welcome to Poetry Soup! I’m your host, Emma Catherine Hoff. Today, I’m excited to talk about “A Music Sentence,” a poem with an intriguing form by a poet I discovered recently – Mahmoud Darwish. Mahmoud Darwish was born on March 13, 1941 (he actually happens to share a birthday with me!), in Al-Birwa, Palestine. His family fled their hometown to Lebanon when it was invaded by the Israeli military, but eventually returned. However, Darwish moved multiple times when he got older, and even studied for a year in the Soviet Union. He was greatly interested in Palestinian liberation and joined the Palestinian Liberation Organization (PLO), which led to his exile from Palestine. His ban from coming back to his homeland is a topic that comes up often in his poetry – for example, the poem I’ll be talking about today. Before joining the PLO, Darwish was a member of the Israeli Communist Party. Darwish published his first book of poetry when he was 19 years old and went on to publish 30 books of poetry and 8 works of prose. Among other awards, he earned the Lannan Cultural Freedom Prize. He edited multiple journals throughout his lifetime and was a very important Palestinian symbol. His poetry represented the resistance of Palestinian people to Israeli occupation. He died on August 9, 2008. Darwish’s poems were filled with social commentary and drew extreme reactions from many people due to their controversial subject matter. His poems vary in length and style, but his Palestinian heritage is very important in many of them. “A Music Sentence” is included in his poetry collection “If I Were Another,” which has many long poems, broken up into shorter parts. The collection was translated by Fady Joudah. “A Music Sentence” achieves a slightly regretful tone and offers two different perspectives – one from the inside of Palestine, and one from the outside – through its melodious rhythm and repetition. A poet now, instead of me, writes a poem on the willow of distant wind. So why does a rose in the wall wear new petals? A boy now, instead of us, sets a dove flying high toward the cloud ceiling. So why does the forest shed all this snow around a smile? A bird now, instead of us, carries a letter from the land of the gazelle to the blue. So why does the hunter enter the scene and fling his arrow? A man now, instead of us, washes the moon and walks over the river’s crystal. So why does color fall on the earth and we are naked like trees? A lover now, instead of me, sweeps his love into the mire of bottomless springs. So why does the cypress stand here like a watchman at the garden gate? A horseman now, instead of me, stops his horse and dozes under the shadow of a holm oak. So why do the dead flock to us out of wall and closet? In his poem, Darwish depicts an ordinary scene of a community continuing its daily activities despite him not being there. Though he’s no longer there, everything is continuing the way it has always continued. It’s like the old people of the land, the people of history, as well as himself, are still represented in the actions and new people in the poem. Though the poem is not hostile or angry, it also portrays a bit of regret. It shows Darwish’s longing to be back in his home and a sense of loss. Darwish uses the repeated “so why” statements in his poem to convey this – he’s confused by how easily everything stays the same despite him no longer being there. He misses Palestine during his exile, and the knowledge that nothing has changed just because of his absence is saddening. The structure of this poem also gives it an almost song-like quality (hence, the title, “A Musical Sentence”). Each stanza is two sentences. The first sentence is a statement describing an animal or person that Darwish sees a bit of his own life in Palestine in, that the people of the past can see themselves in, but that are also not the same, that are new. The second sentence is the question I described earlier, building the poem’s tone. But the question in the last stanza also serves another purpose. It references the past, showing how the dead, or the previous inhabitants of the land, are still present in the actions of the new inhabitants, even if they’re not there anymore. Each single stanza is an image, but all together it paints a picture of an everyday town. When I read the poem, it makes me imagine a place with lots of trees (actually, Al-Birwa happened to have many olive trees). This gives the poem its flow and ensures that the repetition doesn’t end up being stunted or clunky. Darwish’s images, while being clear and concrete, are also very surreal. He doesn’t directly describe them, but instead does so in a very roundabout way (“a man now, instead of us,/washes the moon/and walks over the river’s crystal”). These metaphors and pictures form snapshots, one per stanza, which fit together like puzzle pieces to create Darwish’s nostalgic remembrance of his homeland. This poem’s structure can be helpful as a jumping off point to write your own poem! It really shows the power that repetition can have in poetry. I hope you enjoyed this episode of Poetry Soup, and I’ll see you soon with the next one.
Poetry Soup – Ep. 17: “Desire for Spring” by Kenneth Koch
https://stonesoup.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Poetry-Soup-Episode-17.MP3.mp3 Hello, and welcome to Poetry Soup! I’m your host, Emma Catherine Hoff. Today, I’ll be talking about “Desire for Spring,” by Kenneth Koch. Kenneth Koch was born on February 27, 1925, in Cincinnati, Ohio. He went to school at Harvard University and became close with the poet John Ashbery (who was featured in the very first episode of Poetry Soup!). He became a member of the New York School of Poets, a group of poets (some of whom lived in New York) that Ashbery was also a part of. Koch taught poetry at Columbia, but in addition to poetry, he wrote books on how to write poetry, as well as many plays. Many of his poems are humorous and slightly absurd (he also has plays in verse that are very similar). As you will see in “Desire for Spring,” Koch often uses exclamation points in his poems as well, to create a high spirited, energetic tone that is common in much of his work. Koch was a recipient of the Glasscock Prize. He also won the Bollingen Prize for his collection of poetry, “One Train.” Kenneth Koch died in 2002. Here in New York, spring is swiftly blossoming, so I think this poem echoes the sentiments of many people, including myself. Winter has been here for so long that we feel we need to push it out of the way to make space for the gentle flowering and warmth of spring. A very lyrical poem, “Desire For Spring,” as shown by the title, is very fitting for this time. Calcium days, days when we feed our bones! Iron days, which enrich our blood! Saltwater days, which give us valuable iodine! When will there be a perfectly ordinary spring day? For my heart needs to be fed, not my urine Or my brain, and I wish to leap to Pittsburgh From Tuskegee, Indiana, if necessary, spreading like a flower In the spring light, and growing like a silver stair. Nothing else will satisfy me, not even death! Not even broken life insurance policies, cancer, loss of health, Ruined furniture, prostate disease, headaches, melancholia, No, not even a ravaging wolf eating up my flesh! I want spring, I want to turn like a mobile, In a new fresh air! I don’t want to hibernate Between walls, between halls! I want to bear My share of anguish of being succinctly here! Not even moths in the spell of a flame Can want it to be warmer as much as I do! Not even the pilot slipping into the great green sea In flames can want less to be turned to an icicle! Though admiring the icicle’s cunning, how shall I be satisfied With artificial daisies and roses, and wax pears? O breeze, my lovely, come in, that I mayn’t be stultified! Dear coolness of heaven, come swiftly and sit in my chairs! In the first three lines of his poem, Koch mentions days that feed people with nutrients. You could interpret these days as three seasons (winter, fall, and summer). But none of these seasons or nutrients are enough for Koch. He wants something that will feed his heart, not just his health. Spring can give him this, so he spends the entire poem hoping that it will come. Nothing, not even the most terrible things that could cause anyone to give up (like the diseases Koch mentions) can quell his hope for spring. He cannot be satisfied by simple human things – only by nature, by the irresistible curve of the seasons into spring. With his flowing lines, Koch creates a sort of song for spring, while still showing his enthusiasm through a plethora of exclamation points. He also creates this excited feeling by using very specific, enticing similes – for example, he wants warmth more than even a moth (proving how powerfully he is drawn to the sun and the heat of spring, like a moth is drawn to a flame). Koch demonstrates a fear of cold, a want for the warm weather of spring. He understands the other seasons, even admires them, but he needs the real spring rather than the fake fruits he talks about at the end of the poem. He needs fresh air, needs to have space to grow and stretch. In a way, he wants to go through the rejuvenation that the world experiences when spring comes. He wants to start anew, and to be gifted this ability by the cool, heavenly breezes of spring (“spreading like a flower/In the spring light, and growing like a silver stair”). Though the theme of the poem itself is pretty straightforward, it’s also important to look at the lines and the way the poem reads. As one long stanza, everything feels very connected. Because Koch uses them so often, the exclamation points don’t feel too sudden – they’re just part of the tone. Multiple lines use commas at the ends and in the middle to maintain a flow, just like a light wind or a flowing river. However, there are also multiple enjambed lines, echoing the feeling of the slow, kind of broken up progress of budding and sprouting. Overall, Koch’s poem is a playful ode to spring, a version of which seems to be in everyone’s minds this season. I hope you enjoyed this episode of Poetry Soup, and I’ll see you soon with the next one!
