Wednesday, December 29, 2010

Reaction to "A Walk to Sope Creek" by David Bottoms

A Walk to Sope Creek
by David Bottoms

Sometimes when I've made the mistake of anger, which sometimes
breeds the mistake of cruelty, I walk

down the rocky slope above the ruined mill on Sope Creek
where sweet gum and hickory weave sunlight

into gauzy screens. And sometimes when I've made the mistake
of cruelty, which always breeds grief,

I remember how, years ago, my uncle led me, a boy,
into a thicket of pines and taught me to pray

beside a white stone, the way a man had taught him, a boy,
to pray behind a clapboard church.

Sometimes when I'm as mean as a stone, I weave
between trees above that crumbling mill

and stumble through those threaded screens of light,
the way anger must fall

through many stages of remorse.
Any rock, he allowed, can be an altar.


When I first read this poem, the first line, “sometimes when I’ve made the mistake of anger” drew me in because I personally try to prevent myself from getting angry, and when I do, I always regret it. In the last two stanzas of the poem, Bottoms says, “anger must fall through many stages of remorse”, and I think he describes this process really well.
He starts off by explaining how anger turns to cruelty, which then turns to grief. I really liked his use of the word breeds to explain this progression because it gave me the impression that his emotions had a life of their own and were mostly beyond his control, continuously giving birth to new ones. I agree that anger especially can be hard to suppress once something triggers it, and I think everyone has had a similar experience at some time. It was also interesting to me that as his emotions were progressing, he was also progressing through time and space. As his anger goes through the many stages of remorse, he walks through the “rocky slope” and is motivated to think back to when he was a little boy walking with his uncle who taught him how to handle anger, just as someone had taught him. His use of enjambment helped to portray this relationship because the poem flows from stanza to stanza, never actually coming to a full stop until the end of the fifth stanza. Through his diction, he also created a relationship between himself and his surroundings. In the second stanza, he describes how the “sweet gum and hickory weave sunlight”, and he uses the word weave again to describe his own movement in the sixth stanza when he says, “I weave between trees above the crumbling mill. In the fourth and fifth stanzas, he describes how his uncle “taught [him] to pray beside a white stone”, and he describes himself in the next stanza as being “mean as a stone”. These relationships between emotion and physical movement and his body and nature helped me to better understand what he was experiencing and to create a more vivid image of Sope Creek in my mind.
Like the first line, the last line really resonated with me. The advice passed on by his uncle taught the author that “any rock can be an altar”. Although he tries to avoid getting angry, he knows exactly what to do on the days when he fails. He recognizes that there’s not one designated cure, that each person must deal with emotions in their own way. For him, this means taking the journey to Sope Creek that he has described and finding a rock where he can pray and recover.

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

The Pain is Through (a villanelle-sorta)

not exactly the greatest work of art. Yes, the rhyming seems forced at some parts. That's because it is.


How could I possibly get mad at you?
You won't hurt me like they did in the past.
The battle has ended. The pain is through.

A bond that Hydrogen couldn't outdo-
purchased without warranty, built to last.
I promise I'll never get mad at you.

Unless...everything you said wasn't true?
Too late. The spell has already been cast.
The battle's just begun, and the pain has too.

Fickle things are not fun to pursue,
I'm headed nowhere and headed there fast.
Now I find myself getting mad at you.

I believe some apologies are due.
No. I knew the answer. Why did I ask?
The battle goes on, but no pain's felt by you.

Where are you now? I just gave you your cue.
Turns out only your heart was built to last.
I have every right to get mad at you.
Battles end, but the pain is never through.

Monday, December 6, 2010

Claudia Emerson- Secure The Shadow: an average analysis of an amazing poem.

Secure the Shadow by Claudia Emerson.

When I first read the title, I assumed that as the author explains, it refers to an advertising slogan that described the process of developing postmortem images. "Secure the shadow 'ere the substance fade". After reading the poem, I realized that not only does the title refer to the process of sensitizing the silver surface of the photograph with iodine and exposing the mercury to vapor, but it also refers to one of the main themes of the poem. The author uses the descriptions of various photographs and the stories behind them to explain peoples' efforts to preserve their loved ones in real life and in their memories. By taking the picture, you create a sort of shadow of your loved one; although you cannot change the finality of death or prevent their body from dying over time, you can capture a moment that reflects what they looked like and how they would have been while they were alive.
I really liked how Emerson split the poem into 6 numbered sections, one through five being the descriptions of the different photographs and six being her personal reflection on the photographs. The first stanza went right into the description of the first child, and as the other stories followed I got lost in her descriptions and could actually picture each child and the environment in which the picture was taken. Going straight from the fifth description to her reaction shocked me because it made me leave the foreign 19th century setting that I had created in my mind and return to reality. I thought this had a nice effect.
I also really liked how the author defined the boundary between life and death through imagery and diction. Each story contains the common thread that the child has died and the family has prepared the body and hired a photographer to take a picture. She points out certain characteristics that would suggest the person were living or remind someone of how they acted when they were alive: "the hands of a healthy child, the face still round with baby fat", "a book in her daughter's right hand, her left thumb holding down the page, place marked as though in a passage to which she will return", "his gaze disobeys, as though intent on the stubborn sky instead, refusing this", "In her arms a cat, quite alive and nervous-mouth open-blurs its face in the turning, about to escape this embrace made strange". At the same time, Emerson contradicts these statements with reminders that the child has died: "the girl in the photograph has been dead nine days" and lies on a "bed of ice", "the boy dead from scarlet fever", "the simple failure to thrive common as it is irreversible". In each instance, someone has tried to make their dead loved one appear natural in the photo, but it still seems forced. As an onlooker, Emerson recognizes that no matter how accurately people were able to present their loved ones, they cannot capture their essence. "There are, after all, only so many frames....only so many ways to look until the light changes, fades, is lost".

The difference in times confused me. The types of pictures the author describes were invented in 1839, and while I was reading it, I felt that I was in the past. The author seemed like she received the photos shortly after they were taken, but this poem was written less than a week ago. I also wondered why she would sometimes end lines with natural pauses, then completely interrupt her thoughts other times.
http://poems.com/poem.php?date=14943

Friday, December 3, 2010

Hate the Fame, Love the Game (A Found Poem)

Local heroes torn asunder by petty accusations,
brought back together for another chance at harmony.

No apparent attempt to stick to the point-
a moment of comic relief.

Not amused.

A moment of silence took its place.

Mayhem emerged from nowhere.
the night closed with an exclamation point

"We gotta get this right."


The New York Times Monday, November 29, 2010
The Arts- "Survivors Celebrate a Family Reunion"

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

My Top Ten Poems...for now

1. Candlelight-Relient K
2. You're- Sylvia Plath
3. Bright Star- John Keats
4. Sunday Morning- Wallace Stevens
5.Your New Twin Sized Bed- Death Cab For Cutie
6. Side Man- Paul Muldoon
7. Momentum-The Hush Sound
8. Gravity-Sara Bareilles
9. City Hall-The Fray
10. XCVIII (Fear)- Emily Dickinson

Death Cab For Cutie- Your New Twin Sized Bed

You look so defeated lying there in your new twin-sized bed
with a single pillow underneath your single head
I guess you decided that that old queen was more space than you would need
Now it's in the alley behind your appartment with a sign that says it's free
But I hope you have more luck with this than me

You used to think that someone would come along
and lay beside you in a space that they belong
But the other side of the mattress and box spring stayed like new
And what's the point of holding onto what never gets used
other than a sick desire for self-abuse?

And I tried not to worry, but you've got me terrified
It's like you're in some kind of hurry to say goodbye
to say goodbye, to say goodbye
You look so defeated lying there in your new-sized bed
You look so defeated lying there in your new twin-sized bed