Archive - 2015
April 11th
Saturday
Submitted by Aldon Hynes on Sat, 04/11/2015 - 20:44Today, I got to the dump, did a little politics, went for a walk, did a little Ingress napped a lot, and went to my relatives for dinner. I didn’t get a chance to work on the poetry class or do a few other online tasks on my to do list, as so I’ve slipped further behind.
I have a few blog posts in mind, mostly around poetry and politics, but they will have to wait until I have more time.
April 10th
News
Submitted by Aldon Hynes on Fri, 04/10/2015 - 21:01It’s national poetry month.
I read the prompts on twitter.
I join a webinar
on young folks activism.
I watch the Dickinson videos
in an online class.
The candidates position themselves
for the upcoming presidential election.
The dead are mourned.
Deals are struck.
Baseball season has begun.
The snow has given way
to fog and rain
and in the plains
tornados spawn.
Dinner has been eaten.
The sun has set.
Sleep.
April 9th
Milestones
Submitted by Aldon Hynes on Thu, 04/09/2015 - 20:09I’ve written a blog post every day this year, so far, and drafts of poems, pretty much every day of Lent. I hit some milestones in the augmented reality game, Ingress, that I play. I continue my way through the latest MOOC on American Poetry. Now, it is Emily Dickinson.
I read the news, paying close attention to the upcoming presidential election, the shooting in South Carolina, and the closing of colleges. At home, I do what I can to keep the house running smoothly as people fight illnesses.
So, there are days when the blank page just seems so much more daunting, days that I let my assignments for the poetry class slip a little more, and days when I head off to bed early.
It is part of the ebb and flow, and even this, is potential grist for other writing.
April 8th
Insomnia
Submitted by Aldon Hynes on Wed, 04/08/2015 - 20:40It’s not really in the middle of the night.
The writing hour is around four a.m.
It’s not really in the dark of the night.
The clock dial glows, showing the time
and the light of the waning moon
leaks in through the windows.
It’s not really being wide awake.
It’s where the memories
of the evening’s dreams
that quickened the plus
are still vivid and real.
It’s where the concerns of yesterday
and the plans for tomorrow meet
over and over again
until eons
of lying in the warm bed
for five minutes have passed.
April 7th
Notes from the Dickinson Class
Submitted by Aldon Hynes on Tue, 04/07/2015 - 20:44I’m currently taking another online poetry class. This one is about Emily Dickinson. One of the discussion topics was whether her choice not to publish and have a clear authoritative version of her poems empowered or disempowered her. Here is my comment on that.
Disintermediating the Editor
The choice by Dickinson to not have her poems published, to not have an authoritative final version and to use uncommon punctuation and capitalization empowers her as a poet communicating directly with the reader. All poems are interpreted by the reader and in intermediary steps by editors or teachers. By not empowering the editor, Dickson empowers the relationship between the poet and the reader.
This empowerment is further amplified now that the sources are online and even a somewhat casual reader can look at different versions, in her hand writing, as well as different attempts at editing to create their own opinions.
We also read “Bring me the sunset in a cup” which had a bit of a discussion going on about what the “little Alban house” was and how the poem ends up. Here are my comments on that.
One of the comments talks about googling Alban, but doesn’t go a lot into who St. Alban was. Another person spends a lot of time asserting that the little Alban house is the grave, but without explanation why they say that. And one other person ties some of this together by talking about resurrection.
For those who do know the story of St. Alban, “he is venerated as the first recorded British Christian martyr” who offered himself up in lieu of a priest he had been sheltering. With this in mind, the “little Alban house” becomes more than just a grave. It carries connotations of sheltering, sacrificing and being a martyr. Viewed this way, the question of “Whoʹll let me out some gala day” would logically seem to be a reference to the resurrection at the end of time, “with implements to fly away”. Just a resurrection would clearly pass pomposity.