Image: “Whitewater River Songs – Album Cover” Photo by Ron W. G.
Original Song: “River Spirit” and Prose Commentary
I wrote “River Spirit” circa 1980 then made a homemade recording of it around 20 around 2004. In 2023, my husband Ron—whom I call “My Sweet Ron”—created the video featuring his own photos and videos selections along with the song.
Introduction to and Lyric of “River Spirit”
The lyric of “River Spirit” plays out in four stanzas of tercets, with one couplet appearing as the second stanza. It sports no traditional rime-scheme but does offer one set of perfect rime in “hand/sand” in the second and third lines. Other slant—or more accurately ghost rimes—appear in “water/before” in the couplet.
Ghost rimes also make an appearance with “bed/edge” and “changes/images.” The time frame begins in spring, as the singer begins to report what she sees along the river after the cold hard season of winter has given way to the warmth of spring.
The theme of the song is the mystery the singer feels at seeing that the landscape along the river has been radically transformed from what she had observed during the summer before this transforming winter had its sway. The singer poses questions about how the trees got uprooted and the path along the river has shifted, as even the stones are taking on new patterns.
The singer then announces what she had thought to be the agent of the transformations; however, she is ultimately revealing—in the title—that what she “guessed” back in the day, she now knows to be the work of the Divine Reality, the “River Spirit”—or God (see “Names for the Ineffable God”).
(Please note: Dr. Samuel Johnson introduced the form “rhyme” into English in the 18th century, mistakenly thinking that the term was a Greek derivative of “rythmos.” Thus “rhyme” is an etymological error. For my explanation for using only the original form “rime,” please see “Rime vs Rhyme: Dr. Samuel Johnson’s Error.”)
River Spirit
Every spring along the Whitewater River I saw that some mysterious hand Had rearranged the rocks and sand.
The path I followed the summer before Was slipping off into the water. I could not figure out whose force Could drive that water among the reeds & shift the river in its bed
Whose muscles uprooted those trees? Whose fingers patterned those stones Along the edge?
I guessed only that the spring thaw Conjured up the changes In those sleeping river images.
Commentary on “River Spirit”
The time frame is spring, as the singer begins to muse on what she observes along the river after the cold, hard season of winter has given way to the warmth of spring. Her earlier guess about that riverbank rearrangement has now become an article of faith, and she proclaims in the title the answer to her earlier inquiry.
First Movement: The Hand of Mystery
Every spring along the Whitewater River I saw that some mysterious hand Had rearranged the rocks and sand.
The singing narrator launches right into her story by making the claim that she observed a change in the pattern of stones and sand along the river’s edge, and she make this observation “every spring.” She had thus a recollection of having experiences these changes many times.
She colorfully attributes those rearrangements to “some mysterious hand.” At this point, it may sound a bit odd that a river walker would think a hand had been involved in what went on along the riverbank in her absence.
Second Movement: River Features Shifting
The path I followed the summer before Was slipping off into the water.
After setting the stage for mystery and rearrangement of river features, the singer offers a very specific change. She had walk along a path during the preceding summer, and now that path simply veered off into the river water. Such a change would likely be quite jarring for the hiker, who would necessarily be obliged to alter her walking pattern.
Third Movement: Puzzling over the Changes
I could not figure out whose force Could drive that water among the reeds & shift the river in its bed
The singer now inserts her puzzlement. She becomes curious as to how such changes could have occurred. She sees that the river has now shifted its course, plunging into the reeds along the bank.
The mere fact of the river shifting “in its bed” seems Herculean in prospect. The river is such a large body of moving water that the notion of it shifting surely requires a force that strikes the singer an unimaginable at this point.
Fourth Movement: Who Made Those Changes?
Whose muscles uprooted those trees? Whose fingers patterned those stones Along the edge?
The singer then again adds more specificity to her inquiry. She sees that trees have been “uprooted,” and she observes that the stones along the river’s edge have been rearranged in a different pattern from the summer before.
Again, she colorfully attributes those “changes” to a seemingly human agency of “muscles” and “fingers.” But behind those specific agents must lie some metaphysical force that at this point the singer cannot name, cannot even offer a guess about.
Fifth Movement: Guessing at the Conjuring
I guessed only that the spring thaw Conjured up the changes In those sleeping river images.
Now the singer offers what she thought to be an answer to her inquiry: Well, it was likely that not any hands, muscles, or fingers enforced all of these changes; it was simply the process of thawing out from the ice during the warming movements brought on by spring.
Sure, that’s it: the spring movements of thawing influenced those inert river features to alter themselves into differing patterns from the summer before. What else could it be? But the singer is understating what she really believes now. She “guessed” about the “spring thaw”—but that was then, this is now.
Thus the singer through anthropomorphic images of hands, muscles, fingers has proclaimed that a humanlike power has, in fact, mades these changes. Not an actual human being on its own however. But some power that retains in its Being the image of the human form, power, and ingenuity.
Simply, the title of the lyric has already stated what the singer pretends to guess about as she unfurls the song: God (as the “River Spirit”) has performed His magic on these “sleeping river images.” God has “conjured up” those alterations in those river images as they moved from a frozen, winter sleep to vital spring time awakening.
Original Song: “I Wonder if You Ever Think of Me” and Commentary
I wrote this song about 40 years ago, made a homemade studio recording of it about 20 years ago. Recently, my husband Ron created a video using his own photos and videos selections featuring the song.
Introduction, the Lyric, and the Video
The lyric of “I Wonder if You Ever Think of Me” displays in four cinquains and one single line, which concludes the lyric by repeating the chorus-like line, transforming the title from wondering to knowing. The time frame runs from winter to the beginning of spring, with the singer signaling “snow” in the opening line and concluding with winter having turned to spring.
The song follows a lost-love theme, which therefore relies on melancholic images such as “gray sky” in the opening cinquain, “bare branch” in the second, “wind is blowing cold” in the third, “empty house” in the final stanza. Despite the theme of melancholy and the lost-love subject, the rendition maintains a rather fast paced rhythm, which allows room for interpretation regarding the depth of the sorrow that appears to be elucidated.
I Wonder if You Ever Think of Me
Now the snow is on the ground. I walk through the yard. Your footsteps I can’t find. Gray sky is pressing me down, And I wonder if you ever think of me.
Light through my window comes late. I stand and I watch Bare branch against the sky. I take a walk down by the bridge, And I wonder if you ever think of me.
Outside the wind is blowing cold. My heart beats fast To think you may be near. I walk back to my bed, And I wonder if you ever think of me.
Night turns to day, winter to spring. I walk down the road, My dog my only friend. I walk back to the empty house, And I guess I know you never think of me.
I guess I know you never think of me.
Commentary on “I Wonder if You Ever Think of Me”
What may at first blush seem to be a “lost-love” theme filled with sorrow and foreboding can be understood in actuality as quite the opposite—an affirmation of the efficacy of musing, ruminating, and clear-eyed observation.
First Cinquain: Beginning a Winter Tale
Now the snow is on the ground. I walk through the yard. Your footsteps I can’t find. Gray sky is pressing me down, And I wonder if you ever think of me.
The singer begins to set the stage by revealing the season of the year in which she is making her musing. “Snow” likely says, it is winter time. A cold beginning foreshadows the mood of the piece as the singer wonders if the addressee ever thinks of her. Before revealing what she is wondering, she adds two details that set her glum mood.
The sky is gray and causing her mood to be low and likely sad, but more likely the detail responsible for her mood is that she cannot see the footprints of the addressee in the snow. That a natural phenomenon of the gray sky accompanying the lack of footprints of a likely lost loved one is wholly understandable. Human emotion often tinges the nature of things surrounding it.
Second Cinquain: Bare Branch and Gray Sky Compound the Melancholy
Light through my window comes late. I stand and I watch Bare branch against the sky. I take a walk down by the bridge, And I wonder if you ever think of me.
The singer then reveals that she is looking out a window and the sun seems to have delayed its arrival that morning, as it is coming late. She continues to stand at the window looking out at the winter branches on the trees; they are, of course, bare, having experienced the autumn season that preceded the current time frame. The “bare branch” is set “against the sky,” revealing another detail of the melancholy which the singer is experiencing. Bare branches are not considered to be as beautiful as branches full of leaves as in spring and summer.
It has already been revealed that the sky is “gray,” and thus the coupling a gray sky and bare branch work together the compound the melancholy mood of the singer. The singer is then on the move; she walks down to the bridge. She then repeats the chant-like refrain of wondering if the addressee thinks of her. Likely the walk was intended to mitigate the melancholy of her wondering, but it has not helped thus she repeats her refrain.
Third Cinquain: A Fantastic Interlude
Outside the wind is blowing cold. My heart beats fast To think you may be near. I walk back to my bed, And I wonder if you ever think of me.
Instead of supplying any detail of the walk back to her house, the singer just suddenly places herself there as she notices that a cold wind is rustling “outside.” The singer’s continued attempt to mitigate her painful wondering causes her mind to become jerked about, leaving out details that her listeners might want to have as they try to follow her narrative.
Again, the speaker adds an important detail that remains otherworldly; her heart begins to beat fast because the thought has arisen that, in fact, the addressee may actually “be near”—not just in her thought but in physical reality. But instead of rushing to window to look to see if that nearness is likely, she simply “walk[s] back to [her] bed.” Again, her refrain becomes dominant as she “wonder[s] if [the addressee] ever thinks of [her].”
Fourth Cinquain: Winter Bleeds into Spring
Night turns to day, winter to spring. I walk down the road, My dog my only friend. I walk back to the empty house, And I guess I know you never think of me.
Quite a bit of time has passed from the time frame of the first three cinquains; it is now spring. But the singer conflates the changing of the season with nighttime turning to daytime. Her mind is on the passage of time. Time is supposed to possess a healing power. Observing the changing of temporal phenomena may become part of the healing process.
But now the singer reveals that she is on the move again; this time she is simply taking a walk “down the road” and she is accompanied by her dog. She confides that her dog is her “only friend.” Thus her listener can be assured that she is still alone, still missing the addressee, even before she reveals that her house is still empty. Again, the refrain of wondering if the addressee thinks of her becomes a final or near final expression. She has continued to wonder as she wandered from winter to spring, as night becomes day, as she strolls about with or without her dog friend, and as she has continued to observe the things around her.
Final Single Line: The Return of Harmony and Balance
I guess I know you never think of me.
The final single line reveals that the singer has reached a conclusion. She now knows that the addressee does not ever think of her. She does not reveal explicitly how she knows that, but she has made it clear the she has cogitated on the issue for at least a whole season. She began in winter time observing the absence of the addresses by the absence of footprints in the snow. She strolled through the yard, she strolled down the bridge, and she stood at her window watching as night turned to day and one season bled into another.
The listener can then easily assume that as the singer did all of these things, she was musing, turning over in her mind details about the relationship with the addressee. Thus with all of this musing and cogitation, she has reached the conclusive answer to the question, and it is no, the addressee never thinks of her.
The fast pace of the song reveals a certain mood of affirmation despite the melancholy that many of the images impart. The singer has therefore not composed a dirge but a hymn to the importance of musing, cogitation, and observation. The human heart may be persuaded to lighten if the mind of the observer remains focused on achieving balance and harmony.
Original Song: “The Paper Mill Bridge Song” with Prose Commentary
My original song “The Paper Mill Bridge Song” was inspired by the beautiful Whitewater River in Indiana and its relationship to the beautiful relationship I have enjoyed for over half a century with my wonderful husband, native of the little town of Brookville, Indiana.
Introduction and Excerpt from “The Paper Mill Bridge Song”
My husband, landscape artist Ron Grimes, created the video featured in this article to accompany my original song “The Paper Mill Bridge Song.” He wrote the following introduction to the piece and placed his video on YouTube:
A celebration of life and love as witnessed by the Paper Mill Bridge over the Whitewater River in Brookville, Indiana.
September 10th, 2022. Linda and I walked to the middle of the new Papermill Bridge. I wanted to capture some scenes for this video. As soon as I started videoing, this Canada Goose flew right over us and honked as it if it were saying, “I want to be in your video.” It was a gift.
Innovative Chorus
The song undergoes an unusual arrangement; instead of an ordinary chorus, it features an middle octave which behaves as a second octave and chorus that gets repeated at a the end of the song.
The Paper Mill Bridge Song
Here’s where people paddle canoes Down the Whitewater River. I stand here on Paper Mill Bridge. Watch the water and remember The day we walked along the bank, Sand so warm to my feet. We talked about cattails, rocks, and stars And the moss that grows on old trees.
These are the things that fill my day, Things we’ve done together. Sunshine streaming down through the leaves, A storm in the clouds or snow in the fields. River water runs through my veins. The stars light up my eyes. Love for you turns in my heart Like the sun burns through the sky.
Through the years my heart has filled With love for this old river. I stand here on Paper Mill Bridge. Watch the water and remember The day we paddled down the stream, A cool breeze on my shoulders. The sun shone bright over Paper Mill Bridge And I knew I’d love you forever.
These are the things that fill my day, Things we’ve done together. Sunshine streaming down through the leaves, A storm in the clouds or snow in the fields. River water runs through my veins. The stars light up my eyes. Love for you turns in my heart Like the sun burns through the sky.
My original song—”The Paper Mill Bridge Song”—focuses on one relationship that progresses from good friends to life partner. In the opening verse, the friends experience a quiet walk and talk along the river. In the final verse, the life relationship is solidified.
First Octave/Verse: The View from the Bridge
Here’s where people paddle canoes Down the Whitewater River. I stand here on Paper Mill Bridge. Watch the water and remember The day we walked along the bank, Sand so warm to my feet. We talked about cattails, rocks, and stars And the moss that grows on old trees
The singing narrator is standing on a bridge, which turns out to be the subject of the song, the Paper Mill Bridge. She begins to report on the activities that are locally common to that bridge. The bridge spans the Whitewater River—a river in mideastern to southern Indiana—and from its perch one can from time to time see canoers paddling their barks down the river.
The narrator then focuses on a memory that is important to her regarding her hike along the riverbank with a friend. During that pleasant stroll, the two friends casually conversed about river-related entities such as water reeds that look like “cattails” and other features of nature such a “rocks and stars.”
The narrator recalls that her feet enjoyed the luxury of the warm sand. They also held forth about the fact that moss grows on old trees—likely that the moss grows mostly on the north side of those arbolian creatures.
Second Octave/Chorus: Recurring Images
These are the things that fill my day, Things we’ve done together. Sunshine streaming down through the leaves, A storm in the clouds or snow in the fields. River water runs through my veins. The stars light up my eyes. Love for you turns in my heart Like the sun burns through the sky.
The chorus has an usual placement, standing the middle of the song and containing an equal number of line as each verse, instead of following each verse with fewer lines. Essentially the piece offers three separate octaves, even as the middle octave performs as a chorus.
In this innovative chorus, the narrator has placed a heavy emphasis. While she has offered some concrete details in the opening verse-octave, in the chorus-octave she is stating a general take on what she may likely be thinking about during this particular time period in her life.
She thus has been focusing mentally on things that she and her friend have enjoyed together. But then she adds two images in the first quatrain of the chorus-octave that allow her thoughts to show their natural influences as she experiences weather conditions—specially the warmth of spring and summer and the cold of fall and winter.
The second quatrain of the chorus-octave becomes even more generalized: she is a creature of the river, so closely attuned to river culture that it seems that the very waters of the river flow “through [her] veins.”
The narrators suggests that her happiness is enhanced as if by starlight. She then asserts that she loves her friend with the same intensity that causes the “sun” to burn “through the sky.” The hyperbole serves to suggest the strong emotion that this narrator feels for her friend, their relationship, and the natural features that they have experienced together.
Third Octave/Verse: The Passage of Time
Through the years my heart has filled With love for this old river. I stand here on Paper Mill Bridge. Watch the water and remember The day we paddled down the stream, A cool breeze on my shoulders. The sun shone bright over Paper Mill Bridge And I knew I’d love you forever.
The third octave/verse again focuses on the narrators thoughts about her friend, and now it becomes apparent that they are indeed life partners. But first she places that river into her affections; she has come to love the river, and again, she is standing on the same bridge with pleasant memories coming to the fore.
This time she remembers that like the other folks one might see canoeing down the Whitewater River, she and her partner did such paddling. That day she recalls that she felt a breeze on the skin; it was a “cool breeze”—indicating that it was likely early to mid-spring.
However, she then asserts that over that bridge the sun was beaming down in bright rays. And suddenly, her heart told her then as it is telling her now that she would continue to hold her partner in her heart “forever.”
Second Octave/Chorus: Recurring Images Again
These are the things that fill my day, Things we’ve done together. Sunshine streaming down through the leaves, A storm in the clouds or snow in the fields. River water runs through my veins. The stars light up my eyes. Love for you turns in my heart Like the sun burns through the sky.
The purpose of the repetition remains the exact same purpose that is held for all choruses in songs: to emphasize the sentiment expressed in the verses and perhaps add an extra image or two.
Linda Sue on the new Paper Mill Bridge – Constructed1977– Photo by Ron W. G.
This love song “Dreaming of You Again” features an individual who is musing on his continued feelings for and thoughts about a loved one from whom he has had to separate.
Introduction with Lyric “Dreaming of You Again”
The chorus of “Dreaming of You Again” features a sequence of statements regarding the visions that appear to the individual in his dreams about his beloved: first, he envisions “what could have been”; next, he sees “what would have been,” and finally he insists that he envisions “what should have been.”
Clearly, the individual’s feelings remains so strong that he feels that the two former partners do belong together, although they likely never will again unite. Still, he has his dreams.
Dreaming of You Again
Written by Ron Grimes and Linda Sue Grimes. Performed by Linda Sue Grimes.
Introductory Note by Ron Grimes: This is a song I wrote in 2003. Linda put the song to music. This video was created on January 1st 2023. The scene of us walking along the river was captured January 1st 2023 at Henry Horton State Park in Tennessee. We walked along the Duck River.
Chorus
Dreaming of you again, making up what’s true again Seeing now what we saw then Visions of what could have been—Dreaming of you again
First Verse
Growing quite accustomed to these crazy little dreams of you Just a way to pass the time These crazy little dreams of mine—Dreaming of you again Your face lights up my darkest night, stay with me, hold me tight Show me now what we knew then Help me find that joy again—Dreaming of you again
Chorus
Dreaming of you again making up what’s true again Seeing now what we saw then Visions of what would have been—Dreaming of you again
Second Verse
We both knew you had to leave, you had to grow, you had to breathe It hurt me so to see you cry The night you said your last good-bye—Dreaming of you again Wish you peace and happiness, hope you’ll always have the best And me I’ll have these dream of you Dreams I’ll always hold on to—Dreaming of you again
Chorus
Dreaming of you again, making up what’s true again Seeing now what we saw then Visions of what should have been—Dreaming of you again
Commentary on “Dreaming of You Again”
Dreams figure widely and often in love songs. One of the most popular love songs of the early Rock and Roll movement of the late 1950s and early 1960s was the Everly Brothers’ “All I Have to Do Is Dream.” This song “Dreaming of You Again” offers a unique twist on the dreaming function, as it makes an affirmative claim held by the composer of the lyric.
Chorus: What Could Have Been
Dreaming of you again, making up what’s true again Seeing now what we saw then Visions of what could have been—Dreaming of you again
The singer begins by offering a chorus that sets the stage for the rest of the piece. He has been dreaming about the individual he is addressing, creating mental pictures about what the couple felt and did with some speculation about what could have become for them in future.
First Verse: Crazy Dreams Repeating Themselves
Growing quite accustomed to these crazy little dreams of you Just a way to pass the time These crazy little dreams of mine—Dreaming of you again Your face lights up my darkest night, stay with me, hold me tight Show me now what we knew then Help me find that joy again—Dreaming of you again
The composer begins by offering a chorus that sets the stage for the rest of the piece.He has been dreaming about the individual he is addressing, creating mental pictures about what the couple felt and did with some speculation about what could have become for them in future.
Chorus: What Would Have Been
Dreaming of you again making up what’s true again Seeing now what we saw then Visions of what would have been—Dreaming of you again
Again, the composer repeats the refrain, chant-like, revealing again his visions as well as that they also belonged to his belovèd. This time he claim that those visions would have been reality, if they had remained together to build a life together.
Second Verse: Had to Leave to Breathe
We both knew you had to leave, you had to grow, you had to breathe It hurt me so to see you cry The night you said your last good-bye—Dreaming of you again Wish you peace and happiness, hope you’ll always have the best And me I’ll have these dream of you Dreams I’ll always hold on to—Dreaming of you again
The composer then offers a glimpse into the reason for this couple’s split: the one had to leave to grow and breathe. The lack of specificity allows the listener to fill in the blanks. But such a situation is not unheard of.
Sometimes opportunities do not exist for both partners in one location; thus, they have to separate to reach their goals. It does seem that both partners are sad about the situation.
Nevertheless, the composer has accepted the departure and now hopes that his partner finds the fulfilled life for which the individual had to leave. He wishes his belovèd peace, happiness, and all the best in life. Finally, he asserts that he will continue to engage in the dreams that bring his beloved back to him. He makes peace with the simple enjoyment of dreams instead of reality.
Chorus: What Should Have Been
Dreaming of you again, making up what’s true again Seeing now what we saw then Visions of what should have been—Dreaming of you again
Lest the composer demonstrate too easily the giving in to the way things are, he states that now his dreams are envisioning how things should have been—not merely that they “could” or “would.”
His affirming that they “should have been” is likely offered to rouse new thoughts in the distant former belovèd. If the departed individual is made aware that the composer still thinks they should have remained together, what kind of fire might that thought kindle in the mind of the addressee? Of course, the composer does not address that issue, so the listener can only speculate.
Other Videos by Ron Grimes
Ron in Tennessee – YouTube I am grateful to God for the beauty and gifts of nature, and for all of His blessings.
In the hands of a less skilled artist, the love theme of this lyric often trots out a tired cliché, but Sara Teasdale’s speaker makes it fresh and new.
Introduction and Text of “I Am Not Yours”
Taking the theme of deep and lasting love, the speaker in Sara Teasdale’s “I Am Not Yours” employs the poetic device of hyperbole to convey her emotion. Three riming quatrains using the traditional scheme of ABCB unfold the poem’s drama.
I Am Not Yours
I am not yours, not lost in you, Not lost, although I long to be Lost as a candle lit at noon, Lost as a snowflake in the sea.
You love me, and I find you still A spirit beautiful and bright, Yet I am I, who long to be Lost as a light is lost in light.
Oh plunge me deep in love—put out My senses, leave me deaf and blind, Swept by the tempest of your love, A taper in a rushing wind.
Commentary on “I Am Not Yours”
While lovers are prone to exaggerate in artistic endeavors the level to which they have become part of their love one, this speaker on Sara Teasdale’s “I Am Not Yours” dramatizes a very different approach: a series of negative exaggerations that emphasize the positive.
First Quatrain: No Romantic Exaggeration
I am not yours, not lost in you, Not lost, although I long to be Lost as a candle lit at noon, Lost as a snowflake in the sea.
The speaker directs her words to her beloved in an extraordinary manner, by claiming that she is not possessed by him and that she has not lost herself in his charms. While lovers are prone to exaggerate in artistic endeavors the level to which they have become part of their love one, this speaker dramatizes a very different approach.
Thus this speaker then changes her direction as she proclaims that even though she is “not lost in [him],” she desires wholeheartedly that she might become so. She, therefore, states that she would like to be as is “a candle lit at noon.” A candle at noon would barely show light at all as it would meld with the natural sunlight.
The speaker then asserts that she would like to become part of her beloved as “a snowflake in the sea.” The oceanic presence of her beloved has engulfed her heart in such as way that she can liken herself to the smallness and malleability of a flake of snow melting in the ocean.
The original claim that she does not belong to the addressee has now been set on its head. Although literally it will always be true that she is not his and she is not lost in him, her desire for that blending has caused her imagination to conjure such a state in a majestic manner of metaphorical supremacy.
Second Quatrain: Total Melding of Body, Mind, Soul
You love me, and I find you still A spirit beautiful and bright, Yet I am I, who long to be Lost as a light is lost in light.
The second quatrain confirms that the speaker is, indeed, loved by the target of her desire. As she claims, “I am I,” she hungers for annihilation of self, that is, to melt into her lover. Her drama continues the seeking after total blending of body, mind, and spirit with the beloved.
The speaker continues to wish for that complete melding with her lover, as she has shown from the beginning of her drama. She wants to be totally consumed in the love she feels for him: to be “lost [in him] as light is lost in light.”
Third Quatrain: Annihilation of Separation
Oh plunge me deep in love—put out My senses, leave me deaf and blind, Swept by the tempest of your love, A taper in a rushing wind.
The final quatrain finds the speaker essentially begging for the awareness of her wish to experience complete emersion in her beloved. She pleads, “Oh plunge me deep in love.” The speaker desires to exist so close to her beloved that she has no need to hear or see.
His love and affection will be her only awareness and guide. She begs that all her sense awareness become “swept by the tempest of your love.” Again, the speaker returns to the candle metaphor. She wishes to be so completely subsumed in him that she becomes a “taper in a rushing wind.” No longer is there a separation between the two lovers.
Avoiding the Tired, the Obnoxious, the Clichéd
The theme of this love lyric is a common one for lovers; pop lyrics use it over-abundantly. The idea of becoming so consumed by love that one wishes to melt into one’s lover has long been a cliché; the serious artist who employs this theme works to dramatize it in fresh, original ways.
That freshness is achieved by Teasdale in her opening remarks, “I am not yours, not lost in you” and in her use of light as the substance to which she compares her desired union with her beloved.
She avoids all of the tired and obnoxious sexual connotations that usually appear in portrayals of this theme. This lyric’s elocution remains so elevated that it could be interpreted as a devotee’s prayer to the Divine.
Image: Robert Bly – NYT– Robert Bly striking one of his melodramatic poses
Robert Bly’s “The Cat in the Kitchen” and “Driving to Town Late to Mail a Letter”
The following sample pieces of doggerel “The Cat in the Kitchen” and “Driving to Town Late to Mail a Letter” by Robert Bly exemplify the style of the poetaster and the types of subjects he addresses.
Introduction with Text of “The Cat in the Kitchen”
Two versions of this piece of Robert Bly doggerel are extant; one is titled “The Cat in the Kitchen,” and at the other one is titled “The Old Woman Frying Perch.” They both suffer from the same nonsense: the speaker seems to be spouting whatever enters his head without bothering to communicate a cogent thought.
Bly’s 5-line piece “Driving to Town Late to Mail a Letter” consists of a fascinating conglomeration of images that results in a facile display of redundancy and an unfortunate missed opportunity.
Robert Bly’s penchant for nonsense knows no bounds. Most of his pieces of doggerel suffer from what seems to be an attempt to engage in stream-of-consciousness but without any actual consciousness. The following summary/paraphrase of Bly’s “The Cat in the Kitchen” demonstrates the poverty of thought from which this poetaster suffers as he churns out his doggerel:
A man falling into a pond is like the night wind which is like an old woman in the kitchen cooking for her cat.
About American readers, Bly once quipped that they “can’t tell when a man is counterfeiting and when he isn’t.” What might such an evaluation of one’s audience say about the performer? Is this a confession? Bly’s many pieces of doggerel and his penchant for melodrama as he presents his works suggest that the man was a fake and he knew it.
The Cat in the Kitchen
Have you heard about the boy who walked by The black water? I won’t say much more. Let’s wait a few years. It wanted to be entered. Sometimes a man walks by a pond, and a hand Reaches out and pulls him in.
There was no Intention, exactly. The pond was lonely, or needed Calcium, bones would do. What happened then?
It was a little like the night wind, which is soft, And moves slowly, sighing like an old woman In her kitchen late at night, moving pans About, lighting a fire, making some food for the cat.
Commentary on “Cat in the Kitchen”
The two versions of this piece that are extant both suffer from the same nonsense: the speaker seems to be spouting whatever enters his head without bothering to connect a cogent thought to his images. Unfortunately, that description seems to be the modus operandi of poetaster Bly.
The version titled “The Cat in the Kitchen” has three versagraphs, while the one titled “The Old Woman Frying Perch” boasts only two, as it sheds one line by combining lines six and seven from the Cat/Kitchen version.
First Versagraph: A Silly Question
Have you heard about the boy who walked by The black water? I won’t say much more. Let’s wait a few years. It wanted to be entered. Sometimes a man walks by a pond, and a hand Reaches out and pulls him in.
In Robert Bly’s “The Cat in the Kitchen,” the first versagraph begins with a question, asking the audience if they had heard about a boy walking by black water. Then the speaker says he will not “say much more” when, in fact, he has only asked a question. If he is not going to say much more, he has ten more lines in which not to say it. However, he then makes the odd demand of the audience that they wait a few years.
The speaker’s command implies that readers should stop reading the piece in the middle of the third line and begin waiting”a few years.” Why do they have to wait? How many years? By the middle of the third line, this piece has taken its readers down several blind alleys. So next, the speaker, possibly after waiting a few years, begins to dramatize his thoughts: “It wanted to be entered.” It surely refers to the black water which is surely the pond in the fourth line.
The time frame may, in fact, be years later because now the speaker offers the wobbly suggestion that there are times during which a man can get pulled into a pond by a hand as he walks by the body of water. The reader cannot determine that the man is the boy from the first line; possibly, there have been any number of unidentified men whom the hand habitually stretches forth to grab.
Second Versagraph: Lonely Lake Needing Calcium
There was no Intention, exactly. The pond was lonely, or needed Calcium, bones would do. What happened then?
The second verse paragraph offers the reasoning behind a pond reaching out its hand and grabbing some man who is walking by. The pond didn’t exactly intend to grab the man, but because it was “lonely” or “needed / Calcium,” it figured it would ingest the bones from the man.
Then the speaker poses a second question: “What happened then?” This question seems nonsensical because it is the speaker who is telling this tale. But the reader might take this question as a rhetorical device that merely signals the speaker’s intention to answer the question that he anticipates has popped into the mind of his reader.
Third Versagraph: It Was Like What?
It was a little like the night wind, which is soft, And moves slowly, sighing like an old woman In her kitchen late at night, moving pans About, lighting a fire, making some food for the cat.
Now the speaker tells the reader what it was like. There is a lack of clarity as to what the pronoun “it” refers. But readers have no choice but take “it” to mean the phenomenon of the pond reaching out its hand, grabbing a man who was walking by, and pulling him into the water because it was “lonely, or needed / Calcium.”
Thus this situation resembles what? It resembles soft, night wind which resembles and old lady in her kitchen whipping up food for her cat. Now you know what would cause a lonely, calcium-deficient pond to reach out and grab a man, pull him into its reaches, and consequently devour the man to get at his bones.
Alternate Version: “The Old Woman Frying Perch”
In a slightly different version of this work called “Old Woman Frying Perch,” Bly used the word “malice” instead of “intention.” And in the last line, instead of the rather flabby “making some food for the cat,” the old woman is “frying some perch for the cat.”
The Old Woman Frying Perch
Have you heard about the boy who walked by The black water? I won’t say much more. Let’s wait a few years. It wanted to be entered. Sometimes a man walks by a pond, and a hand Reaches out and pulls him in. There was no Malice, exactly. The pond was lonely, or needed Calcium. Bones would do. What happened then?
It was a little like the night wind, which is soft, And moves slowly, sighing like an old woman In her kitchen late at night, moving pans About, lighting a fire, frying some perch for the cat.
For Donald Hall
While the main problem of absurdity remains, this piece is superior to “The Cat in the Kitchen” because of two changes: “malice” is more specific than “intention,” and “frying perch” is more specific than “making food.”
However, the change in title alters the potential focus of each piece without any actual change of focus.The tin ear of this poetaster has resulted in two pieces of doggerel, one just a pathetic as the other. Robert Bly dedicates this piece to former poet laureate, Donald Hall—a private joke, possibly?
Introduction with Text of “Driving to Town Late to Mail a Letter”
Technically, this aggregate of lines that constitute Robert Bly’s “Driving to Town to Mail a Letter” could be considered a versanelle. The style of poem known as a versanelle is a short narration that comments on human nature or behavior and may employ any of the usual poetic devices. I coined this term and several others to assist in my poem commentaries.
Robert Bly’s “Driving to Town to Mail a Letter” does make a critical comment on human nature although quite by accident and likely not at all what the poet attempted to accomplish. Human beings do love to waste time although they seldom like to brag about it or lie about it, as seems to be case with the speaker in this piece.
Driving to Town Late to Mail a Letter
It is a cold and snowy night. The main street is deserted. The only things moving are swirls of snow. As I lift the mailbox door, I feel its cold iron. There is a privacy I love in this snowy night. Driving around, I will waste more time.
Commentary on “Driving to Town Late to Mail a Letter”
This 5-line piece by doggerelist Robert Bly simply stacks untreated image upon image, resulting in a stagnant bureaucracy of redundant blather. The poet missed a real opportunity to make this piece meaningful as well as beautiful.
First Line: Deserted Streets on a Cold and Snowy Night
It is a cold and snowy night. The main street is deserted.
The first line consists of two sentences; the first sentence asserts, “It is a cold and snowy
night.” That sentence echoes the line, “It was a dark and stormy night, by Edward George Bulwer-Lytton, whose name became synonymous with atrocious writing for that line alone.
There is a contest named for him, “The Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest,” with the subtitle where WWW means “Wretched Writers Welcome.” The second sentence proclaims the emptiness of main street. The title of the poem has already alerted the reader that the speaker is out late at night, and this line supports that claim that he is out and about so late that he is virtually the only one out.
This assertion also tells that reader that the town must be a very small town because large towns will almost always have some activity, no matter how late, no matter how cold.
Second Line: Only the Swirling Snow
The only things moving are swirls of snow.
The second line reiterates the deserted image of the first line’s second sentence, claiming that the only movement about his was the swirling snow. Of course, if the street were deserted, there would be no activity, or virtually no activity, so the speaker’s redundancy is rather flagrant.
The reader already knows there is snow from the first image of a cold and snowy night; therefore, the second line is a throwaway line. The speaker is giving himself only five lines to convey his message, and he blows one on a line that merely repeats what he has already conveyed, instead of offering some fresh insight into his little jaunt into town.
Third Line: Cold Mailbox Door
As I lift the mailbox door, I feel its cold iron
The third line is incredible in it facileness: the speaker imparts the information that he can feel the cold iron of the mailbox door as he lift it before depositing his letter. Such a line might be expected in a beginning poet’s workshop efforts.
The speaker had to have a line that shows he is mailing a letter, and he, no doubt, thinks this does it while adding the drama of “lift[ing] the mailbox door” and adding that he feels the coldness in the letter-box’s iron.
It’s a lame drama at best; from the information offered already both the cold iron and lifting the mailbox lid are already anticipated by the reader, meaning this line adds nothing to the scene.
Fourth Line: “There is a privacy I love in this snowy night”
There is a privacy I love in this snowy night
This line offers the real kernel of poetry for this conglomeration of lines. If the speaker had begun with this line, perhaps revising it to “I love the privacy of a snowy night,” and let the reader go with him to mail his letter, the experience could have been an inspiring one.
The images of the cold, snowy night of privacy, the deserted main street, the swirls of snow, the mailbox door could all have been employed to highlight a meaningful experience. Instead, the poetaster has missed his opportunity by employing insipid redundancy resulting in the flat, meaningless verse.
There is a major difference between Wright’s poem and Bly’s doggerel: Wright’s speaker is believable, genuine, authentic. Bly’s empty verse is quite the opposite in every aspect, especially as Bly’s speaker proclaims he will ride around “wasting more time.” That claim is non-sense. Does he actually believe that mailing a letter is a waste of time? If he does, he has not made it clear why he would think that. It just seems that he has forgotten what the poem is supposed to be about.
In Memoriam: Robert Bly December 23, 1926 – November 21, 2021
Requiescat in Pace.
Poetaster Robert Bly, one of the greatest flim-flam artists that po-biz has ever foisted upon the literary world, has passed on to his reward. Still, Bly remains one of the sacred cows of the contemporary literary world—so often praised that most critics, scholars, and commentarians shy away from pointing out the failings of this celebrated poetaster.
Ironically, among his hagiographies will remain criticism like the one by Suzanne Gordon, “‘Positive Patriarchy’ Is Still Domination: ‘Iron John’: Robert Bly’s devoted followers seem not to grasp what his message really means to women.”
While his recycled mythos, Iron John, surely earned him more financial rewards and much more recognition that his doggerel ever had, that twisted tome will also remain as testimony to the man’s warped thinking. Ironic indeed that the man who thought of himself as a feminist turned out not to have had a feminist bone in his body.
I met Robert Bly at Ball State University during a poetry workshop in the summer 1977. He held private sessions to offer us budding poets criticism of our poetic efforts. As I approached him, he planted a big kiss upon my lips before beginning the critique. Shocked at the impertinence, nevertheless, I just figured that was his way and then flung the incident down the memory hole.
The advice he offered regarding my poem was less than worthless. For example, I had a line, “slow as sorghum on the lip of a jar.” He called that vague and suggested that I somehow work my grandmother into the line, something like “my grandmother’s jar had a rim of sorghum.” (I was 31 years old at the time, but no doubt looked little more than 12).
That idiotic suggestion has colored my view of the man’s poetry, even more than his deceitful claims of “translations.” At the same workshop, he had taught a group of us how to “translate” poems, which was little more than reworking other people’s actual translations.
Anyway, may he rest in peace. He was persistent in his folly, and although William Blake infamously opined, “If a fool persists in his folly, he becomes wise,” it remains doubtful that claim actually applies, especially in Bly’s case.
In her customary fashion, poetaster Sharon Olds offers up this deeply flawed, dishonest hit-piece, “The Victims,” which does little more for humanity than showcase a handful of stark images.
Introduction with Text of “The Victims”
According to noted poetry critic, Helen Vendler, Sharon Olds’ poetry comes across as “self- indulgent, sensationalist, and even pornographic.” And as former poet laureate Billy Collins averred: Olds is “a poet of sex and the psyche” “infamous for her subject matter alone.”
And even though Collins attempted to add some faint praise, “but her closer readers know her as a poet of constant linguistic surprise,” those linguistic surprises consisting of stark images only function to undermine her attempt to produce any genuine poetry.
Although “The Victims” is one of Olds’ least “pornographic” efforts, the piece clearly demonstrates egotistical self-indulgence and egregious sensationalism. Such writing smacks more of loose-mused regurgitation than real cogitation on genuine emotion.
This unhappy piece consists of 26 uneven lines of free verse that sit in a lump chunk on the page and suffer from the customary Oldsian haphazard line breaks.
The Victims
When Mother divorced you, we were glad. She took it and took it in silence, all those years and then kicked you out, suddenly, and her kids loved it. Then you were fired, and we grinned inside, the way people grinned when Nixon’s helicopter lifted off the South Lawn for the last time. We were tickled to think of your office taken away, your secretaries taken away, your lunches with three double bourbons, your pencils, your reams of paper. Would they take your suits back, too, those dark carcasses hung in your closet, and the black noses of your shoes with their large pores? She had taught us to take it, to hate you and take it until we pricked with her for your annihilation, Father. Now I pass the bums in doorways, the white slugs of their bodies gleaming through slits in their suits of compressed silt, the stained flippers of their hands, the underwater fire of their eyes, ships gone down with the lanterns lit, and I wonder who took it and took it from them in silence until they had given it all away and had nothing left but this.
Commentary on “The Victims”
The piece breaks into two parts: the first is a description of how the speaker and her family felt way back a few decades when she was a child, and the second part jumps to what the speaker observes and thinks as an adult.
First Movement: Hindsight Sometimes Less Than 20/20
The speaker of the poem is an adult looking back at the break up of her family roughly around the time that her mother divorced her father. The speaker is addressing the father, telling him how glad she and the family were after the mother divorced the father.
The speaker and her siblings were glad because she “took it // in silence, all those years.” What she, and perhaps they, silently endured is left up to the reader to imagine, and that omission is a major flaw that leads the poem astray.
No two divorces are alike. By leaving such an important motive to the imagination of the reader, the speaker weakens the thrust of her accusations against the father. The only hint of the father’s misdeeds is that he enjoyed three alcoholic beverages with his lunch.
Admittedly, that could present a problem, but by no means does it always do so. Some individuals can handle a few drinks better than others, and the fact that the father seemed to have functioned in his job for a considerable period of time hints that he might have been competent in his job.
On the other hand, the mother influenced her children in a grossly negative way, causing them to hate their father and wish him dead.
Apparently, the mother teaches her children to hate their father simply because he had three double bourbons for lunch or so we must assume because no other accusation is leveled against the poor man.
Maybe the father was a cruel alcoholic, who beat the mother and children, but there is no evidence to support that idea. And if that were the case, stark images of bruises and broken bones would surely have made an appearance in the little drama.
The father was fired from his job, but only after the mother kicked him out. Would he have been able to keep his job to that point in his life, if he had been an out of control, cruel drunk? Perhaps he became depressed and without purpose after being forced to leave his family and sank further into alcohol.
The gratuitous allusion to “Nixon’s helicopter,” carrying the newly resigned president from office, further inserts the nastiness of a political hit-piece, adding nothing to the drama except the suggestion that the family likely voted for Democrats.
One has to wonder if the speaker and her fellow travelers would have “grinned” so readily, if a helicopter had lifted off the South Lawn carrying Jimmy Carter or Bill Clinton.
So the reader has no evidence that the father was guilty of anything, but the mother taught the kids to hate the father and wish for his death. The mother comes across as a less sympathetic character than the father.
Second Movement: Appalling Prejudice Revealed
The speaker now begins her report on what she sees and how she thinks in her current life situation that has been tainted by her past. She begins to observe homeless men sleeping in doorways.
It becomes clear that it is those homeless men in the doorway who are reminding the speaker of her father getting kicked out of their home and getting fired from his job.
The speaker then speculates about those men about whom readers can be sure she knows absolutely nothing. She wonders about the lives of those homeless men, whom she calls “bums.”
She wonders if their families “took it” from those men the way her family supposedly took it from her father. But again, the reader remains clueless about what it is the family “took.”
What an arrogant reaction! Without one whit of evidence that these “bums” did anything to anyone, the speaker simply presumes that they are like her father, who lost it all because of what he (and now they) supposedly did.
But the reader still does not even know what the father did. They do know what the mother did; she taught her children to hate the father and wish him dead.
Stark, Colorful Images
This poem, like many of Sharon Olds’ poems, offers some colorful descriptions. The father’s business suits are rendered “dark / caresses” hanging the closet. His shoes sport “black / noses //with their large pores.”
Those homeless men are name called “bums” because they are lying “in doorways.” Their bodies are dehumanized and portrayed as “white / slugs.”
Those slugs shine “through slits” in compacted dirt, revealing their compromised hygiene after being homeless for a protracted length of time. Their hands resemble “stained / flippers,” again dehumanized.
Their eyes remind this flippant speaker, who lacks compassion for her fellow human beings, of ships that have sunken with their “lanterns lit.”
Would that all of those colorful images resided in a better place and without the lack of humanity this speaker reveals about herself. Those “linguistic surprises,” however, function only to render the speaker and the so-called victims as the actual perpetrators of despicable acts.
Although the speaker wishes to foist bad behavior onto first her father and then onto homeless men, she cannot escape the rebuttal that she has failed to indict her father and that she knows nothing about those homeless “bums.”
This ugly piece remains questionable and appears to have been created solely for the purpose of showcasing a handful of stark, colorful images.
Angela Manalang Gloria’s poem “To the Man I Married” presents an extended metaphor in which the speaker likens her love for her husband to her existential dependence on the earth.
Introduction and Text of “To the Man I Married”
This metaphor functions on both physical and spiritual levels, suggesting that her partner sustains and orients her life in a manner analogous to the natural elements necessary for survival.
To the Man I Married
I
You are my earth and all the earth implies: The gravity that ballasts me in space, The air I breathe, the land that stills my cries For food and shelter against devouring days.
You are the earth whose orbit marks my way And sets my north and south, my east and west, You are the final, elemented clay The driven heart must turn to for its rest.
If in your arms that hold me now so near I lift my keening thoughts to Helicon As trees long rooted to the earth uprear Their quickening leaves and flowers to the sun,
You who are earth, O never doubt that I Need you no less because I need the sky!
II
I cannot love you with a love That outcompares the boundless sea, For that were false, as no such love And no such ocean can ever be. But I can love you with a love As finite as the wave that dies And dying holds from crest to crest The blue of everlasting skies.
Section I
The first section of the poem adheres to the formal structure of the English (or Shakespearean) sonnet, consisting of three quatrains and a concluding couplet.
First Quatrain: The Husband as Life-Sustaining Force
You are my earth and all the earth implies: The gravity that ballasts me in space, The air I breathe, the land that stills my cries For food and shelter against devouring days.
The speaker opens with a striking declaration, asserting her husband’s indispensable role in her existence by comparing him to the earth itself. The metaphor extends through a catalogue of essential elements: gravity, air, land, and sustenance.
These earthly necessities are paralleled with emotional and material support offered by her husband, suggesting that her survival—both physical and emotional—depends as much on him as it does on the natural world.
Second Quatrain: He Provides Orientation and Final Rest
You are the earth whose orbit marks my way And sets my north and south, my east and west, You are the final, elemented clay The driven heart must turn to for its rest.
The second quatrain deepens the metaphor, portraying the husband as the source of direction and purpose in the speaker’s life. The reference to cardinal directions implies that her sense of order and orientation derives from their shared life.
The closing lines evoke mortality and rest, implying that just as the earth will eventually receive her physical body in death, her husband provides emotional and spiritual repose during life.
Third Quatrain: Acknowledging Other Affections
If in your arms that hold me now so near I lift my keening thoughts to Helicon As trees long rooted to the earth uprear Their quickening leaves and flowers to the sun,
Here, the speaker introduces a subtle shift. While affirming her deep attachment to her husband, she also acknowledges her intellectual and spiritual aspirations.
The allusion to Helicon, a mountain sacred to the Muses in Greek mythology, evokes poetic inspiration. Her longing for the transcendent does not diminish her love for her husband; rather, it coexists with it, just as rooted trees still reach toward the sun.
The Couplet: Coexistence of Earthly and Celestial Needs
You who are earth, O never doubt that I Need you no less because I need the sky!
The final couplet affirms the central thesis of the poem: the speaker’s need for transcendence (symbolized by “the sky”) does not negate her need for the grounding, stabilizing presence of her husband (symbolized by “the earth”).
Instead, both are essential, suggesting a balanced view of human experience as encompassing both the corporeal and the aspirational.
Section II
The second part of “To the Man I Married” diverges from the sonnet form and appears in two quatrains, adopting a more reflective tone. Here, the speaker qualifies the grand metaphors of the first section with a more tempered, realistic assessment of love.
First Quatrain: Rejection of Hyperbolic Metaphors
I cannot love you with a love That outcompares the boundless sea, For that were false, as no such love And no such ocean can ever be.
In this stanza, the speaker resists the temptation to describe her love through hyperbole. She dismisses the comparison to the “boundless sea” as false, recognizing the limitations of human emotion and language.
This moment of self-awareness introduces a more grounded view of romantic love.
Second Quatrain: Finite Love Reflecting the Infinite
But I can love you with a love As finite as the wave that dies And dying holds from crest to crest The blue of everlasting skies.
Although she renounces the oceanic metaphor, the speaker reintroduces the image of water through the wave. Unlike the sea, the wave is finite and mortal, yet it captures and reflects the sky’s infinity.
In this subtle turn, Gloria suggests that even within human limitations, love can embody and reflect transcendence.
In his poem, “The Hill Maiden,” Malcolm M. Sedam has created a speaker voicing cheerful vaticination that his teenage angst-ridden protégé will one day shed her nihilism and burst into life affirming joy. The best teachers are those who can inspire as well as instruct their students. This poem represents a stellar example of that kind of inspirational educator.
Introduction and Text of “The Hill Maiden”
Malcolm M. Sedam‘s “The Hill Maiden” features a teacher dramatizing his observations about a particularly inquisitive but melancholy student. His ultimate purpose is to instill in the student the notion that she will ultimately be able to appreciate the life that she seems to disdain.
The poem plays out in three movements of unrimed stanzas. This organization allows the speaker to touch lightly on the physical reality of the subject but then move more intensely to the mental and finally the spiritual possibility of the subject’s inclinations.
Because the speaker can only infer certain facts about his student, the poem remains metaphorically and imagistically implicative instead of unequivocally literal. For example, the teacher has no exact idea what the student does at her home; thus he places her in an image of “moving among the phantom rocks of reverie.”
The teacher/speaker knows from the negativity the student has been expressing to him that she mentally resides among hardness that causes her to imagine that things are worse than they are.
Mentally she travels like a rocket through her ghostly musings until night fall when she sleeps but likely gets little rest, accounting for the nervous, brittle energy the educator perceives in his young scholar.
Likely the adolescent girl is simply suffering the turbulence of teenage angst through which most individuals of that age group must travel. But the best, most effective teachers are those who can inspire as well as instruct their students. This poem represents a stellar example of that kind of inspirational educator.
As an educator, Mr. Malcolm M. Sedam wrote poems to many of his students, always with the goal of inspiring them to high thinking and plain living. Mr. Sedam once said he felt that his function as an educator was “to kick the dirt off of his students.” By that he meant to help them see life more clearly without the fog of stereotypes, prejudice, and provincialism.
The Hill Maiden
(for Linda, over in the valley)
She is moving among the phantom Rocks of reverie hurtling through By mind bringing days into darkness Where the pull of growth rings The heart and spurs the soul
Where her wish strings questions In the mysterious night of snow Bringing a promise that only the hills can sing. Her smile waits behind a frown of swords That rend her days
In the melancholy of the deep valley Of dreams where she lives among flowers Gathering her moods that may bring peace Once the sorrow of lonely distance Has closed on hands—
The same hands that Zen-like reach To answer each knock at the door of her heart Broken to be mended by tender time. Her mind is speeding through a galaxy Of intensity where the blood rose
Will speak to her frozen will All forgiven by decree in warring winds— The nature of her plight? Without wings She will still spring into flight.
Commentary on “The Hill Maiden”
Malcolm M. Sedam’s “The Hill Maiden” features a teacher, who is also a practicing poet, dramatizing his observance of an inquisitively intelligent but extremely melancholy student.
His only purpose is to instill in the student the notion that she will ultimately be able to appreciate the life that she seems now to disdain.
First Movement: Dreaming amongst the Hills
She is moving among the phantom Rocks of reverie hurtling through By mind bringing days into darkness Where the pull of growth rings The heart and spurs the soul
Where her wish strings questions In the mysterious night of snow Bringing a promise that only the hills can sing.
The speaker begins by placing the object of his speculative musing in an image that implies sharp but dream-like rigidity. Rocks appear ghost-like through a dream-scape as they bewilder the mental musings of the young girl with whom the mature educator is engaging both as a poetry mentor as well as a teacher.
Teachers often counsel their students who seek out their advice and direction even in issues outside of the academic sphere as well as within the educational arena. Those teachers who must essentially become counselors will either direct the students to other professionals, or they will attempt to offer their own gleanings from their life experience.
The teacher in this poem demonstrates that he is the latter kind of teacher, and he has given the mind of the young student some serious analysis. Thus he not only describes her environment, but he also speculates and then foreshadows what is likely to befall the girl once she is able to erase her current adolescent fog.
Until that glowing day arrives, however, the speaker sees that the girl’s maturing process weighs heavily on her heart and soul. She is full of questions brought on by the mystery of life.
The “snow” that brings beauty as it covers the hills also brings bitter cold and slippery conditions the cause the girl to miss the music that her hill-valley home affords her.
By pointing out these images of beauty and placing them a context of mystery and difficulty, the speaker hopes to allow his charge to contemplate the possibility that life is real and offers hope to those who search its reaches with an open mind and cheerful heart.
Second Movement: Frowning Swords
Her smile waits behind a frown of swords That rend her days
In the melancholy of the deep valley Of dreams where she lives among flowers Gathering her moods that may bring peace Once the sorrow of lonely distance Has closed on hands—
The same hands that Zen-like reach To answer each knock at the door of her heart Broken to be mended by tender time.
The speaker has observed the teen’s unwillingness to show a cheerful countenance. Her bitterness “behind a frown of swords” likely often gives the mentor a shudder at the likelihood that the girl is suffering intensely.
No doubt, he believes that at this point in her life, she should be dancing merrily among “flowers” and allowing her sorrowful moods to dissolve in the “deep valley of dreams.”
But again, he returns to prognostication that once she has learned to fold her hands in wonder and listen to the love that knocks at the “door of her heart,” her melancholy will be rendered null and void as “tender time” moves her through the rough spots of her anguish.
Again, the speaker chooses beauty—”flowers gathering”—to balance the “frown.” He offers the image of the heart’s door to harmonize with the environment that will reach her with the “Zen-like” hands of mystery and the ultimate gain-of-wisdom.
Like a Zen koan, the riddle of life will remain before her as she continues to search for answers to her perplexing questions.
Third Movement: Springing into Flight
Her mind is speeding through a galaxy Of intensity where the blood rose
Will speak to her frozen will All forgiven by decree in warring winds— The nature of her plight? Without wings She will still spring into flight.
Finally, the speaker makes his most striking vaticination after asserting that his young charge has a strong mind but also a tender heart that is quick to show intense emotion.
That the “blood rose” will speak itself undeniably to the girl’s will portends that all of her negativity and nihilism will be “forgiven” as she continues to navigate through the conflicts that life bestows on all searching souls.
Then the speaker offers the question that he is likely very content to answer. The frustrating situation that befuddles the young scholar’s mind and heart has been implied by all the imagery that went before, but then what will eventually be the path chosen by and/or for the student?
She will be able to navigate through all the trials and tribulations as a bird that so easily lifts it wings to the wind and takes to the air through the abundant space of sky.
The speaker is not so naïve as to insist that such navigation will come easily, but he does remain assured that the path will open to the girl, and she will become willing to follow it. Thus the speaker can conclude affirmatively that “Without wings, she will still spring into flight.”
Offered by a beloved and well-respected mentor, such faith in a young scholar’s ability to navigate life is bound to redound in blessings, despite the pitfalls and rough spots that her life, no doubt, will place sphinx-life before her mind and heart.
“There is a price to be paid for criticizing Obama.” —Jack Cashill
Barack Obama’s “Pop”
In Barack Obama’s “Pop,” the speaker is sketching what appears to be a father-figure—likely Frank Marshall Davis—and offering a glimpse into the relationship between the two. Obama called his maternal grandfather “Gramps,” rendering it unlikely that the father-figure in this poem is Stanley Dunham.
Introduction with Text of “Pop”
The spring 1981 issue of Feast, Occidental College’s literary magazine, published two poems, “Pop” and “Underground,” by erstwhile literary prodigy Barack Obama. According to Jack Cashill, long-time researcher of Obama’s literary efforts, Obama’s writings [1] suffer from, “awkward sentence structure, inappropriate word choice, a weakness for clichés,” and “the continued failure to get verbs and nouns to agree.”
Obama’s poems suffer from similar language indignities but also include further issues relevant to poems, such a faulty line breaks, confusing mixed metaphors, and inappropriate use of surrealist images.
Although readers can forgive a 19-year old for adolescent scribblings in non-sense, especially in poems published in a college lit mag, what they cannot do is discern that this particular adolescent was showing any potential to produce a future writer.
Likely, the future, and now former, occupier of the Oval Office could have become a capable interpretive reader, and it is possible that Barack Obama would have served more admirably as an actor [2] than writer or president.
Barack Obama possesses a unique charm that could have been employed in creative ways, if he had kept his focus on the humanities and entertainment fields instead of politics and government. The Obama administration, tainted by incompetence and corruption [3], has altered the American political landscape more intensely than any other in American history.
For this misdirection, Barack Obama is less to blame than his handlers, beginning with political American terrorist Bill Ayers, continuing with political hacks David Axelrod and Valerie Jarrett.
His coterie of political advisors steered him in a direction that has enriched Obama and that coterie financially, instead of enriching society in a humanitarian field of endeavor. The former president’s piece titled “Pop” consists of one 45-line versagraph [4]. The piece’s awkward, postmodern codswallop represents much of what is despicable and destructive in most postmodern art.
Pop
Sitting in his seat, a seat broad and broken In, sprinkled with ashes, Pop switches channels, takes another Shot of Seagrams, neat, and asks What to do with me, a green young man Who fails to consider the Flim and flam of the world, since Things have been easy for me; I stare hard at his face, a stare That deflects off his brow; I’m sure he’s unaware of his Dark, watery eyes, that Glance in different directions, And his slow, unwelcome twitches, Fail to pass. I listen, nod, Listen, open, till I cling to his pale, Beige T-shirt, yelling, Yelling in his ears, that hang With heavy lobes, but he’s still telling His joke, so I ask why He’s so unhappy, to which he replies… But I don’t care anymore, cause He took too damn long, and from Under my seat, I pull out the Mirror I’ve been saving; I’m laughing, Laughing loud, the blood rushing from his face To mine, as he grows small, A spot in my brain, something That may be squeezed out, like a Watermelon seed between Two fingers. Pop takes another shot, neat, Points out the same amber Stain on his shorts that I’ve got on mine, and Makes me smell his smell, coming From me; he switches channels, recites an old poem He wrote before his mother died, Stands, shouts, and asks For a hug, as I shink, my Arms barely reaching around His thick, oily neck, and his broad back; ‘cause I see my face, framed within Pop’s black-framed glasses And know he’s laughing too.
Commentary on “Pop”
The man addressed in Obama’s “Pop” is likely Frank Marshall Davis, long thought to be Obama’s biological father [5]. Barry called his Grandfather Dunham “Gramps” [6], not “Pop.”
First Movement: Sheltered Young Man
Sitting in his seat, a seat broad and broken In, sprinkled with ashes, Pop switches channels, takes another Shot of Seagrams, neat, and asks What to do with me, a green young man Who fails to consider the Flim and flam of the world, since Things have been easy for me; I stare hard at his face, a stare That deflects off his brow; I’m sure he’s unaware of his Dark, watery eyes, that Glance in different directions, And his slow, unwelcome twitches, Fail to pass.
The speaker places his father-figure in his usual chair where the latter is watching television, enjoying his “Seagrams, neat.” The man, called Pop, begins accosting the young man by flinging at him a rhetorical question: “What to do with me?”
The speaker asserts that Pop thinks his young charge is just a “green young man / Who fails to consider the / Flim and flam of the world.”
Pop counsels the young man that the latter’s sheltered existence is responsible for the young man’s failure to recognize the “flim-flam” world. The speaker then stares at the old man, who exhibits a facial tick, while his eyes dart off “in different directions / And his slow, unwelcome twitches.”
Frank Marshall Davis Is “Pop”
While many reviewers of this poem have interpreted Pop to be Stanley Armour Dunham, the maternal grandfather who raised Obama, the former president’s hagiographer, David Maraniss, in his biography, Barack Obama: The Story, reveals that the poem “Pop” focuses on Frank Marshall Davis [7], not Stanley Armour Dunham.
And the details of the poem all point to the truth of that revelation.That Obama’s grandfather, who raised him, would be addressing such an issue with his young charge is untenable. If the boy is incapable of considering the “flim-flam” of the world, whose fault would that be? It would be the person who raised the kid.
Obama’s relationship with Frank Marshall Davis, however, provides the appropriate station for such a topic of conversation. Davis took it upon himself to help the young Obama see the world through the lens of a black man in America.
Again, if “things have been easy for” the young Barry, it has been the grandfather who made them easy; thus, for the grandfather to be accosting the boy for that supposed flaw would be absurd.
Obama’s grandfather introduced the boy to Davis for the purpose of providing Barry with the advice of an older man who had lived the life of a black man in America. The Dunhams were heavily invested in identity politics as likely members of the Communist Party, as was card carrying member, Frank Marshall Davis [8].
The grandfather was of the inclination that he could never guide a young black boy in certain areas but that Davis could. Whether that sensibility is accurate or not is the topic for another day, but the topic being discussed by the speaker of this poem precludes the poem’s addressing Obama’s white grandfather.
Faulty Line Breaks
Many of the bad line breaks [9] in the poem demonstrate the amateurish nature of the poetaster, who makes the rookie flaw of ending several lines with the definite article “the.”
About Obama’s use of line breaks, poet Ian McMillan sarcastically observes [10]: “Barack likes his line breaks, his enjambments: let’s end a line with ‘broken’ and start it with ‘in’ just because we can!”
Second Movement: Surrealistic Encounter
I listen, nod, Listen, open, till I cling to his pale, Beige T-shirt, yelling, Yelling in his ears, that hang With heavy lobes, but he’s still telling His joke, so I ask why He’s so unhappy, to which he replies… But I don’t care anymore, cause He took too damn long, and from Under my seat, I pull out the Mirror I’ve been saving; I’m laughing, Laughing loud, the blood rushing from his face To mine, as he grows small, A spot in my brain, something That may be squeezed out, like a Watermelon seed between Two fingers.
The speaker then employs a surrealistic style as he continues to describe his encounter with Pop.
The speaker listens politely, nodding occasionally, as the old man declaims, but suddenly the speaker is “cling[ing] to the old man’s “[b]eige T-shirt, yelling / Yelling in his ears.” Those ears have “heavy lobes,” and the old man is “still telling / His joke.” But the speaker then asks Pop, “why / He’s so unhappy.”
Pop starts to respond, but the speaker does not “care anymore, cause / He took too damn long.” The speaker then pulls out a mirror from under his seat.
The confusion here mounts because the speaker had just claimed he was clinging to Pop’s shirt and yelling in the old man’s ear, which would have taken the speaker out of his seat. This confusion adds to the surreal nature of the episode.
After pulling out the mirror, the speaker asserts that he is “laughing, / Laughing loud.” What he does with the mirror is never made clear. But during his outbreak of laughter, Pop “grows small” shrinking to a “spot in [the speaker’s] brain.”
That tiny spot, however, “may be squeezed out, like a / Watermelon seed between / Two fingers.” This shrunken seed image of the speaker’s pop implies a level of disrespect that is quite breathtaking as it suggests that the speaker would like to eliminate Pop from his mind.
Third Movement: Smelling the Stain
Pop takes another shot, neat, Points out the same amber Stain on his shorts that I’ve got on mine, and Makes me smell his smell, coming From me; he switches channels, recites an old poem He wrote before his mother died, Stands, shouts, and asks For a hug, as I shink, my Arms barely reaching around His thick, oily neck, and his broad back; ‘cause I see my face, framed within Pop’s black-framed glasses And know he’s laughing too.
The speaker observes that Pop “takes another shot, neat,” but he probably means that the old man took another sip; it is not likely that the father-figure is measuring out each swig with a shot glass.
With this swig, Pop “points out the same amber / Stain on his shorts that I’ve got on mine, and / Makes me smell his smell, coming / From me.” During the exchange, while clinging to Pop’s shirt, the speaker has stained Pop’s shorts.
And Pop wants the speaker to realize his blame for the stain. At least, that’s one way to interpret the smelling the stain scene.
Others have inferred a sexual reference in the “smelling” scene, but that requires too much of a stretch, that is, a reading into the text what is not there and not implied.
Pop then changes TV channels and “recites an old poem / He wrote before his mother died.” He then rises from his seat, “shouts, and asks / For a hug.”
The younger man realizes his smallness in comparison to the size of Pop: “my / Arms barely reaching around / His thick, oily neck, and his broad back.” But the speaker sees himself reflected in Pop’s “black-framed glasses.” And now Pop is “laughing too.”
The reference to a poem written before Pop’s mother died also eliminates Grandfather Dunham as “Pop.” Dunham was only eight years old, when he discovered the body of his mother who had committed suicide.
The notion that an aged man would be quoting a poem that he wrote before he was eight years old is patently absurd. Plus there is no evidence that Grandfather Dunham ever wrote any poetry, while Frank is famously known as a poet, as well as his other endeavors in political activism and pornography.
“Shink” Is Obviously a Typo and “Know” Is Likely “Now”
Much has been made of the obvious typo in the line, “For a hug, as I shink, my.” The word is obviously “shrink.” Pop had shrunk to the size of a watermelon seed a few lines earlier, and now the speaker shrinks as he realizes how much smaller he is than Pop.
It is quite possible that in the last line “know” is an additional typo, for the word “now” would be more appropriate. It would be nonsensical for the speaker to say he “knows” Pop is laughing when he is right there looking into his face. But it makes sense for him to report that during the hug Pop also begins to laugh.
Interestingly, the editors of the New York Times quietly corrected the “shink” to “shrink” when they published the poems on May 18, 2008, in an article under the title, “The Poetry of Barack Obama [11]”. The editors did not correct the obvious error “know” for “now” in the last line.
Sources
[1]Jack Kerwick. Jack Cashill’sDeconstructing Obama. American Thinker. February 25, 2011.
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