Tag: poems

Poetry Analysis

I’m busy trying to decide what to do with very old blogposts as I was an avid blogger from 2003 to 2011 before I became a librarian. I literally have 1000s of posts that I’m not sure what to do with, so I’m going to selectively add posts that have to do with literature, language, librarianship, reading etc.

From November 2014

夜梦上嵩山，独携藜杖出。
千岩与万壑，游览皆周毕。
梦中足不病，健似少年日。
既悟神返初，依然旧形质。
始知形神内，形病神无疾。
形神两是幻，梦寤俱非实。
昼行虽蹇涩，夜步颇安逸。
昼夜既平分，其间何得失？

A DREAM OF MOUNTAINEERING
At night, in my dream, I stoutly climbed a mountain,
Going out alone with my staff of holly-wood.
A thousand crags, a hundred hundred valleys–
In my dream-journey none were unexplored
And all the while my feet never grew tired
And my step was as strong as in my young days.
Can it be that when the mind travels backward
The body also returns to its old state?
And can it be, as between body and soul,
That the body may languish, while the soul is still strong?
Soul and body–both are vanities;
Dreaming and waking–both alike unreal.
In the day my feet are palsied and tottering;
In the night my steps go striding over the hills.
As day and night are divided in equal parts– Between the two, I get as much as I  lose.
Bai Juyi (772-846) Tr. Arthur Waley

As my daughter gets older our conversations are becoming more interesting. This evening we were discussing the interpretation and analysis of poetry. She’s been looking at Emily Bronte, Rossetti and Bai Juyi. The latter in translation.  But they used the old Wade-Giles transliteration: Po Chü-i so initially she didn’t associate it as being Chinese, once she’d worked that out, of course she went to the original. And then our discussion was about how when you’re analysing something in translation and thinking of word choice, does one consider the choice of the translator or of the original. Naturally in an English class that is filled with English mono-linguals at Grade 7 level, the answer is yes, but how does that work out in a multi-lingual / cultural class where at least some of the students would be able to read the poem in the original?
I was telling her how so many of the poets used homonyms to convey a hidden meaning in their poetry and prose, for example if they were criticising the emperor or local war lord or officials, and then one would have to know what stood for what.  And in fact, if one reads the introduction and background here, it gives some very interesting context.

#Nonfiction Picture books I love

I was just passing our picture book shelf and decided the nonfiction picture books need a bit of love and attention. Here are a few I love for their amazing illustrations and beautiful messages written all within a couple of handfuls of pages.

Picture books are so like poetry – so much can be said with so few choice words. Which reminds me of a beautiful piece I read recently about poetry by Larson Langston

In English, we say: “I miss you.”
But in poetry, we say:
“I trace the shape of your absence in the spaces where your laughter used to linger,
and let the echoes of you fill the hollow hours.”

In English, we say: “I don’t know how to let go.”
But in poetry, we say:
“I carry you in my chest like a stone—
heavy, unyielding, and carved with the sharp edges of what once was.”

In English, we say: “I feel lost.”
But in poetry, we say:
“The compass of my heart spins wildly now,
its needle drawn to places it can no longer call home.”

In English, we say: “I wish it were different.”
But in poetry, we say:
“I water the garden of could-have-beens with tears,
waiting for flowers that refuse to bloom.”

In English, we say: “I hope you’re happy.”
But in poetry, we say:
“May the sun that warms your days
be as kind to you as the first kiss of dew on the dawning light upon the leaves of the laurel that we once made love under”

In English, we say: “You hurt me.”
But in poetry, we say:
“You planted thorns in my chest with hands I once trusted,
and now every breath feels like an apology I shouldn’t owe.”

In English, we say: “I wanted to stay.”
But in poetry, we say:
“I lingered at the edge of your world,
a star burning quietly, unnoticed in your vast, indifferent sky.”

In English, we say: “I’m trying to move on.”
But in poetry, we say:
“I untangle your name from my veins each morning,
only to find it woven into my dreams again at night.”

In English, we say: “I’ll be okay.”
But in poetry, we say:
“I gather the shattered pieces of myself like broken glass,
knowing someday, even scars can catch the light.”

With poetry I write paths through gardens of grace with words in ways my body dare not go as a whole.