Epitaph for Ben Sonnenberg
But still!
being but a tree
one cannot ask them
pines touched by his sleeve's passing
where to go
I know not
when he was buried
glancing over the land
going up that road
("to wait for a faraway person" sounding like the word for "pines")
under the pines
when spring came along the road
my beloved prince
he will have been perfect
while the shining days are piled up
how strangely awful
to utter it
on the death and burial of one prince
this is a song.
This is a song on the death and burial of one prince
to utter it how strangely awful
while the shining days are piled up
he will have been my beloved prince
when spring came along the road under the pines
(the word for "pines" sounding like the word "to wait for a faraway person")
going up that road, glancing over the land
when he was buried
I know not where to go
pines touched by his sleeve's passing one cannot ask them
being but a tree, but still!
ANNE CARSON
Already how rich the conversation is, and how I look forward to dipping in when I've more than a moment to commit to my commitment not to miss the date with our 2nd.
ReplyDeleteThis poem, admittedly, is one I enjoy reciting over and over for the sound and meaning it brews on the tongue with each reading; and it's a nod to Ruth looking to new poets while I look to new works from "old" poets. (And just today I was re-reading the letters of Elizabeth Bishop...)
Gene, this is beautiful - sorrowful, tender and lost. I love the thought of your speaking it as you walk along. Because of you, I also read about Anne Carson and her longing - a book memorial - for her dead and long-lost brother, and of Elizabeth Bishop. These are amazing doors to have opened in yesterday's late evening. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteYes, this is lovely. One cannot ask them / being but a tree, but still! I'm one who asks and has a hard time accepting that no answers can be articulated. But poems help.
ReplyDeleteCarolyn, I've got to dig up Carson's translations of Sappho for you. You would love them. Thick with sensuality along with the longing. She is such an interesting poet: So smart, so intellectual, and yet wrought with tentacled emotion.
ReplyDeleteOf course I had to look up Ben Sonnenberg (so much I don't know: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ben_Sonnenberg).
ReplyDeleteAnd then I had to wonder about the structure of the poem (shaped like a trees). And then I realized the bottom half of the poem repeats the top half but backwards!
I still don't understand it (I am plodding sometimes) but I like reading it over ("to wait for a faraway person").
And Carolyn, we have Anne Carson's book for her brother (Vox) -- come borrow it...
Don't we all plod? (Well, I suppose many don't.) That's one of the great aspects of poetry -- that the reader has to work (or plod!) as hard as the poet.
ReplyDeleteRuth, I've been meaning to ask you this since we first started talking about Carson. Is your book really Vox, with a V? Mine is Nox, with an N.
Ruth, This site is great. You all have noticed things I didn't begin to see; such as the bottom half mirroring the top half. I felt the repetition but didn't recognize the inverse duplication. What thinks you all about the faraway person sounding like pines and the pines sounding like a word for a faraway person?
ReplyDeleteGene: Indeed, I've been confusing the name of her book for months now (for VOX = voice made more sense to me than NOX = nitrogen oxide). Sorry for the confusion. It makes more sense now -- I just looked up Nox (on the some web browser tab I used to look up a word Carson used in the poem (Sleepchains) I just posted).
ReplyDeleteNox — n — Greek counterpart: Nyx the Roman goddess of the night
cic·a·trix — 1.Physiology . new tissue that forms over a wound and later contracts into a scar.
2. Botany . a scar left by a fallen leaf, seed, etc.
So Nox it henceforth is!
Pamela: This site owes much to you, and I feel your presence every time someone posts.
ReplyDeleteThis poem I'm still puzzling over. The word for faraway person doesn't sound at all like pines. Oh, maybe I just got part of it -- not the literal words, but the sound.