The Question -- Wilfred Gibson

(Poem #830) The Question I wonder if the old cow died or not. Gey bad she was the night I left, and sick. Dick reckoned she would mend. He knows a lot-- At least he fancies so himself, does Dick. Dick knows a lot. But maybe I did wrong To leave the cow to him, and come away. Over and over like a silly song These words keep humming in my head all day. And all I think of, as I face the foe And take my lucky chance of being shot, Is this -- that if I'm hit, I'll never know Till Doomsday if the old cow died or not. -- Wilfred Gibson

Note:
  Gey (adj.): Considerable, `tolerable', `middling': esp. of quantity or
  amount. Scots, variant of 'gay'. -- OED

We've run a lot of war poems, but nothing quite like today's. Which is
rather surprising - in retrospect, this ought to be a more common
perspective on the subject. Gibson's portrayal of the soldier - who, in the
midst of the battle, and with death a distinct possibility, can only think
of an minor unresolved matter that he will now 'never know till Doomsday' -
is incongruous, yes, but definitely not unconvincing.

The language has an appealing quality to it, too. Overlaid upon the
deliberately rustic sound are some wonderfully flowing phrases, like

   Dick reckoned she would mend. He knows a lot--
   At least he fancies so himself, does Dick.

and the unexpected 'lucky chance of being shot'. The rhythm also follows the
'over and over like a silly song' nature of the poet's obsessive thoughts,
as do the several repeated phrases.

Biography: poem #622

Links:

  I did think of rounding up all the war poems we'd run in Minstrels, but
  there were just too many of them. We are working on categorising the
  archive, at which point there will indeed be a complete list of war poems.

-martin

It dropped so low in my regard -- Emily Dickinson

Guest poem submitted by Caroline Mann:

(Poem #829) It dropped so low in my regard It dropped so low in my regard I heard it hit the ground, And go to pieces on the stones At the bottom of my mind; Yet blamed the fate that fractured, less Than I reviled myself For entertaining plated wares Upon my silver shelf. -- Emily Dickinson

This is one of my favorite poems because of the thought expressed. I love
the
inherent ambiguity and the powerful resolution. It is a perfect example of
Dickinson's strong ability to express intangible ideas with physical and
metaphorical imagery. She turns abstractions into overcoming inventions.
Suddenly, self-delusion becomes a crashing plate; the reader can just hear
the
shattering regret. Of course, this is only my vision; the poem is highly
interpretational.

As with most of Dickinson's work, this poem is condensed truth. Her rhythm
is
flawless, and the diction is beyond accurate. Dickinson was known to obsess
over word choice. Mostly, I love her for her complexity, possessing quietude

and urgency all at once. She is a truly magnificent poet.

Caroline.

[Minstrels Links]

Emily Dickinson:
Poem #92, There's a certain Slant of light
Poem #174, A Route of Evanescence
Poem #341, The Grass so little has to do -
Poem #458, The Chariot
Poem #529, If you were coming in the fall
Poem #580, Split the Lark
Poem #687, Success is counted sweetest
Poem #711, I'm Nobody! Who are you?

Where Go the Boats? -- Robert Louis Stevenson

(Poem #828) Where Go the Boats? Dark brown is the river, Golden is the sand. It flows along for ever, With trees on either hand. Green leaves a-floating, Castles of the foam, Boats of mine a-boating-- Where will all come home? On goes the river And out past the mill, Away down the valley, Away down the hill. Away down the river, A hundred miles or more, Other little children Shall bring my boats ashore. -- Robert Louis Stevenson

        (A Child's Garden of Verses, XIV)

Few poets can capture the spirit of childhood in quite the way Stevenson can.
The world a child inhabits is in several dimensions bigger, richer and
altogether more magical than the 'real' one, and Stevenson's poems bring out
that difference admirably, blending the real world seamlessly with that of
the imagination, and tossing in details like 'it flows along forever' and
'castles of the foam' for the child's eye view.

As always, note the wonderful imagery, the *feel* of vast distances and
enchanted journeys, the gently rippling rhythm, and the typically
Stevensonian ending (the 'other little children' in far away places is a
recurrent theme in 'A Child's Garden of Verses').

Links:

Biography: poem #20

Other Stevenson poems on Minstrels:

Poem #20, 'Requiem'
Poem #84, 'From a Railway Carriage'
Poem #290, 'Bed in Summer'
Poem #450, 'Auntie's Skirts'
Poem #780, 'The Vagabond'

-martin

Strawberries -- Edwin Morgan

(Poem #827) Strawberries There were never strawberries like the ones we had that sultry afternoon sitting on the step of the open french window facing each other your knees held in mine the blue plates in our laps the strawberries glistening in the hot sunlight we dipped them in sugar looking at each other not hurrying the feast for one to come the empty plates laid on the stone together with the two forks crossed and I bent towards you sweet in that air in my arms abandoned like a child from your eager mouth the taste of strawberries in my memory lean back again let me love you let the sun beat on our forgetfulness one hour of all the heat intense and summer lightning on the Kilpatrick hills let the storm wash the plates -- Edwin Morgan

Sumer is icumen in, which means (in England, at least) Wimbledon, Ascot and
the Ashes. Oh, and strawberries in cream - hence today's choice of poem.

Truth to tell, though, the strawberries of the title are rather incidental
to the poem, which is mostly about love, and memory, and experience. No,
wait, I take that back: the strawberries may be incidental, but that's
entirely the point - the poem is about incidents, about the million and one
little things that make life worth living. The events described may be just
one story out of many, but they're no less real and no less important for
that.

thomas.

[Minstrel Links]

The magic of the ordinary is a theme which runs through much of Edwin
Morgan's work; see, for instance, his justly celebrated "The Unspoken",
Minstrels Poem #147. See also Seamus Heaney's "Song", Minstrels Poem #61.

Morgan's poetry also has a strong undercurrent of humour; see Minstrels
Poem #215, "The Loch Ness Monster's Song", and Minstrels Poem #304, "The
Subway Piranhas". I find his playfulness a welcome relief in an age
where poets often take themselves all too seriously.

Finally, while we're on the subject of berries, see William Carlos Williams'
equally evocative slice-of-life, "This Is Just To Say", Minstrels Poem #274.

Self-Abandonment -- Li Po

(Poem #826) Self-Abandonment I sat drinking and did not notice the dusk, Till falling petals filled the folds of my dress. Drunken I rose and walked to the moonlit stream; The birds were gone, and men also few. -- Li Po

Translated by Arthur Waley.

I find Arthur Waley a rather unsympathetic translator of Li Po; often, he
seems irked by the poet's carefree hedonism [1], preferring the austerity
and elegance of, say, Tu Fu or Wang Wei. As a result, his translations seem
strained, insincere; they have none of the supple beauty of Sam Hamill's, or
even Ezra Pound's.

That said, there are occasions on which Waley gets things exactly right;
this is one of them. "Self-Abandonment" captures the beauty that lies on the
other side of perception, the beauty of the unspoken, the unseen, the
unknown. It's almost Zen-like in its rejection of character and plot, and
yet, in a mysterious, moonlit sort of way, it works - and it's absolutely
wonderful.

thomas.

[1] Not without cause, it must be said:
        "In outward personality [Li Po] was the more tiresome sort of
bohemian: vain and untrustworthy, an irresponsible citizen, a careless
friend (once the conventional pieties of 'friendship verse' have been
discounted), an indifferent husband and a terrible drunk."
        -- from a review of Simon Elegant's 1997 translation of Li Po's mock
autobiographical tale, "A Floating Life". The full review is at
[broken link] http://olimu.com/Journalism/Texts/Reviews/LiPo.htm

[Biography]

A Li Po biography has already featured on the Minstrels, accompanying
Poem #504, "About Tu Fu". So here's an Arthur Waley biography instead:

Waley, Arthur David

  born Aug. 19, 1889, Tunbridge Wells, Kent, Eng.
  died June 27, 1966, London
  original name Arthur David Schloss

English sinologist whose outstanding translations of Chinese and Japanese
literary classics into English had a profound effect on such modern poets as
W. B. Yeats and Ezra Pound. (The family name was changed from Schloss to
Waley, his mother's maiden name, at the outset of World War I.)

Educated at Rugby School and at King's College, Cambridge, Eng., Waley was
assistant keeper in the Department of Prints and Drawings at the British
Museum from 1913 to 1929 and lectured thereafter in the School of Oriental
and African Studies, London.

Among his most outstanding and influential translations are 170 Chinese
Poems (1918), Japanese Poems (1919), and the six-volume translation of The
Tale of Genji (1925-33), by Murasaki Shikibu, which is one of the oldest
novels extant in the world. This novel faithfully depicts aristocratic life
in 11th-century Japan, as does a work by another court lady, which Waley
translated as The Pillow-Book of Sei Shonagon (1928). He also wrote on
Oriental philosophy and translated and edited the Analects of Confucius
(1938).

Waley's other works include The No Plays of Japan (1921), Introduction to
the Study of Chinese Painting (1923), The Opium War Through Chinese Eyes
(1958), and The Ballads and Stories from Tun-huang (1960).

        -- EB

[Minstrels Links]

Li Po poems:
Poem #504, About Tu Fu
Poem #683, To Tu Fu from Shantung
Poem #749, Parting
Poem #794, In the Quiet Night
Poem #70, The River-Merchant's Wife: A Letter
Note that the last named above was translated by Ezra Pound; his translation
is said to be very different from the Chinese original.