ModPo 2013 #20 Beauty in the Broken: On Williams' "Between Walls"

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Between Walls

the back wings
of the

hospital where
nothing

will grow lie
cinders

In which shine
the broken

pieces of a green
bottle

- William Carlos Williams

-----------------------------------

Finding beauty in what is broken is really a modernist impulse. You won't really find it in traditional poetry. I find in the repeated mention of broken glass in Williams' poems an attempt to really flesh out this image of brokenness. One could read it as that: something is simply broken. But he imbues it with the color of growth, with the color of spring. In this poem, the broken green glass is the only thing that shines. 

I can almost imagine Dr. Williams leaning over the balcony of the back wings of the hospital looking for something to pin his focus on. He is looking for his focal point of meditation. And there, among the cinders, something mimics the stars. It is only a broken green bottle but it is a revelation. It is a moment of epiphany. 

This takes me back to my ars poetica. Poetry is a conversation but it is also a shared glimpse into something. It may be something new. It may be something beautiful. It is a view that prompts the writer to take the reader's hand. "Come, look!" the writer says. It will be worth it. No need to look up at the stars. It reminds me of Stevens' line on the thin men of Haddam. Do you not see what is at your feet? Stay grounded, here, between the hospital walls. Look down at the ground and find among the ashes what shines. It is an invitation to find in the ordinary, in the mundane, in the dullness, even in the ugliness...a brilliant moment to keep. 

ModPo 2013 #12 Abandonment and Epiphany: On Armantrout's "The Way"

My own drawing. :-)

Note: I am currently taking a course on Coursera.org called Modern and Contemporary American Poetry taught by Al Filreis of the University of Pennsylvania. I will be posting my thoughts on the course discussions here.

The Way

BY RAE ARMANTROUT


Card in pew pocket
announces,
“I am here.”

I made only one statement
because of a bad winter.


Grease is the word; grease
is the way

I am feeling.
Real life emergencies or

flubbing behind the scenes.

As a child,
I was abandoned

in a story
made of trees.

Here’s the small
gasp

of this clearing
come “upon” “again”
______________________

I agree with the video discussion: this is the most difficult poem of week 2! Guidance was definitely needed for this poem. I even missed the meaning of "pew pockets," to think I grew up a Catholic. I also would have totally missed the collage of "I's" if I didn't sit in the discussion.


But, having read the poem in full appreciation, I must say that I am enchanted. Before the video discussion, I did catch a glimpse of the magical in the phrase "a story/ made of trees." There's something about it that invites further reading. And, yes, I was rewarded. I wrote in my notes: "Something magical in the fractures."


Why are difficult poems worth reading? Well, this one in particular, was a revelation. There are multitudes of "I's" but there is, ultimately, the I that has emerged from reading. Because, I am an advocate of reading, this poem holds special significance to me. I am always worried about whether my children will be readers. Maybe because I have "trophy parent" tendencies or maybe because I just want them to experience what I did in my childhood.


I love that notion: "I was abandoned/ in a story/ made of trees." I forget that reading is abandonment if it is truly enjoyable. No one can force anyone to read. But once the reading begins...there is a sense of abandonment. Not in a negative sense...but in a context of pure play, pure exploration. One must abandon one's children to reading if they are to enjoy it.


As a parent, that was reassuring to me. I need to let go some more!


And lastly, I loved that "into the woods" gasp in the clearing. For me, it stands for epiphany, one of my ars poetica elements. Let's stop here: "Once upon a time..." Those were my favorite few words, growing up. I couldn't wait to read. I wanted to hear the story. And then I would tell the stories to my own siblings. There is a moment of surprise, a moment of discovery that defines the life of a reader...and also the life of a writer. Combined with Cid Corman's notion of relationship, Armantrout's story of abandonment and epiphany help me see reading (and writing) in a new light.

Epiphany

by Justine C. Tajonera

One day
you will see
your feet
at the bottom
of the pond
clearly.
But not before
having muddied
it with
your movement
and not after
you have shifted
your gaze
elsewhere.

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