After about an hour of searching, I finally found an anatomy poem that I liked. This poem caught my eye because of the way it Incorporated everything that goes into a soup. This poem breaks down the soup into parts that are oftentimes overlooked by people who eat soup from a can. He even includes articles such as the saucer, spoon, and napkin as a part of the meal. After reading this poem, I wondered who Molina was and what she thought of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
"The Soup" by Gary Soto
The lights off, the clock glowing 2:10,
And Molina is at the table drawing what he thinks is soup
And its carrots rising through a gray broth.
He adds meat and peppers it with pencil markings.
The onion has gathered the peas in its smile.
The surface is blurred with the cold oils squeezed from a lime.
He adds hominy and potato that bobIn a current of pork fat, from one rim to the other,
Crashing into the celery that has canoed such a long way.
Spoon handle that is a plank an ant climbs.
Saucer that is the slipped disk of a longhorn.
Napkin that is shredded into a cupful of snow.
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The poem I chose to use is Tuli Kupferberg's "Greenwich Village Of My Dreams." I chose this poem because he lists at length certain events that took place in Greenwich Village, New York. We discussed in class that lists can be used to remember things. I like this poem because it is clearly a period piece. Greenwich Village is not very much like is described in the poem anymore, so it seems as though it could be a device to remember it, the way that it used to be. This is shown in the poem itself as it lists all the events, and then it states,"The world an art/Life a joy/The village come alive again," as if it is asking or demanding that it returns to what it used to be. I also enjoy how it seems to gain momentum and then it's almost as if there is a breath that is taken and then it's grounded again.
ReplyDeleteA rose in a stone.
Chariots on the West Side Highway.
Blues in the Soviet Union.
Onions in times square.
A Japanese in Chinatown.
A soup sandwich.
A Hudson terraplane.
Chess in a Catskill bungalow.
Awnings in Atlanta.
Lewisohn stadium in the blackout.
Brooklyn beneath the East River.
the waves passover.
The Battery in the startling sunlight.
Kleins in Ohrbachs.
Love on the dole, Roosevelt not elected.
Hoover under the 3rd Ave El
Joe Gould kissing Maxwell Bodenheim
& puffing on his pipe
Edna Millay feeling Edmund Wilson
Charlie Parker & Ted Joans talking
in Sheridan Sq Park & its cold man!
The Cedar St Bar with Cedars in it
& autos crashing against the cedars
The Chase Manhattan Bank closed
down for repairs. To open as the
new Waldorf Cafeteria.
Lionel Trilling kissing Allen Ginsberg
after great Reading in the Gaslight
The Limelight changes its name to
the Electric Light & features
Charlie Chaplin as a s(w)inging
waiter
Edgar Allen Poe becoming the dentist
in the Waverly dispensary & giving
everyone free nitrous oxide high
Louis getting thrown out of Louis'
San Remo stepping up to the bar &
asking for a wet martini
The Charleston on Charles St
featuring my Sister Eileen
& the Kronstadt sailors.
Max Eastman & John Reed
buying Gungawala hashish candy
at the German Delicatessen on 6th
Ave and West 4th Street.
Tourists bringing pictures to sell
to artists in their annual disposition.
Civilians telling cops to move on
Coffeehouses that sell brandy
in their coffee cups
Eugene O'Neill insisting on coffee
John Barrymore in the offbroadway Hamlet
Walt Whitman cruising on MacDougal
Ike & Mamie drunk in Minettas
Khrushchev singing peat bog soldiers
in the circle (with a balalaika)
Everybody kissing & hugging squeezing
Khrushchev & Eisenhower a big fat kiss
The world an art
Life a joy
The village come to life again
I wake up singing
I that dwell in New York
Sweet song bless my mouth
Beauty bless my eyes
Song of the world
Fly forth from dreams!
How beautiful is love
And the fruit thereof
Holy holy holy
A kiss and a star
1960
I think this is a good example of a catalog/list poem because the speaker in the poem is almost spontaneously remembering a certain event while they are speaking. I liked this poem personally not only for its spontaneous nature, but the narrative characteristics that pop out to the reader. I also like this poem for its sadness and the nostalgic manner of wanting to be remembered.
ReplyDeleteThe Way Of The Coventicle Of The Trees
Hayden Carruth
Just yesterday afternoon I heard a man
Say he lived in a house with no windows
The door of which was locked on the outside.
This was at a party in New York, New York.
A deep Oriental type, I said to myself,
One of them indescribable Tebootans who
Habitate on Quaker Heights and drink
Mulled kvass first thing every morning
With their vitamins. An asshole. And
Haven't I more years than he? Haven't
I spent them looking out the window
At the trees? Oh the various trees.
They have looked back at me with their
Homely American faces: the hemlocks
And white birches of one of my transient
Homes, the catalpas and honey locusts
Of another, the sweet gum and bay and
Coffee trees, the hop hornbeam and the
Spindle tree, the dogwood, the great.
Horse chestnut, the overdressed pawpaw
Who is the gamin of that dominion.
Then, behind them, the forest, the sodality.
What pizzazz in their theorizing! How fat
The sentimentibilities of their hosannas!
I have looked at them out the window
So intently and persistently that always
My who-I-am has gone out among them
Where the fluttering ideas beckon. Yes,
We've been best friends these sixty-nine
Years, standing around this hot stove
Of a world, hawking, phewing, guffawing,
My dear ones, who will remember me
For a long, long time when I'm gone.