Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Skeletal lamping.


There's some incredibly intelligent, emotive lines to be read in 19 Varieties of Gazelle ("They know there are countries where men and women kiss in the streets, where a man's hand on a woman's knee does not mean an earthquake" from "Goint to the Spring" is absolutely brilliant), but Naomi Shihab Nye's poetry isn't really my style. She's immensely talented, and I'm not knocking her for writing about what she loves to write, although the caveat here is that I just don't really empathize with Nye's stories. It isn't that I don't enjoy slice-of-life poetry - in fact, a frequently thumbed through collection of Mark Doty's poetry sits right in between the Kurt Cobain poster and an unused bottle of hairspray (should I ever feel like fauxhawking it up, I guess) in my dorm room, and Doty's essentially made a living out of writing concise prose about daily lives - but that the poetry in 19 Varieties of Gazelle all, for the most part, has a distinctive bent that I don't particularly relate with, because my heart and emotions and soul are different than the characters Nye portrays in her collection. With that said, as an Italian-American with great respect to his roots and to his family ties, I totally understand and get Nye's relatively universalized anecdotes (the middle eastern trappings could easily be replaced with American or Italian shadings without changing the meaning of her poetry all that much), although family, geneaology, roots - all of those - are not nearly as important to me as they are to Nye. I think I also have a slight problem with how the entire collection, aside from the introductory poem "Flinn, on the Bus," is explicitly about Nye's middle eastern ties. Would it be a terrible thing for me to say, although it would've been counter-intuitive to Nye's point, that I think I would've enjoyed the collection more if she varied the themes of her poetry to the point where it wasn't even a themed collection anymore? Although I get the feeling Nye is an incredibly versatile poet, given the different styles she writes with in 19 Varieties of Gazelle (just look at the structure of each poem - she plays with form quite often, and I have to compliment meant her on how well her language seems to complement the words being said throughout) the divergences in styles aren't enough to spark my interest too much because the poem's themes are all relatively similar to one another. However, because I generally prefer lyrics and surrealistic poetry to the type of poetry Nye specializes in, my opinion should certainly be taken with an enormous grain of salt.

Black lung got you down tonight.


When our class discussed how the portrayal of middle easterners is incredibly unbalanced in the media, the most immediate thought I had was, of course, music-related, because music is normally always on my mind. Specifically, one of my favorite songs by one of my favorite bands - "Suha," by Xiu Xiu. The lyrics, which appear on the bottom of my post, describe a middle-eastern woman who lives a miserable life being abused by her husband, her children, and nearly everyone around her. To describe her as nihilistic and suicidal would be be giving her too little credit; it's essentially the exact opposite of what Shihab Nye describes in all of her poems. As for Xiu Xiu themselves, it'd be a stretch to even refer to Xiu Xiu as a "rock" band, as they incorporate the more avant-garde elements of electronica, classical, traditional Japanese music, and folk, among others, into their sound, but Stewart's beautifully written and occasionally surreal prone is always at the forefront. He has a knack for getting into the head of the characters he rights about, and there are many, whether they be a gay jock-hating teen who secretly harbors lustful thoughts towards his high school's star quarterback or the androgynous young girl looked at with contempt by all her peers, with "Suha" only being one of these characters he portrays expertly. This Suha character is not at all like any of the characters Shihab Nye writes about: Suha has no time to indulge nostalgia (does she even have any positive memories to relive?) like her father does, no sense of pride like her grandmother, and absolutely none of the creative trappings Shihab Nye has, herself. I feel like Shihab Nye's vision of the middle east and its people, while true, is no more true than the depressive and ennui-crippled state of the Suha character in Xiu Xiu's song. They are both showing two sides to the middle eastern paradigm - both sides which need to be addressed by virtually everyone should a lucid picture of the middle east's going-ons be seen without trouble.

Some people might say, that with lyrics as blunt as "I hate my body, I hate the desert" and "I'm going to go hump a cop" that the song is portraying middle eastern women as weak, or stupid, or even lustful. But it's not like Jamie Stewart, Xiu Xiu's frontman and main songwriter, would be considered ignorant of "women's issues" (writing this phrase out left a bad taste in my mouth so I had to put quotes around it to prevent myself from falling into a coma), either. For example, He's open about his bisexuality in nearly every interview he's been in, spent his early twenties as a preschool teacher (a domain oft-thought to be under exclusive reign of women), and has even commented to the music press about how he strongly considered getting a sex change prior to forming the band (he wrote the song "Dr. Troll" about how he's felt like a girl since kindergarten). Stewart's unique position in life simply grants him a greater ability to empathisize with all sorts of personas.

Xiu Xiu - "Suha"
Lyrics written by Jamie Stewart
Link to song on Youtube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GacvwgKA810

Black lung got you down tonight
Saving it all for work
Suha pins her arms to her side
Watching her twin want to die

I hate my body, I hate the desert
Please let me escape
When will I be going home?
I hate my husband, I hate my children
I'm going to hang myself
When will I be going home?

Black hair got you down tonight
Black love, black cuts from your work
Weep like the busted girl you are
Wash down your hope in that car

I hate my body, I hate the desert
Please let me escape
When will I be going home?
I hate my husband, I hate my children
I'm going to hang myself
When will I be going home?

My name is Suha, I'm 25 years old
I'm going to hump a cop
When will I be going home?

Monday, January 24, 2011

And you're the kind of girl I like, because you're empty and I'm empty.

Witch-Wife
Edna St. Vincent Millay

She is neither pink nor pale,
And she never will be all mine;
She learned her hands in a fairy-tale,
And her mouth on a valentine.

She has more hair than she needs;
In the sun 'tis a woe to me!
And her voice is a string of colored beads,
Or steps leading into the sea.

She loves me all that she can,
And her ways to my ways resign;
But she was not made for any man,
And she never will be all mine.

Surrealism is a weakness of mine, and Edna St. Vincent Millay, one of my favorite non-lyric poets, has that in spades. Instead of choosing a more famous poem from Millay, I went with something a little more off the beaten path, although I think Witch Wife stands amongst her best. Straddling the delicate lines between whimsy ("She learned her hands in a fairy-tale, and her mouth on a valentine" - this line alone is a psychosexual, vaguely disturbing-in-a-Lolita way sort of construction begging to be broken down through analysis), vulnerability, and Knocking on Heaven's Door-type defeatism, Millay says a lot with so little. The entire poem is only three stanzas, and it seems like each chunk represents a different, wholly seperate emotion: the first is whimsical, the second is defeatist but still moderately hopeful (the author's praises are unfaltering even here), and the third is plaintive numbness upon realizing the Witch Wife could never give herself to the author completely.