divagations, & the friday influence

Elms – C.K. Williams

All morning the tree men have been taking down the stricken elms skirting the broad sidewalks.
The pitiless electric chain saws whine tirelessly up and down their piercing, operatic scales
and the diesel choppers in the street shredding the debris chug feverishly, incessantly,
packing truckload after truckload with the feathery, homogenized, inert remains of heartwood,
twig and leaf and soon the block is stripped, it is as though illusions of reality were stripped:
the rows of naked facing buildings stare and think, their divagations more urgent than they were.
“The winds of time,” they think, the mystery charged with fearful clarity: “The winds of time…”
All afternoon, on to the unhealing evening, minds racing, “Insolent, unconscionable, the winds of time…”

***

The above poem is taken from C.K. Williams’ book “Flesh and Blood”.  This book stands out from the rest of his work because the poems in it consist of eight lines each, a dramatic change from his usual epic poems which tend to sprawl down the page visually.  I say sprawl in a good way; Williams has for most of his career written in a longer line, a line he has worked at, earned, and done amazing things with.

The shorter poems in this book find him working that same line to more intense effects.  “Elms”, for example, has a lot in its eight lines.  Williams first paints the scene vividly, using his adverbs to not only describe but move a poem along.  The “choppers in the street…chug feverishly, incessantly, packing truckload after truckload…”  You almost get the sense of something being shredded in the language itself.

Adverbs tend to be no-no’s in poetry, but they way they serve to build things visually and conceptually makes them work here. Adjectives are another no-no, yet later here we get the surprising juxtaposition of “Insolent, unconscionable.” This move continues the tone of severity while keeping the momentum going in following each other.

After the scene is set, Williams moves on to have the buildings speak.  Nice.  He gets away not only with them speaking but with the phrase “The winds of time”, a cliché if a person says it, but not when buildings do.  How he gets away with it, I don’t know.  But he does, and, as you know, what a poet can get away with is a fascination/aspiration for me.

***

One of the great things about working at a bookstore is the privilege to leaf through hundreds of books on a daily basis.  Once, I came across a scene in a novel where, after writing a poem, a person asks another: Is it a poem, or is it description?  This question has stayed with me and come up during my revision process.  What moves me most about “Elms” is how Williams shows how a long, descriptive line can work in a short lyric and still sing.

***

Happy singing!

J

p.s. Just looked up the word “divagations”.  You should too.

p.p.s.  I got to see the proofs for my upcoming chapbook, The Wall, yesterday.  Maybe I’m excited.  Maybe.  *big grin*

* translation 3/3 on the friday influence

(from Proverbios y Cantares – Antonio Machado) *

XXXII.

Oh faith of meditation!

Oh faith after deep thought!

When a heart returns to earth,

the human cup overflows, and the sea swells.

***

This week, The Friday Influence presents the work of the great Spanish poet Antonio Machado.

I first ran across the above poem during my first trip to Powell’s in Portland two years ago.  I spied Machado’s Poesias Completas on the shelf and immediately flipped through to these lines.

I was moved by the tension between the mind and the senses implied in these lines.  I mean, that’s what it’s like to be overwhelmed, to be interrupted and taken from thought to body.  The sea swells!  I fell in love and took the book home with me.

I see in these lines the days when I am so focused on the page that to be taken away or distracted hurts – mainly it makes me fussy.  Phil Levine once said: when a poem comes, the phone can wait, the knock at the door can wait, it all can wait.  Ignore it.  I respect the necessity for that kind of attention.  I figure: it’s my poetry – if I don’t make time for it and give it the attention it deserves, who will?

I believe this is a shade of what Keats meant when he spoke of the poet as being “the most unpoetical of any thing in existence.”

***

I have enjoyed this three part stint of translating.  I guess four, if you count my riffing around with Goethe.

For this week’s post, I collaborated with Andrea Schreiber, a self-styled polyglot and linguist with a true love of language.  She is also my girlfriend.  Meaning, she puts up with me when I get fussy.  And she has seen Machado’s Spain, the roads he saw, the sea…  She helped steer my translations towards the spirit of the poems.  I thank her.

Here are a few more from Machado:

XXI.

Last night I dreamed that I saw

God and that I spoke with God;

and dreamed that God listened…

later I dreamed I had dreamed.

XXVIII.

Everyone has two

battles to fight:

in dreams, you wrestle with God;

awake, with the sea.

XLI.

It is common knowledge that cups

are used for drinking;

Sadly, it is unknown

what use we have for thirst.

XLIV.

Everything moves on, and everything stays;

it is our lot to move on,

move on making roads,

roads over the sea.

XLV.

To die…and fall like a drop

of ocean back to the ocean?

Or, be what I never could be:

a man, without shadow, without dreams,

a man that goes forward

without roads, without mirrors?

***

Happy forwarding!

J

* all poems translated by Jose Angel Araguz and Andrea Schreiber.  (word to your late night conversations!)