stonepicnicking_okapi: okapi (poetry)
[personal profile] stonepicnicking_okapi
Last month, as part of [profile] lunabee43's excellent Poetry Jam 2020, I read Elizabeth Bishop's Geography III, which includes what I think of as is the classic modern villanelle (that isn't the Dylan Thomas one) "One Art." My favourite work of the collection was "12 O'clock News" and I hope to do a fannish send-up of it for April, but my second favourite was this one.

Five Flights Up by Elizabeth Bishop

Still dark.
The unknown bird sits on his usual branch.
The little dog next door barks in his sleep
inquiringly, just once.
Perhaps in his sleep, too, the bird inquires
once or twice, quavering.
Questions---if that is what they are---
answered directly, simply,
by day itself.

Enormous morning, ponderous, meticulous;
gray light streaking each bare branch,
each single twig, along one side,
making another tree, of glassy veins...
The bird still sits there. Now he seems to yawn.

The little black dog runs in his yard.
His owner's voice arises, stern,
"You ought to be ashamed!"
What has he done?
He bounces cheerfully up and down;
he rushes in circles in the fallen leaves.

Obviously, he has no sense of shame.
He and the bird know everything is answered,
all taken care of,
no need to ask again.
---Yesterday brought to today so lightly!
(A yesterday I find almost impossible to lift.)

Date: 2020-03-05 03:54 pm (UTC)
lunabee34: (Default)
From: [personal profile] lunabee34
We have really similar tastes so far in these collections.

Date: 2020-03-06 02:39 am (UTC)
lunabee34: (Default)
From: [personal profile] lunabee34
*hugs*

I am not currently unhappily married, but my husband and I are just emerging from a really rough couple of years, so I feel you. I completely understand why that content might not appeal to you.

My copy just came through ILL today, and I haven't even looked at it yet.

Date: 2020-03-10 06:18 pm (UTC)
ancientreader: deep blue sky with scattered clouds (prospect park sky)
From: [personal profile] ancientreader
This poem makes me think about how often shame is inflicted or expected when it makes no sense, has no place, is only a means of being unkind; and how often (though this seems to be outside the poem's scope) those who ought to feel shame ... don't.

Your other comment exchange here makes my heart hurt for you. Hugs if wanted, or anyway just affection.

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