{"id":3043,"date":"2021-11-06T16:52:41","date_gmt":"2021-11-07T00:52:41","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/antoine.wojdyla.fr\/blog\/?p=3043"},"modified":"2021-12-06T08:55:57","modified_gmt":"2021-12-06T16:55:57","slug":"poetry-interlude","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/antoine.wojdyla.fr\/blog\/2021\/11\/06\/poetry-interlude\/","title":{"rendered":"Poetry interlude"},"content":{"rendered":"

During the pandemic, I had the leisure to read more poetry, and revisit some poems that I have enjoyed over the years. Here’s a small selection: they’re mostly about love, for it is the most pleasant subject of poetry and something that philosophy isn’t capable to treat seriously (see Poetry as philosophy in action<\/a>.)<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Waterfalls \u2013 Thomas Danthony<\/a><\/p>\n<\/div>

We’ll start by English poets, with Lord Byron, a giant of poetry (where I came to by way of Stendhal):<\/p>\n

6.
\nPerhaps the workings of defiance stir
\nWithin me\u2014or perhaps a cold despair,
\nBrought on when ills habitually recur,
\nPerhaps a kinder clime, or purer air
\n(For even to this may change of soul refer,
\nAnd with light armour we may learn to bear),
\nHave taught me a strange quiet, which was not
\nThe chief companion of a calmer lot.<\/p>Lord Byron \u2013 Epistle to Augusta<\/a><\/p><\/blockquote>

<\/p>\n

The next one is his from his good friend Shelley, whose poetry I became aware reading Bertrand Russell:<\/div>\n

One word is too often profaned
\nFor me to profane it,
\nOne feeling too falsely disdained
\nFor thee to disdain it;
\nOne hope is too like despair
\nFor prudence to smother,
\nAnd pity from thee more dear
\nThan that from another.<\/p>I can give not what men call love,
\nBut wilt thou accept not
\nThe worship the heart lifts above
\nAnd the Heavens reject not,\u2014
\nThe desire of the moth for the star,<\/em>
\nOf the night for the morrow,<\/em>
\nThe devotion to something afar<\/em>
\nFrom the sphere of our sorrow?<\/em><\/p>Percy Bysshe Shelley \u2013 To \u2014<\/a><\/p><\/blockquote>

Between English and American poetry stands W.H. Auden, who I discovered\u00a0 through Shoshana Zuboff, who made beautiful introduction to chapters using his Sonnets From China<\/a>. This piece is a beautiful reflection on what society has to lose if it doesn’t care for the natural world:<\/p>\n

2.
\nA well-kempt forest begs Our Lady\u2019s grace;
\nSomeone is not disgusted, or at least
\nIs laying bets upon the human race
\nRetaining enough decency to last;
\nThe trees encountered on a country stroll
\nReveal a lot about a country\u2019s soul.<\/p>A small grove massacred to the last ash,
\nAn oak with heart-rot, give away the show:
\nThis great society is going to smash;
\nThey cannot fool us with how fast they go,
\nHow much they cost each other and the gods.
\nA culture is no better than its woods.<\/p>W.H Auden \u2013 Bucolics<\/a><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

I met Szymborska through a book a friend offered me, and I will be forever grateful for it. Her poems have a beautiful fluidity and great sense of humor, and “Advertisement” makes me think of what we are forced to do when describe ourselves on dating apps \u2013 or when you give up and embrace the flow:<\/div>\n

I\u2019m a tranquilizer.
\nI\u2019m effective at home.
\nI work in the office.
\nI can take exams
\non the witness stand.
\nI mend broken cups with care.
\nAll you have to do is take me,
\nlet me melt beneath your tongue,
\njust gulp me
\nwith a glass of water.<\/p>I know how to handle misfortune,
\nhow to take bad news.
\nI can minimize injustice,
\nlighten up God\u2019s absence,
\nor pick the widow\u2019s veil that suits your face.
\nWhat are you waiting for\u2014
\nhave faith in my chemical compassion.<\/p>You\u2019re still a young man\/woman.
\nIt\u2019s not too late to learn how to unwind.
\nWho said
\nyou have to take it on the chin?<\/p>Let me have your abyss.
\nI\u2019ll cushion it with sleep.
\nYou\u2019ll thank me for giving you
\nfour paws to fall on.<\/p>Sell me your soul.
\nThere are no other takers.<\/p>There is no other devil anymore.<\/p>Wis\u0142awa Szymborska \u2013 Advertisement<\/a><\/p><\/blockquote>

I recently discovered Adam Zagajewski (another Polish poet) who plays with imagery and split thoughts with an exacting precision:<\/p>\n

I haven\u2019t written a single poem
\nin months.
\nI\u2019ve lived humbly, reading the paper,
\npondering the riddle of power
\nand the reasons for obedience.
\nI\u2019ve watched sunsets
\n(crimson, anxious),
\nI\u2019ve heard the birds grow quiet
\nand night\u2019s muteness.
\nI\u2019ve seen sunflowers dangling
\ntheir heads at dusk, as if a careless hangman
\nhad gone strolling through the gardens.
\nSeptember\u2019s sweet dust gathered
\non the windowsill and lizards
\nhid in the bends of walls.
\nI\u2019ve taken long walks,
\ncraving one thing only:
\nlightning,
\ntransformation,
\nyou.<\/p>Adam Zagajewski \u2013 Transformation<\/a><\/p><\/blockquote>

As an epilogue on love, here’s a poem from Browning that I have cherished for many years:<\/p>\n

I thought once how Theocritus had sung
\nOf the sweet years, the dear and wished for years,
\nWho each one in a gracious hand appears
\nTo bear a gift for mortals, old or young:
\nAnd, as I mused it in his antique tongue,
\nI saw, in gradual vision through my tears,
\nThe sweet, sad years, the melancholy years,
\nThose of my own life, who by turns had flung
\nA shadow across me. Straightway I was ‘ware,
\nSo weeping, how a mystic Shape did move
\nBehind me, and drew me backward by the hair,
\nAnd a voice said in mastery, while I strove, …
\nGuess now who holds thee?’\u2014Death,’ I said. But there,
\nThe silver answer rang … Not Death, but Love.’<\/p>Elizabeth Barrett Browning \u2013 Sonnets from the Portuguese<\/a><\/p><\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

During the pandemic, I had the leisure to read more poetry, and revisit some poems that I have enjoyed over the years. Here’s a small selection: they’re mostly about love, for it is the most pleasant subject of poetry and something that philosophy isn’t capable to treat seriously (see Poetry as philosophy in action.)We’ll start […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[11,6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3043","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-english","category-mood"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/antoine.wojdyla.fr\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3043","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/antoine.wojdyla.fr\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/antoine.wojdyla.fr\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/antoine.wojdyla.fr\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/antoine.wojdyla.fr\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3043"}],"version-history":[{"count":7,"href":"http:\/\/antoine.wojdyla.fr\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3043\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3063,"href":"http:\/\/antoine.wojdyla.fr\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3043\/revisions\/3063"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/antoine.wojdyla.fr\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3043"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/antoine.wojdyla.fr\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3043"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/antoine.wojdyla.fr\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3043"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}