Robert Bly's Treatment of the Domestic in "For My Son, Noah, 10 Years Old"

I have to admit, I haven't read much of Robert Bly's work, so I was happy to run across his poem "For My Son, Noah, Ten Years Old."

The manuscript I'm currently working on focuses much of its attention on the domestic sphere and it's exciting to see another poet writing on the subject. There is a specific difficulty inherent in the task of writing about family. I believe it requires the poet to examine his/her success, but also failure as a parent/spouse.

“For My Son, Noah, 10 Years Old” depicts a father/son relationship, and the tranquility created by that relationship. I’m interested in the way Bly sets up this moment. In my own poems, I tend to begin with a textual representation of the domestic and use this representation as a lens to explore/understand relationships/concerns of the outside/undomestic. In “For My Son,” Bly has done the opposite, describing various elements of the natural world before focusing in on the tenderness of the time a father spends with his son. There’s a deep conflict here between the elements of the natural/outside world and the tasks the father and son enjoy together: “but what is primitive is not to be shot out into the night and the dark.” For Bly, the work of the artist and the child are inherently original and distinctly separate from the horse, the chicken, the barn, and the lumber pile.


It’s a beautiful poem and I hope you enjoy the read. Also, if you run across any other poems which seek to depict or represent domestic concerns, please post here or e-mail mavett01@moreheadstate.edu. I’d love to hear from you. Have a good week!






For My Son Noah, Ten Years Old
By Robert Bly

Night and day arrive and day after day goes by,
and what is old remains old, and what is young remains
young and grows old,
and the lumber pile does not grow younger, nor the
weathered two-by-fours lose their darkness,
but the old tree goes on, the barn stands without help so
many years,
the advocate of darkness and night is not lost.

The horse swings around on one leg, steps, and turns,
the chicken flapping claws onto the roost, its wings whelping
and whalloping,
but what is primitive is not to be shot out into the night and
the dark.
And slowly the kind man comes closer, loses his rage, sits
down at table.

So I am proud only of those days that we pass in undivided
tenderness,
when you sit drawing, or making books, stapled, with
messages to the world...
or coloring a man with fire coming out of his hair.
Or we sit at a table, with small tea carefully poured;
so we pass our time together, calm and delighted.

Haiku Guru Barry George

First, apologies for the lateness of this post; we were hit by the remnants of Ike pretty hard and are still without power. I am braving the vagaries of dial-up internet to send this!

And now, to our featured poet for the week: Barry George, a master of haiku and other Japanese forms. He is also featured on Cornell University's Mann Library daily haiku website. Check out this link: http://haiku.mannlib.cornell.edu/category/author/barry-george to read his work and to browse the archives.

Barry says he is "drawn to haiku as a way to give attention and expression to immediate perceptions." What amazes me about his haiku is the seemingly impossible combination of the economic use of words with the largeness of image evoked by each poem. Please read and enjoy!

(photo by Marsh Muirhead)

A Short Lesson in Metaphor

One way to examine metaphor is to break it down into two distinct elements: tenor and vehicle. I.A. Richards first used these terms, but I think that they are pretty standard in contemporary analysis/criticism. The tenor is the subject of the metaphor, and normally the subject within a sentence in a poem. The vehicle is usually the predicate nominative, and “carries” the subject. If you’re a math person it might be easier to envision the metaphor as an equation:

A(Tenor)=B(Vehicle)

Eavan Boland’s “Anorexic," found in her Selected Poems, begins with a perfect illustration of this equation with the simple and straightforward metaphor: “My body is a witch.” Here, “body” is the tenor or subject of the metaphor and “witch” is the vehicle, that which carries the subject into wider contexts of connotation and understanding. As you can see in the remainder of the poem, this simple metaphor in the first stanza directs and energizes the piece through the final line. I'm including a section below, but a google search will find the entire poem. Furthermore, a brief but engaging feminist analysis can be found at Outskirts, an online journal.

Anorexic

Eavan Boland

Flesh is heretic.
My body is a witch.
I am burning it.

Yes I am torching
her curves and paps and wiles.
They scorch in my self denials.

How she meshed my head
in the half-truths
of her fevers

till I renounced
milk and honey
and the taste of lunch.

I vomited
her hungers.
Now the bitch is burning.

...

In other news, a poem of mine originally published in the Spring 2008 issue of The Louisvile Review has been selected to be featured in American Life in Poetry. Sponsored by The Poetry Foundation, Library of Congress, and the University of Nebraska at Lincoln, and edited and founded by former U.S. Poet Laureate Ted Kooser, ALP "provides newspapers and online publications with a free weekly column featuring contemporary American poems." I'm really excited to be a part of this project.

Endings

In my editorial work I am learning the importance of endings. I can be reading along, enjoying the
language and the cadence of a poem very much, eager to follow where the poet leads. And then I come to the end and pfft. Nothing to hold onto. No surprise. No door to re-enter the poem with a new understanding. And I realize that many of my poems are this way: I begin with a vague idea of where things are going, but never quite get there. I guess this becomes a revision issue. I must learn to write beyond the vagueness to find that surprising connection or the germ of the seed for which I've been digging. Otherwise, both reader and poet are left floating in a fog. It might be a beautiful fog, but a fog nonetheless.

Here is one of my favorite endings by Simon Armitage in his poem "The Shout":

We went out
into the school yard together, me and the boy
whose name and face

I don't remember. We were testing the range
of the human voice:
he had to shout for all he was worth,

I had to raise an arm
from across the divide to signal back
that the sound had carried.

He called from over the park-- I lifted an arm.
Out of bounds,
he yelled from the end of the road,

from the foot of the hill,
from beyond the look-out post of Fretwell's Farm--
I lifted an arm.

He left town, went on to be twenty years dead
with a gunshot hole
in the roof of his mouth, in Western Australia.

Boy with the name and face I don't remember,
you can stop shouting now, I can still hear you.


The poem begins in narrative with a relatively simple childhood recollection. The reader follows; suspense builds-- when will the voice no longer be heard? And the ending comes as a total shock: the voice is still being heard. As Kathleen Driskell said in her lecture this past May, the mark of a good poem is that one is compelled to re-enter it. After reading this last line, who can resist returning to the title and the first lines to find out what a second reading will yield with this new knowledge? I cannot. In fact, I often find myself thinking of those last lines.

Now to return to my own work, with an eye toward taking that step from vagueness to statement, from plain narrative to metaphorical significance.

And here's a little bonus video so you can get a taste of Simon Armitage's voice. He's reading a sonnet.

The Rejection Slip

I got a rejection e-mail from Gulf Stream Magazine a few days ago, and while it can be frustrating to wait 5 months to hear from a journal and then receive a form note,

"Unfortunately, we are unable to accept your submission for publication at this time. We wish you the best of luck placing your work elsewhere.”

for me, it’s usually, a good thing. I’ve never received any additional comments on a rejection slip, but the slip itself is a kind of impetus. The slip makes me want to reconsider the original submission, revise, or (more often than not) write something entirely new. In that spirit, I’d like to offer up a few journals I’ve been checking out recently. Perhaps we could plan our assault of poems together. Let me know where you’re submitting, or where your poems are being accepted.

BROADSIDED

http://www.broadsidedpress.org/

This is a really neat press which prints poems on broadsides and asks volunteer ‘vectors’ to distribute them throughout the U.S., Canada, and Europe.

ANTI-
http://anti-poetry.com/

Home to one of the funniest poems I’ve read all summer, “You Can’t Pick Your Friends Nose” by Aaron Belz. http://anti-poetry.com/belzaa2/

ABZ
http://abzpress.com/default.aspx

I was really excited to find this (relatively) new magazine because it’s based in Huntington, WV, just 60 miles from Morehead. I think I was a little too excited. I submitted some poems a few months ago without noticing the “Reading Period” and, of course, they were sent back with a note telling me the “Reading Period” didn’t open until September. Haha. This Magazine has published a lot of Ohio and Kentucky poets.

Creative ID

During Amy Holman's publishing lecture last spring at Spalding, she suggested a new answer to the inevitable question, "So what kind of writing do you do?" Instead of answering with a genre, Amy urged us to fire back with a "Creative ID," an elevator-ride-length description of our artistic fingerprint. Since then, I've been struggling to compose one for myself. You'll find Matt's neatly tucked into his introduction below. Mind promises to be a little messier, but that's part of my identity, so why fight it?

Here goes: For me, the seed of a piece usually comes from a real life incident or a dream that haunts me until I decide to write it down. From there I write until I find something (usually quite unexpected) to which I can link the seed to help me, and hopefully the reader, make some sense of it. Formally, I like to experiment, using everything from sonnets and tankas to open form and prose poems. Next venture: graphic poetry!

So that's my first attempt at getting something down "on paper." We'd love to hear your Creative IDs, so feel free to post them below, or email them to us, and we'll post them here. Thanks for reading.

Introduction

Good Morning Readers,

Before I begin my introduction, I would like to thank Jill for inviting me to join this blog. I'm excited to begin this dialogue with her and to share it with a community of writers.

About me: Like Jill, I'm a recent graduate of Spalding University's MFA in Writing Program. As a poet, my work is primarily concerned with representations of the domestic sphere; but I'm also interested in interactions between the human world and the natural world. My poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Coe Review, The Louisville Review, New Southerner and Midwest Quarterly. I live in Morehead, Kentucky with my wife and two boys.

Please visit this blog often to read about my current research projects, examinations of particular elements of craft/poems, book/journal reviews, etc.