Faun by Sylvia Plath Haunched like a faun, he hooed From grove of moon-glint and fen-frost Until all owls in the twigged forest Flapped black to look and brood On the call this man made. No sound but a drunken coot Lurching home along river bank. Stars hung water-sunk, so a rank Of double star-eyes
Her Kind By Anne Sexton I have gone out, a possessed witch, haunting the black air, braver at night; dreaming evil, I have done my hitch over the plain houses, light by light: lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind. A woman like that is not a woman, quite. I have been her kind. I have
Altarwise by Owl-Light is a poem rich with feeling, symbolism and spirituality. Thought to be one of the more surreal and challenging works from Dylan Thomas’ collection of poetry because of the heavy reference to complex philosophical notions of time and space and the deeply religious symbolism. I felt the potency of this poem from the first line and find the imagery incredibly inspiring and engaging. I don’t think the sentiment of the poem is challenging because there are so many lines that are really yummy to read just in the way the sound and rhythm of the words come together.
I found the experience of reading the poem and writing this article invigorating and healing for me. I felt like my mind had been stagnating and this was just what I needed to revive me! In addition to sharing the poem I have briefly defined some of the terms to enrich the reading:
Furies, Abaddon, Mandrake, Capricorn, Cancer, Pelican of circles, Adam, Jacob, Nettle roots, Hemlock, Tree- tailed worm, Eve, Skullfoot, Rip Van Winkle, and Antipodes, what do they have in common, and what is their significance? I hope you enjoy and I would love to hear your feedback!
My theme this week is attention and I am kicking off the week with a poem by A. R. Ammons. When I found this poem it made me think of ADD or ADHD and my relationship with attention. Only a few years ago I was diagnosed with inattentive ADHD. Prior to that, the best word
The sky is an immortal tent built by the Sons of Los: And every space that a man views around his dwelling-place Standing on his own roof or in his garden on a mount Of twenty-five cubits in height, such space is his universe: And on its verge the sun rises and sets, the clouds
BY ELIZABETH BISHOP
The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master…