We’re still doing poem cards from the deck I found in my parents’ basement. Because they're easy like Sunday morning.

Time has an end, they say
sea-walls are worn away
by wind and the sea-spray.
   not the herb,
            rosemary.

This was from “Time Has an End” by H.D. (Hilda Doolittle) (1886-1961)

H.D. liked Greece and Egyptian mythology and hey, she was a Moravian from Pennsylvania! My parents are about to move from Lititz, Pennsylvania, where they’ve lived in retirement for many years and Lititz was founded as an exclusive Moravian community so I know a little somethin-somethin about Moravians. As does anyone else who owns that multi-pointed Christmas decoration, the Moravian star. H.D. moved to Europe in 1911, however, and folded in with Ezra Pound’s Imagists. She was “briefly engaged” to Ezra and it was his idea for her to sign her poems as “H.D. Imagiste.” (I’m not fact checking these cards, btw.) The card calls her a “poet’s poet” and I like this as a description of experimental poets, like pure vs. practical science. She was also in psychoanalysis with Sigmund Freud. She also translated Sappo's poems.

I see only a summer’s
transparency, I sing nothing but wind,
while history creaks on its carnival floats
hoarding medals and shrouds
and passes me by, and I stand by myself
in the spring, knowing nothing but rivers.

This is from “Pastoral” by Pablo Neruda (1904-1973), translated by Ben Belitt. Neruda is much loved for his “immense, heroic, prophetic, romantic and moving universe of words” as the card says and he was also controversial due to his “radical socialist politics,” (is this card bias or actually how we refer to his political stance?). He was exiled from Chile between 1936-1952. He won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1971.

The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over the harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

From “Fog” by Carl Sandburg (1878-1967). That’s the poem in its entirety! It's a very popular and anthologized poem, according to my card, even though, like Walt Whitman, Sandburg went on to be know for his longer, more effusive lines.

Week Five Stats:

1 white American colonialist female
1 black American female
1 white American female
1 white American male
1 white Andalusian male
1 Chilean male
1 white English male
1 white French male
1 white Italian male
1 white Welsh male

1 1300s poet
1 1600s poet
1 1700-1800s poet
2 1800s poets
5 1900s poets

This week we cover three cards!

The bloodhounds have miss’d the scent of her way,
The hunter is rif’led and foiled of his pray,
The cursing of men and clanking of chains
Make sounds of strange discord on Liberty’s plains.
Oh! Poverty, danger and death she can brave,
For the child of her love is no longer a slave.

 From “She’s Free!” from Frances Ellen Watkins Harper (1825-1911) LINK?

Harper wrote antislavery verses and gave many lectures and sermons before and after the Civil War. She wrote a prolific seven volumes of poetry and her novel Iola Leroy, or Shadows Uplifted was the best-selling 19th Century novel by an African American writer.  She's also the first poet I want to investigate further from these cards.

To see a world in a grain of sand
And heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.

From “Auguries of Innocence” by William Blake (1757-1827)

Blake, the infamous poet/printer/painter, was “bereaved” by the “cult of reason” which he said was a big bummer to imaginative thinking. You can’t have both? This particular poem is a treaty against cruelty to animals.

The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees
Is my destroyer.
And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose
My youth is bent by the same wintry fever.

“The Force That Through the green Fuse Drives the Flower” by the long-title guy, Dylan Thomas (1914-1953)

This poem is from one of his teenage notebooks. Another quote from the same poem, “Each image holds within it the seed of its own destruction…Out of the inevitable conflict of images, I try to make that momentary peace which is a poem.” Take that post-modernists! Thomas was a public poet, earning money on the lecture circuit and famously boozing it up. The card says he died after a legendary bar binge (at the White Horse in the West Village) and implies he might have died of alcohol poisoning. But, he might have actually died of pneumonia. It was also a time of severe air pollution in NYC. Read the revisionist theories:

The Guardian
Wikipedia

Week four stats:

1 white French male
1 white American colonialist female
1 white Andalusian male
1 white Italian male
1 black American female
1 white Welsh male
1 white English male
1 1300s poet
1 1600s poet
1 1700-1800s poet
2 1800s poets
2 1900s poets

It was announced on Oct 13, 2016 that Bob Dylan won the 2016 Nobel Prize for Literature “for having created new poetic expressions within the great American song tradition.” A few years ago I took a class on Nobel Prize Winning Poets at Santa Fe Community College and our teacher told us that no American poet had previously won the prize. This isn’t entirely true. Reports also stated he was the first songwriter to win. This wasn’t entirely true either. It turns out poet Rabindranath Tagore wrote a tune or two in his day.

Stories:

– Yahoo
– CNN
– The New York Times
– The Guardian
– NPR

Here are the Americans who have won:

1. First American was Sinclair Lewis in 1930 for prose.
2. Eugene Gladstone O’Neill won in 1936 for drama.
3. Pearl Buck won in 1938 for prose.
4. S. Eliot (an American poet) won for poetry in 1948 but he had emigrated to and is listed for United Kingdom.
5. William Faulkner won in 1949 for prose.
6. Ernest Hemingway won in 1954 for prose.
7. John Steinbeck won in 1962 for prose.
8. Saul Bellow (a Canadian) won in 1976 for prose as a resident of the USA for prose.
9. Isaac Bashevis Singer (Polish) won in 1978 for prose as a resident of the USA.
10. Joseph Brodsky (Russian) won in 1987 for poetry as a resident of the USA.
11. Toni Morrison won in 1993 for prose.

So if you decide not to include T.S. Eliot as an American poet because he had emigrated to the U.K., then you have to accept Joseph Brodsky as American by the same standard. You could split hairs and say Bob Dylan is the first native American winning while living in America.

In any case, there are a slate of full-time poets and novelists who are pissed off. Which seems to happen every year the prize is announced for one reason or another. This case is no different: http://time.com/4529524/bob-dylan-nobel-prize-literature-reaction/

Fictionistas usually feel like they should take precedent over poetry for reasons of cultural popularity and poets are always every-ready to be jealous of any competition from inside or outside their circles. I can easily see how a whole new subcategory could riffle their feathers. "What’s next? Bruce Springsteen?" I do think Bob Dylan deserved the Nobel Prize for taking songwriting in folk and rock to a higher level, (Both Scorsese's No Direction Home documentary and the book Jingle Jangle Morning touch on his elevation of the lyric), and for being a writing influence to so many writers and musicians worldwide. But I appreciate that he strongly problematizes the line between poets and songwriters.

Poet’s fully intend to die before this crepe-paper tent, the idea that poetry is somehow fundamentally different than song lyrics. "Songs are not poems!" they say. But they kind of are. I would put up a few Sting, Joni Mitchell and Leonard Cohen lyrics as poems; Bernie Taupin admits to having written poems that Elton John set to music. And many poets will concede that Dylan's lyrics are poetry. Plus, he has the best book of celebrity poetry I've read so far.  Many poetry verses have turned into songs and song verses have been just as inspiring and meaningful to people as poem stanzas, arguably more so in modern times. If you were presented with four lines of poetry and four lines of Bob Dylan lyrics, I’ll bet you would be hard pressed to find a difference. You can’t say, on the one hand, that form is essentially the power of rhythm but yet it doesn’t quite reach the level of melody. You’re playing a losing game of intellectual Twister. The hard cold facts of life, (thank you Porter Wagoner), are that the American Songbook is a canon of literature and Dylan has made enormous worldwide contributions to it.

Plus, Nobel judges have always followed their own drum. As I learned in my class, Nobel prizes are political and subjective. See the full list. Sometimes writers win for a single work, sometimes for a body of work, sometimes in recognition of leadership qualities or other nebulous reasons. Many of their choices look obscure to us today.

Dylan has gone all Woody Allen on us and has ignored the award. Good for him. The award comes with no requirements.

By the way, I just saw the Bob Dylan show this week at his Albuquerque visit to The Kiva Auditorium (see the set list). It was a great show. I loved the new revamps of old songs and particularly loved "Desolation Row."

I've also posted on my Cher blog a similar post to this with the added information of Cher's 10+ covers of Dylan. The fan blog All Dylan also gave a very lovely review of Cher’s history recording Dylan songs on her 70^th birthday this year: http://alldylan.com/cher-covers-bob-dylan/.

If we're gonna get thru these damn cards we gotta hustle. I tried to step it up this week and do two cards. 

Life is no dream! Beware and beware and beware!
We tumble downstairs to eat the damp of the earth
or we climb to the snowy divide with the choir of dead dahlias.
But neither dream nor forgetfulness, is:
brute flesh is. Kisses that tether our mouths
in a mesh of raw veins.

Lovely. This is from “Unsleeping City” by Federico Garcia Lorca (1898-1936), translated by Ben Belitt. Lorca is Andalusian (Southern Spain). The Poet in New York pieces, like this one, are from his year-long visit to New York City in 1929. It was his first time out of Spain and he wasn't so fond of it. The poems were published after his death. He is considered the most revered poet in Spain and he was murdered by fascists.

Here's another card:

In the middle of the journey of our life I came to myself within a dark wood where the straight way was lost.

That's it. That's the full quote. It's from what is often referred to as "Dante's Inferno."  It's technically from “The Inferno” portion of The Divine Comedy by Italian poet Dante Allighieri (1265-1321), translated by John D. Sinclair.

Dante's life details are very sketchy but we do know he was forced into exile toward the end of his life due to pissing off Pope Boniface VIII.

Sheesh Boniface. By the way, Georgetown is also offering online classes on Dante's The Divine Comedy (in parts 1, 2 and 3).

Week three stats:

1 white French male
1 white American colonialist female
1 white Andalusian male
1 white Italian male
1 1300s poet
1 1600s poet
1 1800s poet
1 1900s poet