"Watching the Dance", James Merrill

Bio: James Merrill (1926-1995) was born the son of Charles E. Merrill, co-founder of Merrill-Lynch brokerage company.  He often switches between writing works of poetry and prose. He has won two National Book Awards, along with several other awards for his works and collections. 

Watching the Dance

1. BALANCHINE'S

Poor savage, doubting that a river flows 

But for the myriad eddies made 

By unseen powers twirling on their toes,

Here in this darkness it would seem

You had already died, and were afraid. 

Be still. Observe the powers. Infer the stream. 

2. DISCOTHÉQUE 

Having survived entirely your own youth,

Last of your generation, purple gloom

Invest you, sit, Jonah, beyond speech,

And let towards the brute volume VOOM whale mouth 

VAM pounding viscera VAM VOOM

A teenage plankton luminously twitch.

In this work, Merrill divides the poem into two sections of two stanzas. They are named after a famous ballet choreographer and teacher, George Balanchaine, and the second for a type of music and dance, discotheque.  The first section has a clear rhyme scheme of A-B-A, C-B-C, most likely because of its namesake, who was very set in his ways and would focus on the beat and order of the music, not on abstract thoughts and movements. There is no definite pattern as far as meter or feet measurement in either section, however, some sections are written in iambic pentameter. The second section, however, has no clear rhyme scheme and includes a few different onomatopoeia in the stanzas. This is most likely because it's namesake, a style of music and dance, can be fluid and/or able to change and be free of restraints limiting what it can and cannot be. Therefore, there is no specific structure or rhyme to the free section of the poem. Considering that this poem is speaking about ballet, it makes some amount of sense that the poem is written the way it is; the first part is structured, as when you first learn to dance and learn the technicalities of the dance; but when you begin to develop and mature in the art, you become more fluid in the dance and learn to move freely within the structures you have learned. 

"Leningrad Cemetery, Winter of 1941", Sharon Olds

Bio: Sharon Olds (1942) has won awards such as the Pulitzer Pruse and the National Book Critics Circle Award for works that critics refer to as "controversial". She most frequently wrote about intimate details relating yo herself, such as her children, strained relationships with her parents, and her sex life. While some criticize her work as "pornographic", others see it as expressing the "unpoetic" pmoments of life, the things not usually written about in poetry. 

Leningrad Cemetery, Winter of 1941

That winter, the dead could not be buried.

The ground was frozen, the gravediggers weak from hunger,

The coffin wood used for fuel. So they were covered with something 

And taken on a child's sled to the cemetery

In the sub-zero air. They lay on the soil,

Some of them wrapped in dark cloth 

Bound with rope like the tree's ball of roots 

When it waits to be planted; others wound in sheets,

Their pale, gauze, tapered shapes 

Stiff as cocoons that will split down the center

When the new life inside is prepared; 

But most lay like corpses, their coverings 

Coming undone, naked calves

Hard as corded wood spilling 

From under a cloak, a hand reaching out

With no sign of peace, wanting to come back 

Even to the bread made of glue and sawdust,

Even to the icy winter, and the siege. 

Olds uses many metaphors in this work to give a more clearly defined mental image of the scene she is viewing. The fact that she starts with a sentence clarifying that there are several dead bodies that cannot be buried gives us, from our common knowledge, an automatic image of the Holocaust, or one similar, while still telling us that the scene takes place in Leningrad. She describes groups of the bodies to us, since she can see them laying on the ground in the snow; she describes some as "bound with rope like the tree's ball of roots when it is to be planted" (7-8), and others as "stiff as cocoons that will split down the center when the new life inside is prepared" (10-11). The irony in the last statement, however is that although they look like cocoons with new life inside them, unless you count this as being a metaphor for the afterlife, there is no physical life inside the wrapped corpses at all. She also describes the bodies as "hard as corded wood" (14), giving us an image of bodies that not only have already rotted from days of decay, but have also been frozen solid by the frozen tundra of the Soviet Union. She also draws us a picture of the bodies reaching out for help under the blankets and sheets, as if asking us to help them back to life. She uses the diction "a hand reaching out with no sign of peace, wanting to come back"(15-16), almost insinuating that while they were being tortured with sub-zero temperatures and "bread made of glue and sawdust" (17-18), the afterlife they have been sent to is not any better, and Olds sees this as a plee to come back to this life, despite the tortures they would face. 

"Dickhead", Tony Hoagland

Bio: Tony Hoagland (1953) was born in North Carolina, dropped out of several different colleges, and lived in several communes. He currently teaches at the University of Houston in their creative writing department. Hoagland has received many awards for his work and has received many positive criticisms for journals such as Poetry Magazine, American Poetry Review, and Harvard Review.


Dickhead


To whomever taught me the word dickhead,
I owe a debt of thanks.
It gave me a way of being in the world of men
when I most needed one,

when I was pale and scrawny,
naked, goosefleshed
as a plucked chicken
in a supermarket cooler, a poor

forked thing stranded in the savage
universe of puberty, where wild
jockstraps flew across the steamy

skies of locker rooms,
and everybody fell down laughing
at jokes I didn't understand.

But dickhead was a word as dumb
and democratic as a hammer, an object
you could pick up in your hand,
and swing,

saying dickhead this and dickhead that,
a song that meant the world
was yours enough at least
to band on like a garbage can,

and knowing it, and having that
beautiful ugliness always
cocked and loaded in my mind,
protected me and calmed me like a psalm.

Now I have myself become
a beautiful ugliness,
and my weakness is a fact
so well established that
it makes me calm,

and I am calm enough
to be grateful for the lives I
never have to live again;

but I remember all the bad old days
back in the world of men,
when everything was serious, mysterious, scary,
hairier and bigger than I was;

I recall when flesh
was what I hated, feared
and was excluded from:

Hardly knowing what I did,
or what would come of it,
I made a word my friend.



In this piece, the speaker could be one of two people: it could be the author, reminiscing about when he was in his teens and young adulthood (because by the time he wrote this poem, he was in his mid 50s); or it could be from the point of view of someone who is just getting out of his adolescence and hitting young adulthood. To the speaker, the word "dickhead" was the one thing that made him feel like he was included in what everyone else was doing; his choice of diction allows us to see how he was as he was going through puberty: "when I was pale and scrawny, naked, goosefleshed as a plucked chicken.... a poor forked thing stranded in the savage universe of puberty....everybody fell down laughing at jokes I didn't understand.....when everything was serious, mysterious, scary, hairier and bigger than I was" (lines 5-10, 13-14, 37-38). The speaker gives us a peek into his life as a teenager, describing that he was an awkward boy who was smaller and less known than his more popular peers, and did not know how to fit in to the world of "men" around him. He therefore found solace in the word "dickhead", as a way to not only defend himself from bullies who would otherwise pick him out of a crowd to bully him, but also as a way to fit in to that crowd, because most pubescent boys find it "cool" and "manly" to use vulgar insults. The speaker reflects on how he is grateful to have learned the term, regardless of whether or not he knew exactly what it meant or how it would affect those upon whom he would use the term.

"To Enter That Rhythm Where The Self Is Lost", Muriel Rukeyser

Bio: Muriel Rukeyser (1913-1980) was an American poet and political activist. She is best known for her works on equality, feminism, social justice, and Judaism. Her most famous work, The Book of the Dead, gave details about an industrial accident in which many of the miners died of silicosis.



To Enter That Rhythm Where The Self Is Lost

To enter that rhythm where the self is lost,
where breathing: heartbeat: and the subtle music
of their relation make our dance, and hasten
us to the moment when all things become
magic, another possibility.
That blind moment, midnight, when all sight
begins, and the dance itself is all our breath,
and we ourselves the moment of life and death.
Blinded; but given now another saving,
the self as vision, at all times perceiving,
all arts all senses being languages,
delivered of will, being transformed in truth -
for life's sake surrendering moment and images,
writing the poem; in love making; bringing to truth.



This poem by Rukeyser focuses on the conflicting idea of finding sight in the darkness, and being blinded by light. The setting indicates that she is talking about the specific time when one would best lose the self - meaning, not physically being lost, but losing yourself in something specific. On a grander scale, Rukeyser is creating a comparative metaphor in which she compares the creating of music, the sexual act, childbirth, and writing poetry under the metaphor of the dance. She specifically states that the time when the self is best lost is at midnight, because that is the time when we can truly see the beauty of the things around us. Rukeyser uses the paradox of sight beginning at the peak of night to explain this point better; the more blind one becomes to the harshness of reality, the more sight they gain on the beauty of nature. The comparisons that Rukeyser makes is that in order to truly create something wonderful and beautiful out of writing poetry, making music, or making love, one must immerse himself in the darkness in order to hyperfocus his senses on what makes those experiences great; the words in the poem, the tune and lyrics of the song, the sensations of sex. She also mentions childbirth because we exit a world of darkness and ignorance in the womb and enter a world full of sensory experiences, like sight, smell, touch, taste, and sound. In birth, one may not lose oneself in finding sight in the darkness, but one metaphorically loses oneself in the sensory experiences, and also losing oneself in the trust and care of a parent or guardian.