PoemoftheWeek

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Originally Posted by ktd222

He tells you he will go, and specifies by saying now. The tone of command comes back to me, again.

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But I had forgotten to mention in that post that the repetitions enforce the static feeling. It's like a person who keeps saying, "i'll get to that, yeah, I'll get to that, really, I'll get to that." You may be right as far as we can catagorically tell. But the lack of action in the poem, the reminicing, the repetitions, the the future tense of "I will", all work for me to undermine the narrator's committment. Even the long vowels that he uses throughout kind of give it a static feeling. There's no action really taken.

Jinshui on another thread of poetry pasted a poem from Wordsworth (similar to "Tintern Abbey") that could have been running through Yeat's mind as he wrote this:

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud by William Wordsworth
I WANDERED lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay: 10
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed--and gazed--but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood, 20
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.


It's the last stanza which I think relates to "Innisfree". Is Innisfree in Yeat's mind like the daffodills in Wordsworth's? Wordsworth has visited them in the past, but now lying stationary on a couch they flash back. For Wordsworth they give him "bliss" for Yeats, "peace".

"I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud" was in a childerens anthology when i was younger and it is fully responsible for my love of poetry. This poem basically was my introduction to all poetry! What a great week this week.

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Originally Posted by ktd222

But, take a look at what he wrote about Innisfree, literally. Yeats being from Ireland; there is an island off Ireland named Innisfree; He names it DIRECTLY as Innisfree in the poem; and so I'm just assuming that he is talking about that specific island. Or am I totally off-base?

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I have always thought that Innisfree represents an idyllic place; it is of little consequence that it actually exists. The persona might have been there and it might be his idea of of a refuge; a sanctuary (he might be talking about this particular place because it comes really close to his idea of 'sanctuary'?)

As for the line, 'I will...', as I stated in my initial post on the poem too, it shows a willingness and ability but the fact remains that he is not getting up and going. The poem starts and ends with this line, which shows that the persona is not taking the action. He spends his time thinking, dreaming, musing about this wonderful place, which he needs to go to find peace but he simply is not! The constant use of 'will' shows that he is postponing the actual action.

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Originally Posted by ktd222

Lets say I believe you all, then, you all need to give me some evidence and explanation to why you believe the poem means what you all think?
How do you know that as your reading the poem, the image of him going there and describing Innisfree isn't happening? For me the will, shall is present tense.

Use exerpts out of the poem if you want to. Change my mind for me Jay? Virgil? anyone.

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The aim of the thread is not to change other people's minds on certain poems or make them agree with us. I am sure those who have been posting will agree with me that we are all here to share our interpretations and hear theirs as a way of expanding our understandings. I can easily say that almost every post here has made me think about the poem again and understand it better. It has become more meaningful and richer owing to these different perspectives even though I do not necessarily agree with every interpretation.

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Originally Posted by ktd222

Should I post the next poem?

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This is how it goes:

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* Please post a new poem only on a Monday.

* The same person cannot post another poem within the same month.

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So please feel free to post the next poem on Monday. :)

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Originally Posted by Virgil

But I had forgotten to mention in that post that the repetitions enforce the static feeling. It's like a person who keeps saying, "i'll get to that, yeah, I'll get to that, really, I'll get to that." You may be right as far as we can catagorically tell. But the lack of action in the poem, the reminicing, the repetitions, the the future tense of "I will", all work for me to undermine the narrator's committment. Even the long vowels that he uses throughout kind of give it a static feeling. There's no action really taken.

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I disagree. I think these repitions are actually transporting us to this place. And the fact that the transport can be done by a short phrase shows his control of the 'transport' to this place. It is like having a password that permits you to go to this place. So repititon is the necesary password is the transport that will allow him be at Innisfree and continually go back there.

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Originally Posted by ktd222

And the fact that the transport can be done by a short phrase shows his control of the 'transport' to this place.

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'Beam me up, Scotty!'???


http://www.crystalinks.com/beamtransporter.jpg

:D

She is one of my favorite poets. I chose this poem to showcase some of her many talents: connecting the senses. I hope you enjoy!

At the Fishhouses
by Elizabeth Bishop


Although it is a cold evening,
down by one of the fishhouses
an old man sits netting,
his net, in the gloaming almost invisible,
a dark purple-brown,
and his shuttle worn and polished.
The air smells so strong of codfish
it makes one's nose run and one's eyes water.
The five fishhouses have steeply peaked roofs
and narrow, cleated gangplanks slant up
to storerooms in the gables
for the wheelbarrows to be pushed up and down on.
All is silver: the heavy surface of the sea,
swelling slowly as if considering spilling over,
is opaque, but the silver of the benches,
the lobster pots, and masts, scattered
among the wild jagged rocks,
is of an apparent translucence
like the small old buildings with an emerald moss
growing on their shoreward walls.
The big fish tubs are completely lined
with layers of beautiful herring scales
and the wheelbarrows are similarly plastered
with creamy iridescent coats of mail,
with small iridescent flies crawling on them.
Up on the little slope behind the houses,
set in the sparse bright sprinkle of grass,
is an ancient wooden capstan,
cracked, with two long bleached handles
and some melancholy stains, like dried blood,
where the ironwork has rusted.
The old man accepts a Lucky Strike.
He was a friend of my grandfather.
We talk of the decline in the population
and of codfish and herring
while he waits for a herring boat to come in.
There are sequins on his vest and on his thumb.
He has scraped the scales, the principal beauty,
from unnumbered fish with that black old knife,
the blade of which is almost worn away.

Down at the water's edge, at the place
where they haul up the boats, up the long ramp
descending into the water, thin silver
tree trunks are laid horizontally
across the gray stones, down and down
at intervals of four or five feet.

Cold dark deep and absolutely clear,
element bearable to no mortal,
to fish and to seals . . . One seal particularly
I have seen here evening after evening.
He was curious about me. He was interested in music;
like me a believer in total immersion,
so I used to sing him Baptist hymns.
I also sang "A Mighty Fortress Is Our God."
He stood up in the water and regarded me
steadily, moving his head a little.
Then he would disappear, then suddenly emerge
almost in the same spot, with a sort of shrug
as if it were against his better judgment.
Cold dark deep and absolutely clear,
the clear gray icy water . . . Back, behind us,
the dignified tall firs begin.
Bluish, associating with their shadows,
a million Christmas trees stand
waiting for Christmas. The water seems suspended
above the rounded gray and blue-gray stones.
I have seen it over and over, the same sea, the same,
slightly, indifferently swinging above the stones,
icily free above the stones,
above the stones and then the world.
If you should dip your hand in,
your wrist would ache immediately,
your bones would begin to ache and your hand would burn
as if the water were a transmutation of fire
that feeds on stones and burns with a dark gray flame.
If you tasted it, it would first taste bitter,
then briny, then surely burn your tongue.
It is like what we imagine knowledge to be:
dark, salt, clear, moving, utterly free,
drawn from the cold hard mouth
of the world, derived from the rocky breasts
forever, flowing and drawn, and since
our knowledge is historical, flowing, and flown.

I've never read this poem before but I'm glad you posted it. I had two immediate reactions to it. The first being an admiration for the descriptions of the evening. It made me miss cold foggy evenings by the sea with their pungeant smell and taste of salt and fish. Especially the description of everything silvery opaque but with "apparent translucence" perfectly captures the strange quality of such a scene in which every smell and touch has a biting reality, but images seem almost ghostly in the shifting reflected light of water and scales in an atmosphere of mist. I love the way such an ethereal sense is juxtoposed with such earthy descriptions as that of the rust "like dried blood."

In the second place, I was very struck by the end of the poem with its comparison of knowledge and the taste of sea water. So often in poetry a discussion of knowledge is set within either a discussion of learning or reading, or it is concerned with knowledge gained as a result of a specific dramatic experience. Here there seems to be an organic almost instinctive association with knowledge. Knowledge is set within the context of a familiar and perhaps everyday experience for the author. It is bred in the context of existing in and observing a place: watching the hands of the fishermen, singing to the seal, and, most importantly, dipping one's hand into the ocean--the ocean which permeates everything in both the scene and the poem.

I've probably written too much already, so I'll let someone else address the wonderful "flowing, and flown" of the final line.

ktd
Wow. You picked a fine poem. We must have similar tastes.

As Petrarch points out, the ending with the generalizations of what knowledge is is the climax of the poem and from which I think everything else must be understood. Let me just comment on the first stanza on this post.

One thing I see is just how non-metrical the lines are. If the senstences were reconfigured without lines, it could easily be straight prose. It's highly descriptive and contains a little narrative action of the old fisherman working. Nothing is romanticized. It's all raw, hard, and very real. "The air smells so strong of codfish/it makes one's nose run and one's eyes water." It's a world of nets, pots, wheelbarrows, masts, rocks, tubs, wooden capstan, scales, knife, blade. Great words of hard reality of a place where people aren't into abstract thinking. The closest that any mental process in the stanza is the talk of declining population, and even that is based on raw observation. The whole place seems dishelved, aging. Old man, old buildings, cracked capstan, rusted ironwork, worn shuttle, worn knife blade. One phrase that seems out of place (so it's either very important or a mistake) is "melancholy stains." It's the only place I think that she blatently ascribes an emotional response to an inanimate object. Otherwise, it's all detailed, objective (or at least it feels that way) rendering of a scene and interplay with the old man. Another thing to note is that it is in present tense.

One literary allusion, I think, and again Wordsworth. If anyone has time, see how this compares with Wordsworth's "The Ruined Cottage." There too an old man set in a decaying cottage becomes the vehicle for knowledge/insight for a woman named Margaret.

Let's comment on this stanza and then move on to the other.

I’m just commenting on the first stanza as well.

Starting her poem with although sets up an exception in the scene she is describing. That, in spite of the fact(although) the atmosphere in the evening is cold--an old man sits netting.-- The two, I guess you could say sub-scenes, seemingly don’t belong in one scene. A curious use of a comma, also, seemingly separates the description of the atmosphere being cold, and descriptions of the old man, and things that are man-made for man use, in the first sentence.

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"apparent translucence" perfectly captures the strange quality of such a scene in which every smell and touch has a biting reality, but images seem almost ghostly in the shifting reflected light of water and scales in an atmosphere of mist. I love the way such an ethereal sense is juxtoposed

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The whole place seems dishelved, aging. Old man, old buildings, cracked capstan, rusted ironwork, worn shuttle, worn knife blade.

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Yes. Two worlds, based on Bishop’s description of things begin to develop. The ‘dishelved’ world, as you say Virgil, where everything man, man-made, is susecptable to aging and wearing out. Old man, worn shuttle, worn knife etc…And the natural world beginning to be described: beautiful herring with creamy iridescent coats of mail, iridescent flies.
And a few times, describing the insolubility of the two worlds: The air smells so strong of codfish it makes one’s nose run and one’s eyes water; …surface of the sea is opaque, but the silver of the benches, lobster pots, and masts is of apparent translucence.

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One phrase that seems out of place (so it's either very important or a mistake) is "melancholy stains." It's the only place I think that she blatently ascribes an emotional response to an inanimate object.

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Yes; but I think the former. And you don’t know who’s blood it is thats melancholy. But a connection of the senses, more than just a perceived sense, but a sense of meaning also begins to develop. The air smells so strong of codfish it makes one’s nose run and one’s eyes water ; There are sequins on his vest…He has scraped the scales, the principle beauty, from unnumbered fish. The scales are described as the principle beauty of fish, but a weird transformation occurs where the sequins on his vest, which are basically fish scales, is talked about as if the scales are just a prized or worn ‘thing’ to the old man.
Lots of compare and contrast, layering, transforming, is going on in the first stanza.

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Originally Posted by ktd222

Starting her poem with although sets up an exception in the scene she is describing. That, in spite of the fact(although) the atmosphere in the evening is cold--an old man sits netting.-- The two, I guess you could say sub-scenes, seemingly don’t belong in one scene. A curious use of a comma, also, seemingly separates the description of the atmosphere being cold, and descriptions of the old man, and things that are man-made for man use, in the first sentence.

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Yes, I think you're absolutely right. She is setting up a duality of sorts, initiated with "although" as you say. Good observation. That comma is rather troublesome. Do you think it's a typo? It's grammatically incorrect.

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Yes. Two worlds, based on Bishop’s description of things begin to develop. The ‘dishelved’ world, as you say Virgil, where everything man, man-made, is susecptable to aging and wearing out. Old man, worn shuttle, worn knife etc…And the natural world beginning to be described: beautiful herring with creamy iridescent coats of mail, iridescent flies.
And a few times, describing the insolubility of the two worlds: The air smells so strong of codfish it makes one’s nose run and one’s eyes water; …surface of the sea is opaque, but the silver of the benches, lobster pots, and masts is of apparent translucence.

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Yes, I didn't pick up on it: iridescent (infinite) nature versuses aging (finite)mortality. Very good.

I don't know what to make of the second stanza. It's so nothing coming between the first and third. She shifts her line of sight to the water's edge and it's still in present tense. And "silver tree trunks" are not very realistic, which fits with iridescent nature. But then she gives a very specific geometric image here, the horizontal trunks laid across the stones at intervals. I'm sure she intends to have this image carry a lot of meaning, but frankly I don't get it. What do you think?

I agree that the middle stanza somehow seems insignificant, and perhaps a bit puzzling. While I'm not sure I can find anything terribly profound in the lines, I do think that it serves a practical purpose in the poem by serving as a transition between the two longer stanzas, and between the two "worlds" (that of eternal irridecent nature, and that of mortal man) which we seem to be identifying in the poem. I think the "silver tree trunks" Virgil points to are key since they are a part of that "almost translucent" world of nature and at the same time they are trees that have been felled (encountered mortality) to be put to practical use by men. The first stanza seems to me more connected to the world of man-made things and contains a conversation with an old and mortal man, while the third stanza is more about the natural realm, an "element bearable to no mortal" in which one sings to the seals. In the second stanza the tree trunks, evenly spaced every four to five feet, both literally form a path between the actual locations of the place where the fisherman weaves his net and the edge of the water, and figuratively form a path between the two worlds these locations represent in the poem.

This seems to me the way the way the stanza is functioning on a practical level as a connector between the two parts of the poem. Perhaps someone else has some more enlightening insights into its larger significance?

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That comma is rather troublesome. Do you think it's a typo? It's grammatically incorrect.

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I would hope not. If you’ve ever read some of her well known works like One Art-- that final rendering took around twenty drafts, to strike a balance with the poem’s elements(including syntax) with the overall meaning in that poem.
Plus, don’t editors also get a chance at correcting punctuation before poems are published.
So what if we take what you’ve identified as syntactically incorrect and put that incorrectness into the context of At the Fishhouses and see if anything happens. Which seems to me: that if you read the opening lines of this poem with the comma after the word evening, you must momentarily pause yourself before continuing on reading the next line--Almost subtly distinguishing those two sub-scene/object descriptions. And, the odd placement of the comma also gives the whole scene--incorrectness--to it, as you say, Virgil. And, as we’ve all already sensed that there are ‘two worlds’ and these worlds do not exist in harmony.

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I don't know what to make of the second stanza. It's so nothing coming between the first and third. She shifts her line of sight to the water's edge and it's still in present tense. And "silver tree trunks" are not very realistic, which fits with iridescent nature. But then she gives a very specific geometric image here, the horizontal trunks laid across the stones at intervals. I'm sure she intends to have this image carry a lot of meaning, but frankly I don't get it. What do you think?

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I have an idea but I can't explain it in writing, yet. Give me a little time. Petrarch is on to something though.

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I think the "silver tree trunks" Virgil points to are key since they are a part of that "almost translucent" world of nature and at the same time they are trees that have been felled (encountered mortality) to be put to practical use by men.

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figuratively form a path between the two worlds these locations represent in the poem.

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I love the image in the last stanza,

"your hand would burn
as if the water were a transmutation of fire
that feeds on stones and burns with a dark gray flame."

It's a great way of describing erosion, "feeds on stones", it struck me the first time I read it. And the image of a "dark gray flame" is haunting.

Can anyone tell me when the poem was written? It has a very modern feel.

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I think the "silver tree trunks" Virgil points to are key since they are a part of that "almost translucent" world of nature and at the same time they are trees that have been felled (encountered mortality) to be put to practical use by men.

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I agree Petrarch. A naturally grown thing like a tree transforming for human purpose itself(the tree) becomes part of the mortal world. Silver of the tree trunks goes back to silver of the benches, lobster pots, masts, small old building. Facing mortality? Wow! It is as though, for me at least, the object begins ‘to sense’. Maybe this goes back to the ‘melancholy stains’ you identified in an earlier post Virgil? The wooden capstan has melancholy feelings about something. Bits and pieces of the reasons for inanimate objects sensing is coming into play.

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But then she gives a very specific geometric image here, the horizontal trunks laid across the stones at intervals. I'm sure she intends to have this image carry a lot of meaning, but frankly I don't get it. What do you think?

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The length of stanza 1 & 3 are so long compared to stanza 2. Their might be another element of the poem we’ve overlooked: direction. If you step back and visualize the three stanzas as wholly making up the scene Bishop is describing:
stanza 1 is mortal world
stanza 2 transition
stanza 3 natural world.

Couple this with elements of direction and description, and intent for stanza 2 does seem to be happening.
Maybe the short length of stanza 2 compared with stanzas 1 & 3 develops an ever so slight, but connection nontheless, between the two worlds that are described with such opposite-ness.
Haul up the boats is directed toward the mortal world. Horizontally lay are the tree trunks which have been transformed for human purpose. No direction. The silver tree trunks match well with silver of the benches, lobster pots, masts, small old building and with iridescent flies and iridescent herring scales. The tree trunk is itself transforming before our eyes at intervals of four or five feet at a time. I think a lyric is occurring in the second stanza where the elements we’ve talked about have set up this thing where transformation is occurring before us.
Like you said Virgil:

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But then she gives a very specific geometric image here, the horizontal trunks laid across the stones at intervals. I'm sure she intends to have this image carry a lot of meaning, but frankly I don't get it. What do you think?

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Before stanza 2, the description of objects in the scene has definitive belonging to one world or the other. But, stanza 2 serves as a connectedness between such an opposite described worlds.


Is there any other opinions of stanza 2 before we move on to stanza 3?

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Originally Posted by ktd222

The length of stanza 1 & 3 are so long compared to stanza 2. Their might be another element of the poem we’ve overlooked: direction. If you step back and visualize the three stanzas as wholly making up the scene Bishop is describing:
stanza 1 is mortal world
stanza 2 transition
stanza 3 natural world.

Couple this with elements of direction and description, and intent for stanza 2 does seem to be happening.
Maybe the short length of stanza 2 compared with stanzas 1 & 3 develops an ever so slight, but connection nontheless, between the two worlds that are described with such opposite-ness.

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I agree with everything here except your characterization of stanza 3. Yes it is the natural world, but I think it's a transcendent natural world, a world of God, infinity, ritual, perhaps even transfiguration. She talks to a seal and their shared belief in babtism. But it's the seal that is immersed, not the narrator. There is a barrier between them, the seal can dive into the "cold dark deep and absolutely cear" water, but no mortal. The two cannot meet on the same plane. The seal can submerge below, while at best she can only dip her hand, and even then the consequences could be grave. It's not just the tangible natural world. It is charged with spirituality that mortality cannot fully grasp.

Xamonas is right; what a great sentence this is: "If you should dip your hand in,/your wrist would ache immediately,/your bones would begin to ache and your hand would burn/as if the water were a transmutation of fire,/that feeds on stones and burns with a dark gray flame." BTW, this sounds so much like D.H. Lawrence. I wonder if she revered him?

And so it becomes a religious experience, this interaction with nature. It is a babtismal experience, that is an acceptance of a new life, knowledge gained. It projects I think ahead to her death and the old man's death, another transmutation, bitter knowledge. After the word "transmutation" the style too transmutes. Suddenly, abstract concepts come in: imagination, knowledge, free, world, forever, historical.

For those interested:
The last stanza of "A Mighty Fortress Is Our God":

That word above all earthly powers, no thanks to them, abideth;
The Spirit and the gifts are ours through Him Who with us sideth:
Let goods and kindred go, this mortal life also;
The body they may kill: God’s truth abideth still,
His kingdom is forever.