The Tuesday Platform: Images of Metaphors (Poems in April ~ Day 2)

Forest and Dove, 1927, Max Ernst 

Thinking of a Relation between the Images of Metaphors

The wood-doves are singing along the Perkiomen.
The bass lie deep, still afraid of the Indians.

In the one ear of the fisherman, who is all
One ear, the wood-doves are singing a single song.

The bass keep looking ahead, upstream, in one
Direction, shrinking from the spit and splash

Of waterish spears. The fisherman is all
One eye, in which the dove resembles a dove.

There is one dove, one bass, one fisherman.
Yet coo becomes rou-coo, rou-coo. How close

To the unstated theme each variation comes . . .
In that one ear it might strike perfectly:

State the disclosure. In that one eye the dove
Might spring to sight and yet remain a dove.

The fisherman might be the single man
In whose breast, the dove, alighting, would grow still.

Wallace Stevens (1879-1955): Thinking of a Relation between the Images of Metaphors, from Transport to Summer, 1947

Good day, poets! This is Anmol (alias HA) and it is my pleasure to be hosting you here at With Real Toads for the (Inter)National Poetry Month. For The Tuesday Platform, share with us a link to one poem, old or new, in the linking widget down below. If you are participating in the Poetry Month marathon or simply seeking inspiration, here is an optional challenge for you, for the 2nd day of this month-long celebration. I hope you get to achieve your target:

Write a poem, lyrical or prosaic, metrical or free verse, short or long, from the perspective of an inanimate object. It may be something in your very room, for instance, a pen stand or a flickering light bulb or that used paper you have been meaning to put in the trash. Let your imagination run free and weave a story or an experiential narration, as if you were that object. Do not forget to emulate what Wallace Stevens has to say about images of metaphors.

Once you have linked, do not forget to visit & read others' posts and sharing your words with them. I look forward to enjoying your creative craftsmanship. Happy Writing!

Sunday's Mini-challenge: Wallace Stevens

Hi everyone ~  As part of my feature poet series, I am happy to showcase the work of Wallace Stevens, one of America's most respected poets.  

1879–1955

Wallace Stevens was a master stylist, employing an extraordinary vocabulary and a rigorous precision in crafting his poems. But he was also a philosopher of aesthetics, vigorously exploring the notion of poetry as the supreme fusion of the creative imagination and objective reality. Because of the extreme technical and thematic complexity of his work, Stevens was sometimes considered a willfully difficult poet. But he was also acknowledged as an eminent abstractionist and a provocative thinker, and that reputation has continued since his death. In 1975, for instance, noted literary critic Harold Bloom, whose writings on Stevens include the imposing Wallace Stevens: The Poems of Our Climate, called him "the best and most representative American poet of our time." 

You can read more about his life here.    

Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird

BY WALLACE STEVENS

I

Among twenty snowy mountains,   

The only moving thing   

Was the eye of the blackbird.   

II

I was of three minds,   

Like a tree   

In which there are three blackbirds.   

III

The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.   

It was a small part of the pantomime.   

IV

A man and a woman   

Are one.   

A man and a woman and a blackbird   

Are one.   

V

I do not know which to prefer,   

The beauty of inflections   

Or the beauty of innuendoes,   

The blackbird whistling   

Or just after.   

VI

Icicles filled the long window   

With barbaric glass.   

The shadow of the blackbird   

Crossed it, to and fro.   

The mood   

Traced in the shadow   

An indecipherable cause.   

VII

O thin men of Haddam,   

Why do you imagine golden birds?   

Do you not see how the blackbird   

Walks around the feet   

Of the women about you?   

VIII

I know noble accents   

And lucid, inescapable rhythms;   

But I know, too,   

That the blackbird is involved   

In what I know.   

IX

When the blackbird flew out of sight,   

It marked the edge   

Of one of many circles.   

Please continue reading here.

Our challenge is to write a new poem or prose poem inspired by a line, title, verse or style of Wallace Stevens.   I look forward to reading your work.   Please don't forget to visit and return the comments of your fellow poets.   Happy Sunday !  Grace (aka Heaven

A Toads Favo(u)rite.....Emperor of Ice Cream

Hey Toads....Herotomost fresh off a three day Ensenada cruise, a little worse for the wear but alive and intact. I have been told that it is my turn to post a favorite poem for our Toads Favo(u)rite Poem feature and as most of you know, this one is probably a little harder for me than most. I really didn't start reading anything until I was probably 14 or 15 and then it was mostly sci-fi and horror books with the occasional "Incredible Journey" or "My Side of the Mountain" thrown in.  Heck, in school I wasn't required to read any book until my Junior year (To Kill a Mockingbird), and it was the only book that I was required to read in school.  So to say the least, my exposure to poetry was  somewhat underwhelming and what poetry I did come across was many times an introduction to a book or a chapter of a book, and when put into that kind of context, some of the poems I read were fantastic and probably didn't mean at all what I thought they did. They were always hooked to feelings and emotions that I was having while reading the book. It wasn't until watching Dead Poet's Society that I picked up my first real poetry book which was Uncle Walts, Leaves of Grass and a Dylan Thomas book, which one I couldn't tell you.

I first read the poem I have chosen in Stephen Kings Salem's lot, he uses alot of quotes, poems and lyrics to introduce chapters or sections of books and I can remember this poem better than I can remember the rest of the book.  It was because of how it made me feel when I read it.  I have since looked it up, read a plethora of explanations and analyses of what it is supposed to mean and many of those ideas contradict each other heavily. So I am not going to give you my take on it, I am not going to analyze it to death, because you know by the way that I comment on all of your poems that most of the time I feel how your words punch me in the gut, or massage my shoulders, or kiss me full and wet on the mouth.  I don't care if I get the total meaning wrong, I only care that the words reminded me of something that I have experienced, and I like the feeling of a shared experince especially with someone that I have never met before.  It makes me think that the world does work the right way alot of the time and that people understand each other at the most basic of levels.

OK enough or Kerry gonna say something like...."Ackkkkk...enough with the feelings already!!!!" lol. Here it is....

The Emperor of Ice-Cream

By 

Wallace Stevens

Call the roller of big cigars,
The muscular one, and bid him whip
In kitchen cups concupiscent curds.
Let the wenches dawdle in such dress
As they are used to wear, and let the boys
Bring flowers in last month's newspapers.
Let be be finale of seem.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

Take from the dresser of deal,
Lacking the three glass knobs, that sheet
On which she embroidered fantails once
And spread it so as to cover her face.
If her horny feet protrude, they come
To show how cold she is, and dumb.
Let the lamp affix its beam.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.