I Dreamed That in a City Dark as Paris

by Louis Simpson

I dreamed that in a city dark as Paris
I stood alone in a deserted square.
The night was trembling with a violet
Expectancy. At the far edge it moved
And rumbled; on that flickering horizon
The guns were pumping color in the sky.

There was the Front. But I was lonely here,
Left behind, abandoned by the army.
The empty city and the empty square
Was my inhabitation, my unrest.
The helmet with its vestige of a crest,
The rifle in my hands, long out of date,
The belt I wore, the trailing overcoat
And hobnail boots, were those of a poilu.
I was the man, as awkward as a bear.

Over the rooftops where cathedrals loomed
In speaking majesty, two aeroplanes
Forlorn as birds, appeared. Then growing large,
The German Taube and the Nieuport Scout,
They chased each other tumbling through the sky,
Till one streamed down on fire to the earth.

These wars have been so great, they are forgotten
Like the Egyptian dynasts. My confrere
In whose thick boots I stood, were you amazed
To wander through my brain four decades later
As I have wandered in a dream through yours?

The violence of waking life disrupts
The order of our death. Strange dreams occur,
For dreams are licensed as they never were.

Louis Simpson, "I Dreamed that in a City Dark as Paris" from The Owner of the House: New Collected Poems 1940-2001. Copyright © 2003 by Louis Simpson.

Daffodils

by Alicia Ostriker

–for David Lehman

Ten thousand I saw at a glance

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

–William Wordsworth

Going to hell so many times tears it

Which explains poetry. 

–Jack Spicer

The day the war in against Iraq begins

I'm photographing the yellow daffodils

With their outstretched arms and ruffled cups

Blowing in the wind of Jesus Green

Edging the lush grassy moving river

Along with the swans and ducks

Under a soft March Cambridge sky

Embellishing the earth like a hand

Starting to illustrate a children's book

Where people in light clothes come out

To play, to frisk and run about

With their lovers, friends, animals, and children

As down every stony back road of history

They've always done in the peaceful springs

–Which in a sense is also hell because

The daffodils do look as if they dance

And make some of us in the park want to dance

And breathe deeply and I know that

Being able to eat and incorporate beauty like this

I am privileged and by that token can

Taste pain, roll it on my tongue, it's good

The cruel wars are good the stupidity is good, 

The primates hiding in their caves are very good,

They do their best, which explains poetry. 

What explains poetry is that life is hard

But better than the alternatives, 

The no and the nothing. Look at this light

And color, a splash of brilliant yellow

Punctuating an emerald text, white swans
And mottled brown ducks floating quietly along
Whole and alive, like an untorn language
That lacks nothing, that excludes

Nothing. Period. Don't you think
It is our business to defend it
Even the day our masters start a war?
To defend the day we see the daffodils?

"Daffodils" from No Heaven, by Alicia Suskin Ostriker, © 2005. 

I thought this poem would be perfect for my first post on our blog. The poem nearly perfectly captures how I feel about the importance of poetry, and I hope you dear readers enjoy!

Daffodils by Alicia Ostriker starts somewhat uniquely with two epigraphs. Most poems don’t even have one; the addition of two quotations in this poem highlights the complexity and theme of the poem as a whole. 

Ostriker abruptly introduces the poem with by mentioning the war in Iraq. The war isn’t referenced again until the last stanza, and while it’s essential to the poem, she uses the specific event to further her argument that poetry can apply at any time.

She continues by describing in beautiful detail the land around her as she photographed in a manner that is echoed throughout the poem, taking a small daffodil in England and expanding its beauty to show how it affects the world. The “yellow daffodils” with “outstretched arms” and “ruffled cups” can be seen as a metaphor for poetry itself. Throughout the poems Ostriker compels us to think more deeply about what poetry is, and what it does. She shows the complex nature of poetry as it allows for “people in light clothes” that play, while in the same breath “is also hell.” The speaker acknowledges the differing effects of poetry saying it makes “some of us in the park want to dance” while others experience poetry differently.

Ostriker moves seamlessly from the image of  dancing daffodils to speaking of poetry as a whole. The speaker praises her privilege to read and write poetry, pointing out that it allows her to “incorporate beauty…[and] taste pain.”  The speaker claims “cruel wars are good,” highlighting the nuanced nature of poetry in her juxtapositions.

She concludes the poem with a rhetorical question, a call to the “daffodils” even when “our masters” are starting a war. This final image beautifully illustrates the importance of small things amongst the craziness of life. The importance of capturing daffodils in poetry despite being surrounded in horror.
Well, I have a lot more to say and a lot more thoughts on this poem-but for now this will have to do. I hope you've all been having a lovely Wednesday! Until next week!

Sincerely,
Jane