Back to the Blog

Hello All!

I know - it's been a while. The last two and a half months of my trip abroad were hectic - filled with wonderful travels, memorable parties and just a hell of a lot of fun. It felt strange coming home, but luckily I have the most remarkable support here in Tennessee, so it makes me happy to come back and be with the people I love and care for. If there is one lesson I could take away from my time in Finland, it would be that life is all about the people. You can go anywhere and have anything, but in the end it means nothing if you can't enjoy life with amazing and interesting people.

But back to the poetry. I am so lucky to have a poet for a mother! As soon as I returned, she was waiting for me with a stack of new books, some from authors I know, some from authors I don't know - and as any voracious reader can tell you, this mix is ideal. One of the books is the most comprehensive collection of Wallace Stevens's poetry. I had never read Stevens before, but I had always wanted to. Sure enough, The Collected Poems is not disappointing me. Stevens seems to have a way with titles, a way with words, a way with relating to the world around him - in other words, Stevens has a way with poetry. I'd like to share one of his poems from this great collection.

The Ordinary Women

Then from their poverty they rose,
From dry catarrhs, and to guitars
They flitted
Through the palace walls.

They flung monotony behind,
Turned from their want, and, nonchalant,
They crowded
The noctunral halls.

The lacquered loges huddled there
Mumbled zay-zay and a-zay, a-zay.
The moonlight
Fubbed the grandioles.

And the cold dresses that they wore,
In the vapid haze of the window-bays,
Were tranquil
As they leaned and looked

From the window-sills at the alphabets,
At beta b and gamma g,
To study
The canting curlicues

Of heaven and of the heavenly script.
And there they read of marriage bed.
Ti-lill-o!
And they read right long.

The gaunt guitarists on the strings
Rumbled a-day and a-day, a-day.
The moonlight
Rose on the beachy floors.

How explicit the coiffures became,
The diamond point, the sapphire point,
The sequins
Of the civil fans!

Insinuations of desire,
Puissant speech, alike in each,
Cried quittance
To the wickless halls.

Then from their poverty they rose,
From dry guitars, and to catarrhs
They flitted
Through the palace walls.

- Wallace Stevens

I particularly enjoy the narrative aspect of this poem. On my first read, I didn't really catch the story behind it, though I loved the language and rhythm and how the verses were strung together. But then I realized the story being told, and the message behind it struck me as poignant and poetic. Of course, I won't go into my interpretations, but I wanted to point out the rhythmic use of language and how it can affect our interpretations of the subject matter. This poem, with it's internal rhyme scheme and approximate form, creates an almost ballad-like feel to it. I love it, and I hope you enjoy it as well.

Peace & Love,
Austin