Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

Application #2

April 27, 2012

aaaaLangstonHughes

Here’s something I wrote a few years ago in graduate school for Professor Kaplan:

Application #2

Langston Hughes’s poem Harlem complies with Cleanth Brooks’s assessment of modern poetic technique as “full commitment to metaphor.” The poem consists of six cogent metaphors steeped together to create an elixir incomparable to the flavor of any one of these images standing alone. A raisin, an oozing sore, rancid meat, a sugary crust, a sagging load and an explosion are, by themselves, images which either assault or delight the senses. Hughes’s alchemy blends the first four contradictory metaphors, then offers a lull in the image of a sagging load before suggesting the possibility of an explosion.

The splattering of metaphors in Harlem qualifies as irony according to Brooks’s loose definition: “The obvious warping of a statement by context.”

The tension, or “pressure of context,” resulting from the incongruity of the metaphors in Harlem is resolved through the prospect of obliteration (explosion) of the entire batch of metaphors. This final loud, bright, apocalyptic eruption, so inconsistent with the lazy, passive images which precede it, relieves tension by hinting at annihilation.

The liquid quality of the poem’s first four metaphors reveal the fluid quality of human emotions. They also contain three food images and two carnal references, suggesting that the fulfillment of our dreams is a need just as basic and primal as the appetite for food.

by Richard W. Bray

Choice

March 23, 2012

Sam thinks
ten drinks
will clean
his spleen
rebuke
and puke
such thoughts
have brought

Bart buys
new tie
with cash
from Nash
gets job
from Bob
repays
next day

Meg mopes
no hope
her guts
erupt
since Ted
switched bed
time flows
pain grows

life hard
says bard
thought makes
hearts break
breathe, cry
soon die
rejoice
in choice

Richard W. Bray

Stream

February 25, 2012

aaaaaaaaaaaaimages

naggin little
melancholy
nibblin at my day
left a hole
that slit my soul
and drained my
hope away

heaven knows
joy comes and goes
who could tell me why?
heaven knows
the river flows
and sometimes
it ebbs dry

day by day
waves slap shore
earth spins round the sun
fill your cup
when joy erupts
soon it will
be gone

Richard W. Bray

Thinking v. Feeling

December 17, 2011

Theodore_Roethke_as_an_infant,_Saginaw,_Michigan,_ca_1909_(PORTRAITS_699)

Thinking v. Feeling

Poet said We think by feeling
A thought that echoes Hume
No logic-minded being
Would genuflect at tombs

We feel therefore we think
Is what they’re finding out
This unappealing link
Is Descartes turned inside out

With a touch of intervention
From our modern frontal lobe
My breed maintains ascension
On our lovely little globe

Toughest on the block
With more appetite than smarts
Condemned to rule this rock
For the cravings of the heart

by Richard W. Bray

Lies

November 6, 2011

Lies


The sky is green
The sea is pink
Babies don’t cry
And shit don’t stink

Money is sacred
People are not
What’s important
Is what you got

War is good
Bombs are smart
Might makes right
Killing is art

Anarchy is freedom
Lies are true
God loves us
More’n He loves you

Theft is liberation
Democracy, sublime
Self-defense is terror
Resistance is a crime

The sky is green
The sea is pink
Babies don’t cry
And shit don’t stink

by Richard W. Bray

Devoid

October 22, 2011

A face devoid of love or grace,
A hateful, hard, successful face,

Devoid

I’ve studied all one needs to know ‘bout every little thing
I’ve scoured the biographies of philosophes and kings
I’ve meditated countless hours on all that I have learned
And I’ve concluded modestly that clearly I have earned
The right to state objectively that all I would proclaim
Is exactly what should be, and wouldn’t it be a shame
If Lilliputian intellects and putrid second-raters
Or lily-livered losers and unmanly imitators
Would dare to think that they possess grit and gut and gall
To interrupt my project for the benefit of all?

Undermined by cowards and their miniscule bereavements
Who could not comprehend the scope of my achievement
Like pesky little gnats, they hindered my attention
Allowing mediocrities to cancel my ascension
These trifling mental midgets who dared to halt my plans
Don’t deserve to share the planet with a real fighting man
They can analyze the metrics until the end of time
And never comprehend the dimensions of their crime
When assessing this fiasco, please do not involve me
For I have every confidence that history will absolve me

by Richard W. Bray

Exceptionalism

September 24, 2011

Exceptionalism

Time for you to move
We vanquish all we see
It’s written and it’s manifest
None thwart our destiny

Only fools oppose us
We’ll squash you all like bugs
Those who won’t stand with us
Are the real thugs

Our creed is tried and tested
Our cause is pure and just
We aren’t doing what we should
We do the things we must

We never say we’re sorry
That would make us weak
We know that God is with us
Mighty Glory we shall seek

We’re right because we’re righteous
That makes us good and true
We needn’t bother listening
To anyone like you

by Richard W. Bray

Yes and No

August 13, 2011

Yes and No

Paradox and irony perplex the mind of man
The latter happens when we seek a god who has a plan
And the former is the find of all who hope to understand

Our limited perceptions and our overactive brains
Leave us ill-equipped, yet so hungry to explain
It’s a wonder every one of us hasn’t gone insane

Our vices and our virtues correspond, you see
And the rightness of an action depends upon degree
When is cowardice mere prudence? Buddy, you tell me

Auden heard a Whisper, declaring it was sad
But vanities and envies were really all we had
And love was an illusion, or just a silly fad

Like so many questions that might occur to you
One could spend a lifetime trying to pursue
All the implications of whether this were true?

Years of contemplation that you could undergo
Ruminating endlessly until it’s time to go
Is folly for the answer is simply “yes and no”

by Richard W. Bray

Application #6

July 1, 2011

Matthew Arnold

Application # 6
(Something I wrote in graduate school)

The “interpoetic relationship” between Matthew Arnold’s Dover Beach and Anthony Hecht’s The Dover Bitch could hardly be less subtle. Hecht “clears poetic space” for himself by means of a “purposeful misreading” of Arnold in which Hecht inserts himself as a peripheral character in “Dover Beach”. This playful approach belies Harold Bloom’s contention that poets inevitably grapple with the “anxiety of influence” of prior works.

“Dover Bitch” is a lighthearted parody which mocks the sincerity and the seriousness of the original text. Hetch does this by transforming the object of desire in “Dover Beach” into a “girl” who is quite unworthy of her lofty stature. The woman spoken to in “Dover Beach” is the recipient of a protestation of a love which is meant to replace all the shattered Victorian certitudes which no longer exist:

Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world ….
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain

This is quite a tall order to fill: Make my life meaningful in a world without God. Hecht slyly deflates Arnold’s heroic affirmation of devotion by turning its recipient into a woman far more interested in having a good time than resolving Arnold’s spiritual devastation. Hecht does not merely remove her from her pedestal, but makes her scornful of Arnold’s attempt to recreate her “(A)s a sort of mournful cosmic last resort”.

Hecht’s attempt to supplant his predecessor offers a rich vein to be tapped by those who would extract psychoanalytical deposits from the rivalries which exist between authors. When Hecht proclaims “I knew this girl”, he means it in the biblical sense. It is hard to resist the Oedipal interpretation in which Hecht not only seduces the fictional object of Arnold’s desire, but has his way with his poem as well.

Hecht’s reduction of Arnold’s contemplation on the meaning of life into a tawdry one night stand is possible because Arnold permits him the space to do so. Arnold’s failure to consider how the poem plays to its internal audience makes it possible for the reader to accept her as seeing him as an insufferable blowhard.

by Richard W. Bray

No Laughter, No Hope

June 18, 2011


I can hate life
And I can hate me
And I can hit you
So you will hit me

No laughter, no hope
Just sock in the eye
You looking for hurt?
Then I am your guy

by Richard W. Bray