Poetry Project

Design

ROBERT FROST

I found a dimpled spider, fat and white,
On a white heal-all, holding up a moth
Like a white piece of rigid satin cloth --
Assorted characters of death and blight
Mixed ready to begin the morning right,
Like the ingredients of a witches' broth --
A snow-drop spider, a flower like a froth,
And dead wings carried like a paper kite.

What had that flower to do with being white,
The wayside blue and innocent heal-all?
What brought the kindred spider to that height,
Then steered the white moth thither in the night?
What but design of darkness to appall?--
If design govern in a thing so small.

Since this was one of the poems I chose for the poetry project, I got familiar with this work. The first stanza is essentially a description on an event that the speaker witnessed. It's a relatively simple situation; he finds a fat spider, a white flower, and a soft moth, all in one place "like the ingredients of a witches' broth". However, the powerful part of the poem is the second stanza, when the speaker begins to question this event. He asks, "Why is this flower white when it's usually blue? What made the spider eat it? Why is the moth here as well?" These indeed are decent questions to ask, but the last two lines completes the poem most wonderfully. "What but design of darkness to appall?" The speaker states that if design, or a higher power of some sort, exists, then it brought these characters together through bad intention. However, the speaker asks if this design even exists; does it affect everything in life, even all the small things like spiders and flowers and moths? It's a wonderful question the speaker poses, and the fact that he asks it through such a simple event really makes the reader think. What's the reason for anything? Good question.

Environmental Psyche

After our discussion on Friday, I couldn't help but continue to think about how the landscape of a place makes us feel. For Tess, the darkness of the Chase mirrored her mind, as well as the happy environment of Talbathay's mirror how she felt there as well.

But connecting it back to us is interesting itself. I know personally that when I wake up, and it's snowy and overcast outside, I feel like that day will be dreary; just like the sky. On the other hand, if it's sunny and bright, the day seems like it will be promising.

Of course Tess' environments and situations are much different than ours, but it's not such a strange concept that there is a definite connection between the environment and how we feel.

Today is sunny already. It's going to be a fine day.

Ozymandias

After reading "Ozymandias" I thought a lot about pride and what kind of role it plays in life...

Too little pride, and you don't realize how amazing you actually are at things..

Too much pride, and you come off as a pompous jerk...

"Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

I think that's what happened to Ozymandias... he decided he needed to be prideful of his accomplishments but he went to far... now he's lonely.

May we learn from him, so that we can find a good balance. You can be proud of yourself, most definitely. But too much, and you're alone. What a valuable lesson.

Blighted Stars

"Which do we live on - a splendid one or a blighted one?"

"A blighted one."

To an extent, I agree with Tess. Our star is blighted beyond repair. There is so much suffering and despair and hurt; it's impossible to avoid. There are so many problems in our little star. It's barely shining.

But on the other hand, our star is the most splendid. It gleams with potential and opportunity. We could make our star the most wonderful in the world yet we focus on the problems or faces.

Tess, I understand why you believe our star to be blighted. But until you believe it could turn splendid, it won't get better.

Shine on.

P.S. I love Linda Pastan

I was planning on blogging about the poems "Traveling Light" and "Somewhere in the World" but as I googled Linda Pastan, I found a poem of hers that I fell in love with; a poem that made me smile.

"Vermilion"

Pierre Bonnard would enter
the museum with a tube of paint
in his pocket and a sable brush.
Then violating the sanctity
of one of his own frames
he'd add a stroke of vermilion
to the skin of a flower.
Just so I stopped you
at the door this morning
and licking my index finger, removed
an invisible crumb
from your vermilion mouth. As if
at the ritual moment of departure
I had to show you still belonged to me.
As if revision were
the purest form of love. 

It's a beautiful poem entirely. The language flows well and the imagery creates a vivid picture in the mind, especially with the use of the word vermilion, an amazing red color. It's glorious, truly. She even states that love is art and that's just so sweet, I love it.

What really got me was the metaphor, comparing herself to the painter Pierre Bonnard. It's a simple metaphor; easily understood and recognized. She is like the painter, her lover is like the art. 

Previously we've seen all of her metaphors and similes show some sort of uncertainty or even unhappiness in the world, especially in "Somewhere in the World" but also in "Traveling Light". But to see how she can also find beauty in an emotion is fabulous. I like to see this different style of writing from her.

Sorry, I just really can't get over this.