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In Memoriam -- Two Classics
Because it was this week in 1945, that we committed two of the most horrific acts of war in history, this weeks poetry selections deal with war and with loss.
We feature the poems, Naming of Parts, by Henry Reed and One Art, by Elizabeth Bishop.
NAMING OF PARTS
To-day we have naming of parts. Yesterday,
We had daily cleaning. And to-morrow morning,
We shall have what to do after firing. But to-day,
To-day we have naming of parts. Japonica
Glistens like coral in all of the neighboring gardens,
And to-day we have naming of parts.
This is the lower sling swivel. And this
Is the upper sling swivel, whose use you will see,
When you are given your slings. And this is the piling swivel,
Which in your case you have not got. The branches
Hold in the gardens their silent, eloquent gestures,
Which in our case we have not got.
This is the safety-catch, which is always released
With an easy flick of the thumb. And please do not let me
See anyone using his finger. You can do it quite easy
If you have any strength in your thumb. The blossoms
Are fragile and motionless, never letting anyone see
Any of them using their finger.
And this you can see is the bolt. The purpose of this
Is to open the breech, as you see. We can slide it
Rapidly backwards and forwards: we call this
Easing the spring. And rapidly backwards and forwards
The early bees are assaulting and fumbling the flowers
They call it easing the Spring.
They call it easing the Spring: it is perfectly easy
If you have any strength in your thumb: like the bolt,
And the breech, and the cocking-piece, and the point of balance,
Which in our case we have not got; and the almond-blossom
Silent in all of the gardens and the bees going backwards and forwards,
For to-day we have naming of parts.
Henry Reed
Henry Reed’s poem, Naming of Parts, is the most anthologized poem of WWII. Henry, of Birmingham, England, was born in 1914, son of a master bricklayer, who was a renowned drinker and womanizer and whose other son, an illegitimate son, died in the war. Family legend had it that the Reeds were descended from the bastard son of an 18th century Earl of Dudley.
Henry Reed attended many schools as a young man and was once anointed as a mathematical genius, but he also had his first sexual, homosexual, experience when he was nineteen, and later had a tortuous affair with a boy who developed paranoia. He was asked to leave home. Henry was drafted into the army in 1941 and served in an ordinance company.
In his poem, Naming of Parts, he juxtaposes a garden landscape with the military training he is receiving, altering language and rhythm, and using irony and satire and double meanings to convey the point of the poem.
Read it again and again.
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One Art
The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.
--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.
Elizabeth Bishop
Born in 1911, a native of Worcester, Massachusetts, her father died when she was eight months old, and her mother ended up institutionalized. She was raised by grandparents in Nova Scotia for a time then back in Worcester by her father’s wealthy parents, then with her aunt, her fourth home by age eight, which provided her with a measure of love and stability.
She attended Vasser College and took the poet Marianne Moore as her mentor. She had dalliances with men but had not yet realized that she was a lesbian.
Ms. Bishop traveled widely and lived for a time in Brazil with the love of her life, Lota Soares. She continued to write late into her life with no decline in the quality of her work. She wrote One Art in 1976, at the age of 75.
Ms. Bishop wrote One Art as a villanelle, a French form from the 15th century. Five of the six stanzas consist of three lines and the last, four lines. The end words of the first and third lines rhyme throughout the first five stanzas and the end words of the second lines of each stanza rhyme throughout the first five stanzas. However, the first line and last line of the first stanza take turns repeating as the final line of the next four stanzas, and then they are joined as the last two lines of the poem.
Ms. Bishop’s poem needs no explication: it speaks for itself.
John Twomey
Posted at August 9, 2005 09:41 PM