The Best American Poetry

Sam Spade and Odysseus: Aries Triumphant (by Jill Baron)

           In a previous discussion on astrology I presented W.H. Auden as a convincing though in the end inauthentic Aquarius, whose exact birth date falls not under the sign of the Water Bearer, but that of the Fish, Pisces.  Therefore I propose that we butterfly stroke out of these murky waters and try something different. 

            Let’s undergo astrological rebirth!  And what better place to do so than in Aries, the first sign of the zodiac cycle, harbinger of new beginnings. This time around, I would like to consider the Arian qualities of a character or two from literature and the books that begot them.  That’s right – I’m asserting in a very Arian way that not only does a literary character possess an astrological sign but that a book does too.  I would like to inaugurate this study with a profile of four Arians in literature: Sam Spade, his prototype, Odysseus, and the two books that birthed them, The Maltese Falcon and Robert Fitzgerald’s translation of The Odyssey.

            Sam Spade, for those of you who don’t know noir, is the protagonist of Dashiell Hammett’s novel The Maltese Falcon, published in 1929.  From the first page of the book, on which Hammett describes Spade as looking “rather pleasantly like a blond satan,” we know that Spade is a tough, no-nonsense guy with a penchant for trouble, but willing to go to any length to solve a crime, or, in this case, get his hands on the coveted black bird.  Odysseus, as you, kind reader, already know, is the great warrior and wanderer who spends much of his adult life overcoming seemingly insurmountable obstacles.  I am profiling these characters in tandem because when I read The Maltese Falcon, I couldn’t help recalling Odysseus every time that Sam Spade outsmarts an adversary with his cunning and physical strength.  It appears that one has begotten the other.

            What makes these characters a pair of Aries?  A fire sign, the Arian archetype is the Ram.  Those born under the sign of the Ram, according to Steven Forrest, astrologer, “come forth into the world armed with intelligence, vitality, and an instinct for survival.”  The Arian is a warrior, a daredevil: courageous, assertive, energetic, competitive and often impulsive.  Sam Spade is nothing but courageous, daring, and, as his primary love interest Brigid O’Shaughnessy says time and time again, “altogether unpredictable.” When Joel Cairo, also known as "The Levantine," first visits Spade to solicit his services in recuperating what Cairo calls "an ornament……that has been mislaid," a "black figure of a bird," he holds Spade at gunpoint. Spade barely flinches at the threat: "Spade did not look at the pistol. He raised his arms and, leaning back in his chair, intertwined the fingers of his two hands behind his head." During the crisis Spade, to all appearances, is perfectly at ease. When Cairo pats Spade down to make sure he is not armed, Spade gets the better of the man, striking him in the face with his elbow and rendering him unconscious.            

"Vermin" by William Matthews

Vermin

"What do you want to be when you grow up?"
What child cries out, ‘An exterminator!’?
One diligent student in Mrs. Taylor’s
class will get an ant farm for Christmas, but
he’ll not see industry; he’ll see dither.
"The ant sets an example for us all,"
wrote Max Beerbohm, a master of dawdle,
"but it is not a good one." These children
don’t hope to outlast the doldrums of school
only to heft great weights and work in squads
and die for their queen. Well, neither did we.
And we knew what we didn’t want to be:
the ones we looked down on, the lambs of God,
blander than snow and slow to be cruel.

-- William Matthews

from The Best American Poetry 1997

From the Archive: "L'Shana Tova" [by David Lehman]

Ed note:  We first posted this poem on September 30, 2008.  -- sdh

L'Shana Tova
[for David Shapiro]

I hear the ram’s horn.
Do you? Do you remember
father, son, mountain?

L’shana tova
old friend, mentor, fellow Jew,
you from New Jersey,

I from Manhattan,
and we met not in temple
but Columbia

and do you recall
when I visited Cambridge
I left you a note

with the Clare porter.
The world is charged (I wrote) with
the grandeur of you!

And then you came home
and I took your place over
there: at Clare College

Peter Ackroyd came
and asked me if I would speak
to the group on John

Ashbery whose new
book The Double Dream of Spring
had just been published.

How could I say no?
They told me you had spoken
on Frank O’Hara

and Aaron Fogel
had spoken on Kenneth Koch.
It was a good omen

I thought but then what
happened was rain rain rain and
more rain. And no mail

because of a strike
in England. There was always
a strike in England.

No mail, no phone calls
to America where my
father lay dying.

The gardeners burned
the leaves and I crossed the Cam
on Clare College bridge

daily, and daily
I went to Heffer’s and bought
books by Holderlin,

Mann, Gide, Henry James.
I imitated Rilke.
The sonnet for you

ran in Poetry.
More rain. Cold toilet. Bad smell.
And I couldn’t find

an English poet
younger than Larkin to like.
No mail. Pub hours.

Beer better than wine.
Awful food. Always hungry.
Had to learn to cook.

And that’s where I went
– to the sea of memory --
in temple today

when I heard the sound
of the shofar and prayed for
the living and dead.

-- David Lehman [9 / 13 / 07]

During September 2007, David Lehman and David Shapiro corresponded by haiku. This set of linked haiku appears in the September / October 2008 issue of Tikkun.

"September 1, 1939": At the eleventh hour

Here it is again: September 1, 1939, seventy one years later. Can you picture Auden at that "dive" on Fifty-Second Street, (aka Swing Street) on that terrible day when the Germans invaded Poland and quaked the earth? One of the best stanzas is a metaphorical description of that bar and others like it.

Quiz of the day:
WHA disliked the last line of the penultimate stanza because he felt it was "dishonest," by which I think he meant "untrue."

He changed it to
(1) We must love one another and die
(2) We must love one another or die
(3) We must love one another or diet
(4) One must love mother nature or die
(5) If winter comes, can spring be far behind?

Light up a Winston and think of dear Wystan. Bragging rights go to the winner!

When Bad Lines Happen to Good Poems (redux)

A couple of weeks ago, David posted Shelley's astrological profile and in her comment, "Sharon" picked up on David's reference to an especially bad line in one of Shelley's poems.  The exchange reminded me of an earlier post by Laurence Goldstein that appeared here in January '09.  It's worth rereading so take a look.  Any other nominations for bad lines in great poems or by great poets?

-- shd

Bridget Meeds on Jay Leeming's Poetry

From the Ithaca Times (May 10, 2006):

<<
When reading Jay Leeming's first collection of poems, Dynamite on a China Plate, it's hard not to think of fathers. Along with his literal father Joseph (who is honored in the acknowledgments), Leeming's literary fathers - Robert Bly and David Lehman - hover above this collection. A first book is often the melding of influences into something new. That something new made by Jay Leeming is a full-bodied, intelligent and thoroughly satisfying group of poems.

      Like Robert Bly, Leeming takes a craftsman's approach to constructing a well-made poem. We also see his influence in Leeming's deep connection to the "rightness" of image. And there's rarely a spare word in any of these poems. Consider, for instance, "Apple," quoted in full:
      
      "Sometimes when eating an apple
      I bite too far
      and open the little room
      the lovers have prepared,
      and the seeds fall out
      onto the kitchen floor
      and I see
      that they are tear-shaped."

      From the simple and homely image of an apple, we move quickly into the world of sex and knowledge.

      Leeming has a rare talent for image, metaphor and simile. Turns of phrase such as "the cry of the crow is a jack-knife opening" or "in the cricket-heavy darkness" show his deft hand. The early poems in the book, which tend to be a simple and attractive as wood polished to a sheen by use, appear to have been his school in which he refined his careful description.
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Judy Gemini could go on singing

Today in 1922 Judy Garland was born in Grand Rapids, Minnesota, at 6 AM. A Gemini with her moon in Sagittarius, and her Mercury and Venus in Cancer (her rising sign), the great star had the soul of a poet and the sensitivity of a diva. If only there had been more Virgo in her chart, the girl who played Dorothy in "The Wizard of Oz" might have had greater career endurance. The absence of earth signs doomed her to a nervous disposition and the likelihood of an early death.

Born Frances Ethel Gumm, Judy craved the approval of father figures, was easily bruised by criticism, sometimes affected a nonchalance but really cared very deeply about other people and wanted to be included in group activities. Her Saturn in Libra helps to explain her outstanding musical talent, and her will to succeed in motion pictures may be inferred from her mid-heaven in Pisces conjunct Uranus. She was even shorter than Mickey Rooney (under five feet) and a bit chubby.

The death of Judy's father at age 13 stunned the young actress, who eventually broke off relations with her mother. The amphetamines helped in the short run, and they were better than any diet. She had five husbands, none totally satisfactory. Johnny Mercer had an enormous crush on her. He wrote the words of "That Old Black Magic" with her in mind.

An old astrological adage has it that the stars favor the stars.  From the moment the young Garland sang to Clark Gable's photograph ("You Made Me Love You"), her rise to the heights of Hollywood glory was in the cards (Queen of hearts high) as was, alas, the inevitability of internal conflicts and demons postponed but not resolved by the habitual use of narcotics. As a teen she danced with Ray Bolger, Jack Haley, and Bert Lahr and sang "Over the Rainbow" (music Harold Arlen, lyrics Yip Harburg), which was named the greatest song of the twentieth century in a survey conducted by the National Endowment for the Arts and the Recording Industry Association of America in 2001. She did great things with Al Jolson numbers such as "Swanee" and "After You've Gone" and had a particular affinity with the music of Harold Arlen. At Carnegie Hall in 1961, with Harold Arlen in the audience, she sang "Get Happy," "Stormy Weather," "The Man That Got Away," and "Come Rain or Come Shine."

In Chinese astrology, Judy Garland was born in the year of the dog. Her element is water. This is consistent with her destiny. Her relation to Minnesota mirrors that of Dorothy to Kansas except that there was no home to go back to. The three farm hands in the dream were almost recognized when she awoke in Hollywood. The scarecrow pointed two ways, but no one prepared the young girl for the possiblity that she might be considered a has-been at age 25. She was supposed to play Annie in the movie version of "Annie Get Yiour Gun" and we have the footage of her singing "Doin' a What Comes Naturally." It would have been great. Betty Hutton got the part.

Judy collaborated with Mickey Rooney in a lot of movies and their rendition of "How About You?" is a classic. They reprised their partnership for several Rodgers and Hart songs in the docu-pic "Words and Music." Judy sang and danced with Gene Kelly and with Fred Astaire ("Easter Parade"), and the saints of St. Louis marched in and sang "The Trolley Song" in unison on June 22, 1969, the day of her death. Gay men loved her. They weren't the only ones. Five Grammy awards! She was dead at 46.

Other folks of note born on this day include Saul Bellow, Hattie McDaniel, Gina Gershon, Frederick Loewe (who composed the music for "My fair Lady"), and Prince Philip of England.

If Judy and Frank Sinatra had been lovers, they would have scored very high in passion, high in intimacy, average in synergy, and below average in commitment.

-- DL

April 29, 1962, at the White House

April 29, 1962. White House dinner and reception in honor of Nobel Prize winners. Front row: President Kennedy chats with Pearl Buck, while Jackie lends an ear to Robert Frost. Buck's back is turned to Lady Bird Johnson, wife of the Vice President, looking "lovely," smiling crookedly. Pretty sure that is Ethel Kennedy, wife of the attorney general, seated behind the president.

Quiz: Which of the front row authors won the Nobel Prize?
Analyze the body language of President and Mrs. Kennedy.

Pearl S. Buck :)
Posted by: Laura Orem | August 11, 2008 at 05:34 PM

Analysis of body language --
JFK - "Sorenson told me there'd be chorus girls."
JBK - "How long is this damn poem, anyway?"
Posted by: Laura Orem | August 11, 2008 at 05:41 PM

laura is absolutely right about body language analysis! i believe nixon was actually much more literary than kennedy. kennedy was really into ian fleming. such a bright guy but debilitated by physical pain (which led to non-stop horniness), the horrible influence of his father, and laziness. at some point i will post a really great phone conversation he had with eisenhower during the cuban missile crisis. that was the one time that there was such a mess that kennedy actually had to do some work!
Posted by: Mitch| August 11, 2008 at 06:47 PM

Happy JA Day, Every Buddy!

It's John Ashbery Day in New York -- as April 6 was designated ("in perpetuity") by New York's City Council on April 6, 2006 -- so a bunch of us decided to get together and toast the old boy!

Flashback: Simic and Lehman, 1992

Charles Simic, guest editor of The Best American Poetry 1992, with series editor David Lehman in October 1992. The Academy of American Poets hosted a launch reading for the anthology featuring Simic, Lehman, Lynda Hull, Rosanna Warren, and did Agha Shahid Ali read that evening?

Click here to fast forward 15 years.