Maddie's - extra assignment

I chose this video because I think it gives an interesting insight on how expressive poetry can be. I think that this video is very relevant to our course because he takes us through each poem and you can hear the way he feels about the poem through his voice and expression. I really enjoyed the video.

Social Media, Race, and Disney Princesses

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/features/audioitem/5428

I found this website which contains a variety of media from weekly podcasts to a library of poetry. I really liked this podcast (from the weekly podcast Poetry Off the Shelf) in particular because it discusses current issues we live through on a daily basis and see a lot through social media which incorporates poetry into a discussion. The two hosts of this episode are young poets from diverse backgrounds and have a lot to say on racism and show how social media can expose a much wider audience to poetry who would probably have never read it in a book. Here is a poem, which relates to current situations, like the Syrian refugee crisis:

Your Village by Elana Bell

Once in a village that is burning
      because a village is always somewhere burning

And if you do not look because it is not your village
      it is still your village

In that village is a hollow child
      You drown when he looks at you with his black, black eyes

And if you do not cry because he is not your child
      he is still your child

All the animals that could run away have run away
      The trapped ones make an orchestra of their hunger

The houses are ruin      Nothing grows in the garden
      The grandfather’s grave is there      A small stone

under the shade of a charred oak      Who will brush off the dead
      leaves      Who will call his name for morning prayer

Where will they — the ones who slept in this house and ate from this dirt — ?

Pablo Neruda poem in spanish

   
I decided to share this poem because I found it interesting to see a poem in a different language. Although the language is different the style of writing is still the same. The poet uses descriptive language to show the reader that he's lost his love. 

      



                        20

PUEDO escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.

Escribir, por ejemplo: "La noche está estrellada,
y tiritan, azules, los astros, a lo lejos".

El viento de la noche gira en el cielo y canta.

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Yo la quise, y a veces ella también me quiso.

En las noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos.
La besé tantas veces bajo el cielo infinito.

Ella me quiso, a veces yo también la quería.
Cómo no haber amado sus grandes ojos fijos.

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Pensar que no la tengo. Sentir que la he perdido.

Oir la noche inmensa, más inmensa sin ella.
Y el verso cae al alma como al pasto el rocío.

Qué importa que mi amor no pudiera guardarla.
La noche está estrellada y ella no está conmigo.

Eso es todo. A lo lejos alguien canta. A lo lejos.
Mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.

Como para acercarla mi mirada la busca.
Mi corazón la busca, y ella no está conmigo.

La misma noche que hace blanquear los mismos
           árboles.
Nosotros, los de entonces, ya no somos los mismos.

Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero cuánto la quise.
Mi voz buscaba el viento para tocar su oído.

De otro. Será de otro. Como antes de mis besos.
Su voz, su cuerpo claro. Sus ojos infinitos.

Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero tal vez la quiero.
Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido.

Porque en noches como ésta la tuve entre mis
          brazos,
mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.

Aunque éste sea el último dolor que ella me causa,
y éstos sean los últimos versos que yo le escribo.

Darius Simpson & Scout Bostley - "Lost Voices" (CUPSI 2015)

I decided to pick this video because the speakers have a unique way of presenting the poem.  Darius Simpson & Scout Bostley, switch microphones in the middle of the poem, I didn't understand way but I only understood as the poem progressed.  Instead of telling stories in their life, they tell each others experiences.  In my opinion, this results in a powerful poem about a white girls perspective and a black man's perspective.



https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lpPASWlnZIA

Those Winter Sundays by Robert Hayden

Sundays too my father got up early 
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold, 
then with cracked hands that ached 
from labor in the weekday weather made 
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him. 

I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking. 
When the rooms were warm, he’d call, 
and slowly I would rise and dress, 
fearing the chronic angers of that house, 

Speaking indifferently to him, 
who had driven out the cold 
and polished my good shoes as well. 
What did I know, what did I know 
of love’s austere and lonely offices? 

--------------------------------------------

The reason I picked to post this poem is because I love the rich imagery that Hayden incorporated in this poem. Every word was chosen deliberately and has some deeper connotation. For example, 'blueblack cold' can remind us of bruises, rather than just a color. 

Shane Koyczan on Snap Judgment

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Y2VNDetsjg

If You Forget Me

If You Forget Me

Pablo Neruda

I want you to know

one thing.

You know how this is:

if I look

at the crystal moon, at the red branch

of the slow autumn at my window,

if I touch

near the fire

the impalpable ash

or the wrinkled body of the log,

everything carries me to you,

as if everything that exists,

aromas, light, metals,

were little boats

that sail

toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,

if little by little you stop loving me

I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly

you forget me

do not look for me,

for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,

the wind of banners

that passes through my life,

and you decide

to leave me at the shore

of the heart where I have roots,

remember

that on that day,

at that hour,

I shall lift my arms

and my roots will set off

to seek another land.

But

if each day,

each hour,

you feel that you are destined for me

with implacable sweetness,

if each day a flower

climbs up to your lips to seek me,

ah my love, ah my own,

in me all that fire is repeated,

in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,

my love feeds on your love, beloved,

and as long as you live it will be in your arms

without leaving mine.

This is one of my favorite poems from my poetry project! I hope you all like it!