Well, I finally got a bit of outside reading done, though I had to try several takes from multiple spots, due to background noise. I abandoned one reading done from the balcony of a local restaurant, simply because I didn’t like the inflections of my voice. While listening in the car afterward I decided that I hadn’t read the poem right. So I’ll save May Swenson for another day.
In the end, I came back to this poem, by Charles Simic, which I had memorized last week. I frankly am no good at memorizing my own poems. Why? Possibly because they go through so many drafts and re-writes and fits of editing that I am never sure which is the version I most recently decided was the best. With the poems of others I only know one version, and so it’s easier. Therefore, I try meticulously to get each word right, out of respect for the poet, when I attempt to recite one from memory.
Charles Simic was poet Laureate of the U.S. five years ago, and as the Librarian of Congress James H. Billington said, “He handles language with the skill of a master craftsman, yet his poems are easily accessible, often meditative and surprising.” I recently read an article called Age of Ignorance by this poet in the New York Review of Books blog, which is well worth reading. You might also be interested in his Confessions of a Poet Laureate.
So on this 15th day of National Poetry Month, the Ides of April, I present from the 15th Poet Laureate of the United States, a poem first published the year I was born. And if you think I arranged all of this on purpose, you give me way too much credit. I just thought the kismet was too much not to mention it. You can check out Simic’s own reading of this poem here (video narrated by Garrison Keillor), and judge whether the video below does his work justice. I think the thumbnail for my video looks hilariously dramatic.
Stone
Go inside a stone
That would be my way.
Let somebody else become a dove
Or gnash with a tiger’s tooth.
I am happy to be a stone.
From the outside the stone is a riddle:
No one knows how to answer it.
Yet within, it must be cool and quiet
Even though a cow steps on it full weight,
Even though a child throws it in a river;
The stone sinks, slow, unperturbed
To the river bottom
Where the fishes come to knock on it
And listen.
I have seen sparks fly out
When two stones are rubbed,
So perhaps it is not dark inside after all;
Perhaps there is a moon shining
From somewhere, as though behind a hill—
Just enough light to make out
The strange writings, the star-charts
On the inner walls.
Charles Simic, from What the Grass Says. (Harcourt Inc., 1967)
David J. Bauman 
Most excellent! Not only do I like the poem, but your interpretation is very good…it’s very relaxed, more like you’re telling us something, rather than reciting something. I like this very much!
Though, I must admit, I’m with you on the thumbnail…looks like you’re peeved and going to throw the rock, like some snotty kid. 🙂
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haha, :-p Well, they do only give me three choices for the thumbnail. The other two I looked like a dork, so I went with the dramatic one. Get their attention and then lure them in with subtlety maybe?
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It makes you look butch, at any rate. 🙂 🙂 🙂
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Good! I’ve been lacking in the workouts lately! lol
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Simic is one of my favorite contemporary poets. I love “Black Cat”
I highly suggest that you take a look at Stuart Dybek.
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Yes, I had almost forgotten the cat! And I shall be sure to check out Stuart.
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I love this. Thank you for sharing your interpretation of the poem with us. 🙂 I shall have to check out your other readings.
Best wishes,
Casey
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Thank you, Casey. I am so glad you liked it.
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David,
I really enjoyed this poem and your interpretation of it. Nicely done! I liked when you knocked the two together and am glad you didn’t edit the video to make a spark come out 🙂
Great setting for the reading…
Peace,
Stephen
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Yes, now THAT would have been jumping the shark, to put sparks in. LOL That would have distracted from the poem. As it was, I thought what I did mostly worked. I’m really glad you liked it. I was eager to work on Day 18 when I got home, but now I am too pooped. Until tomorrow (or much later today by my time zone).
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Reblogged this on David J. Bauman and commented:
Sling-back Sunday maybe? On this day in 2012:
This is another from what’s sort of loosely becoming a best-of collection from my month of poetry recordings six years ago. Each poem was recorded, uploaded to YouTube, and blogged about in the course of a day. So, there are plenty that were fine but can stay in the archives where they are.
This is one that just kind of came together, one of the few I memorize and “performed.” Looking back, my interpretations might have come out different, but I am pleased when it feels like I was present when a little magic happened.
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