David J Bauman

I mentioned this morning that today’s reading would be a poem by William Carlos Williams, the writer of that little kitchen note recited here this morning by Mathew MacFadyen. It was not quite an apology, was it? “Forgive me / They were so sweet / And so cold.”

First of all, I want to thank you for following me, and for clicking that like button, and most of all for making such wonderful comments. The discussions here these last few weeks have been engaging and sincere. When I decided to take on this challenge of producing a poem reading by video each day of National Poetry Month I had no idea how much activity would get started up here in what has been a long dormant blog. In the last 19 days statistics show April as the busiest month ever on the DadPoet, more than doubling any busy months back in 2009 when I started this thing just to keep writing, keep focused and keep sane. It was good therapy then, but now it has become a joy. From 6 to 60 followers in 19 days? Thank you for being involved. It is a joy getting to know so many of you. From what I’ve seen here in the WordPress community, poetry is making a comeback. It’s thrilling to be a small part of that.

Williams is also the writer of that famous poem about the wheelbarrow. Like the note in “This is Just to Say,” there have been those who have argued whether or not “The Red Wheelbarrow” was a poem at all. Some claim they are just sentences broken up into lines to look like a poem. Wow, there’s another discussion I’d like to have here in the future: What is poetry? But for now, I am sure you can guess my stance. A poem implies, suggests and initiates far more than what is says, and I think both of these poems do that nicely.

The Red Wheelbarrow

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.

The most surprising thing really is that when I went to listen to Wheelbarrow readings, they were all, including W. C. Williams’ version, way too fast. There was a discussion recently on the SpokenVerse channel on YouTube with Tom O’Bedlam about how often poets are not the best readers of their own material. Obviously, you would not want to be melodramatic about the wheelbarrow, but it really should be slowed down and paced, so that the implications of the lines softly sink in. Though I didn’t do a reading of it yet, you can bet I will!

In “Danse Russe,” the poem for today, Williams’ knack for implying far more than his words say is abundantly evident. The title, for instance. Is it a reference to a movement in Swan Lake, simply Williams’ playfulness with the French way of saying “Russian dance?” Does it make you think of Danse Macbre? What about that word Russe? It looks a lot like ruse, doesn’t it? A bit of trickery? And what does Williams mean by genius? Personally I think the fun is that each question has more than one answer. Art is not science, and it is not easily pinned down to a formula.

Danse Russe

If I when my wife is sleeping
and the baby and Kathleen
are sleeping
and the sun is a flame-white disc
in silken mists
above shining trees,—
if I in my north room
danse naked, grotesquely
before my mirror
waving my shirt round my head
and singing softly to myself:
“I am lonely, lonely.
I was born to be lonely.
I am best so I”
If I admire my arms, my face
my shoulders, flanks, buttocks
against the yellow drawn shades,—

who shall say I am not
the happy genius of my household?

– William Carlos Williams