POETRY, TRANS.PRAC. WEEK 8, DUE 11/20

In The Soul is Here for its Own Joy, Robert Bly catalogues poems from different ages and
cultures which he considers sacred, and groups them in ten chapters or themes. Sometimes the
poems deal in a direct way with the theme of that chapter, sometimes obliquely; sometimes they
speak directly to the idea of the sacred; sometimes they only imply that relationship. Some of the
poems (like Rumi's) seem to be about giving advice: here's what to do, brothers. Some,
typically the more modem, shy away from advising, and rely on metaphor or humor to make the
connection.

This seems as good a time as any to think about the term transcendence in terms of poetry. My own definition is evolving as the class progresses, but I think that a transcendent experience is one in which I transcend or leave behind my ego, and connect, on some level, with a force or consciousness that is larger (and maybe better) than my worried, ego‑driven self. How does transcendence work in poetry? The absolute prime connection to me is contained in the idea and experience of awe. Seeing something, noticing something, hearing something that, however briefly, takes me out of myself, makes me forget, for a minute, about, me, qualifies, for me, as transcendent.

I'm willing to argue that the qualities that make good poems, and make good poems transcendent, are the same ones that make any other work of art transcendent, whether that artful thing is a movie, painting, novel, piece of music, sculpture, etc. Each of us can probably (and probably should) come up with a list of ‑necessary qualities. Tonight, without working too hard, I can come up with at least three; they sound cliche'd but that's the risk you run in trying to talk about this sort of stuff.

1.	The thing must be beautiful; that is it must strike me as beautiful on some deeply personal
	level. It helps if the craft of the thing is well done, but there are also plenty of beautiful
	things that are pretty raw.
2.	The thing must contain some sort of surprise.
3.	The thing must be emotionally true. Even if it's complete fiction.

This list may not be exhaustive; I might need to add a few more qualifications tomorrow, but they're a good start. I think I can honestly say that any poem (or any work of art) that I've experienced 9s transcendent, has met these minimum requirements.

This brings me to the point of this exercise. Apart from their overt reference to the sacred, what is there about the poems in the Bly book that make them different from the poems in the David Kirby book? I'm asking this as a serious question that I want each of you to think about and to come to class next week prepared to talk about.

As far as writing a poem, the topic, as noted last week, is breakup, in whatever mode you choose to interpret it. Improvise. Use it as a springboard. Have fun. Do backflips. Use careful detail. Surprise me. Write a beautiful poem.