Sex!

Well maybe, or just physical attraction, or possibly lust. maybe an appreciation of differences, or similarities.

What poems capture physical desire for you?

Sappho’s poetry shows that love/lust could be both a yearning for intimacy and a trap. If unrequited, it can result in a prolonged psychic immobility:

“my eyes see nothing, my ears /ring and buzz, /the sweat pours down, a trembling/ seizes the whole part of me, I turn/paler than grass, and I seem to myself/not far from dying.” (Fragment 31).

The passivity of this suffering instantly reminded me of Emily Dickinson’s “After great pain, a formal feeling comes” where the speaker announces that “This is the Hour of Lead - /Remembered, if outlived”. Here the speaker moves to the next psychic stage, after the trembling, where she has been numbed by the shock that her love is not, and perhaps never will be, reciprocated. Dickinson's speaker could have died from the pain. Instead it is followed by an unnatural leaden time, which is a kind of death warmed up, and will seem to last for ages prior to a “stupor” and the final letting go.

These poems seem to track a well known emotional pattern confirmed by psychologists in our own time. But the poets of centuries ago got there first in recognising and expressing it!

Whenever someone mentions poetry and sex, the first poem that comes into my mind is John Donne's Elegy "To his mistress going to bed". On reflection, it's talking about sexual pleasure in a very one-sided way, but it stuck in my mind because I was at an impressionable age when I first heard it read on the radio by someone who put huge amounts of raunch into it. It's mostly a series of injunctions to his mistress to get on with it and take her clothes off, and the bit everyone remembers is:

License my roving hands, and let them go
Behind before, above, between, below.
Oh my America, my new found land,
My kingdom, safeliest when with one man manned,
My mine of precious stones, my Empery,
How blessed am I in this discovering thee.
To enter in these bonds is to be free,
Then where my hand is set my seal shall be.

...later on, he urges her to reveal herself to him as liberally as to a midwife. All beautiful and awfully catchy (the first couple of lines I quoted have to be some of the sexiest in all English poetry). The message is clear, though, even if it's all dressed up in Metaphysical religious imagery: I'm the man and you're here to give me pleasure. Hmm.

Caetano Veloso's version of Elegy from his 1979 album Cinema Transcendental :

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8bhf8fI4feA

Okay - I'll mention it if nobody else is going to - Andrew Marvell's 'To His Coy Mistress' chimes to the 'desire' bit of the OP, I think. I often wonder whether it worked for him. As a lad, I had it off by heart - but I never met a girl willing to sit still and listen that long. Must've been me ...

Of anthologies and such, I remember someone writing that for someone supposedly coy she turns up everywhere.

#2 - Talking of turning up everywhere, Fragment 31 must be one of the most translated pieces of poetry in existence. I've seen umpteen, differing versions. I'm pretty sure I even heard a version in an episode of Xena: Warrior Princess.

#5 - You really watched Xena: Warrior Princess??? You are comfortable about admitting that publicly? If your point was to say that Fragment 31 in whatever translation approximates the kitsch of Xena, I'd have to disagree most vehemently.

#6 - You really watched Xena: Warrior Princess??? You are comfortable about admitting that publicly?

Xena had historical inaccuracy such as hadn't been seen since One Million Years B. C. (the Raquel Welch/fur bikini one) and writers and actors who were often clearly not taking it seriously - what's not to like?

Judging by the standards of good literature, including drama that's stood the test of time, it's my opinion that even the very best of telly is not really that good and really not worth giving time and thought to - it can never stand up to too much thinking (and you don't want to even get me started on documentaries). There may be a rare gem; but it's really not worth ploughing through hours of mediocrity in the vague hope I might come across one.

So I've developed a quite different attitude to the box than you appear to have. It's not often I watch for anything other than movies; but, when I do, it's 'switch off the brain' time and I'll take mindless kitsch, with no pretensions to be anything else, every time. There was a phrase popular a couple of years back that well describes my telly-watching - 'vegging out'. If I want to be challenged, it's books, not box.

Having written that, I've just spent about an hour tracking down a clip of the Xena poem - easy - and trying to track down whose translation they used - couldn't do it. I did find that there are well over a hundred translations of this fragment, though.

#8 - Well, each to his or her own. There's nothing wrong with some mental down-time, although I fail to see the attraction of Xena (it's not even funny - it targeted the dumbed down teenage/young adult market). I was obliged by some family members to watch a few episodes of the show with them. "Try it", they said, "you may be pleasantly surprised". I was singularly unimpressed. But no one could say I didn't give it a go.

If Xena does have any value for me, it is in the grand possibilities for making fun of it, a la Barry Humphries (and such characters of his as Dame Edna Everidge and Sir Les Patterson).

Personally, as an alternative I would have picked up some nonsense poetry, or gone to the movies or watched a DVD - something by Hitchcock, or Woody Allen, or von Trier, or Terence Malick, perhaps. On the other hand, I may have picnicked in the park, or walked through the Botanic Gardens, or met up with friends at a cafe, or had a chuckle over some of the comments of callers to "The Atheist Experience" (a public access telecast on YouTube).

Or I may have done what I usually do and go to my piano and play an easy Chopin waltz or a slow Scriabin Prelude.

I may even have logged in to LibraryThing to follow a conversation thread somewhere.

I may have watched some Aussie Rules football and marveled at the skill and athletic ballet of the players as they weave in and out of heavy traffic on the field. Or I may have just spent time enjoying my solitude listening to the sounds in the distance, like a dog barking or the faint hum of traffic, or just watching the clouds with a beer. So you see there are plenty of options for me to realise a rewarding aesthetic life, without resorting to the cheap and unfunny distraction of something like Xena, a show that insults the intelligence and aesthetic discernment of the viewing audience, much like Australia's Funniest Home Videos (and what a misnomer THAT is!).

Such things as I've listed form the basis of another layer of aesthetic culture; it is embedded within the fabric of everyday living. To that extent, they contribute toward a far richer experience of our way of life than anything Xena has to offer. There are just so many other options for down-time; I'm spoiled for choice.

For the sake of clarity, I'd ask that you indulge me in reading what I have to say about pleasure, art and popular culture. I realise it's a bit lengthy, but I earnestly hope it will clear things up:

You are absolutely right to point out that by the "standards of good literature" TV compares very badly. Certainly, not everything in life needs to measure up to those exacting standards, but I would agree with the critic Harold Bloom (and the poet Shelley) that it is the difficult pleasures that give the most lasting satisfaction. That's not to say there is no place for easier pleasures, but just that the cornerstone of civilisation is the best of the arts within a culture, such as Shakespeare, Beethoven, Rembrandt etc. It's a reason why the major works of such artists have lasted so long - they have an intrinsic aesthetic power. Dedicating time to them becomes an issue for our education systems.

The better educated people are about what great art has to offer - including musical literacy which is appallingly low in most developed nations - the more inclined they'll be to know what to recognise in good poetry, what to listen for in music (as Aaron Copland put it), and what to look for in great painting and sculpture. Making time for the best of one's culture then becomes a first preference. We become more ourselves by realising and participating in our own cultural heritage. Sometimes that takes effort and perseverance, qualities often disparaged by many who don't like to think or simply don't know how to go about exploring the treasures of their own culture.

Unfortunately, our postmodern throw away culture emphasises instant gratification and everything that is flighty and easy. We see this all too often in the pastiche and idiocy of contemporary pop culture. Is it any wonder that pop songs and TV shows come and go? Then, ironically, you might hear the same people who once lavished praise on Dan Brown, Barbara Cartland or Michael Jackson complaining of boredom and existential angst later. For goodness sake!

So much of pop culture, it seems to me (and to the writer Milan Kundera, the philosopher Roger Scruton and other commentators) encourages this instant gratification which taps in to people's innate narcissism. Kundera, for one, has convincingly argued that "the history of music is perishable, but the idiocy of guitars is eternal". He says that pop music promotes infantilism. Just try standing in front of your bedroom mirror and say the words to almost any pop song out loud without embarrassment and you'll see what I mean.

But as I said, each to his or her own. I don't believe in censoring anyone watching trashy TV or dancing to Gangnam Style, even if such a thing were possible.

It's more a matter of educating people about the possibilities within their cultural heritage and within themselves. Pleasure and self-realisation; the public and the private go hand in hand; that is the purpose of an arts education. It's about pointing to other possibilities beyond the easy and the accessible and raising people up to that through education.

I assumed that in joining a group like this - Poetry Fool - my expectations of my fellow groupers were such that I never thought a show like Xena would get a favourable mention. Perhaps those expectations were misplaced.

#9 - Have I touched some sort of personal nerve with Xena? You seem to have a marked antipathy for something which is, really, quite unimportant. Something to do with those family members making you watch it, perhaps?

But, if it really annoys you that much, I apologise for mentioning Xena. I actually thought that, with the anachronism of a pop-culture reference in this setting, I was injecting an offhand snippet of humour - and I had assumed your #6 in reply was tongue-in-cheek.

As for the rest of your last post, I have to say that there's nothing much in it with which I would take issue. Which is a little annoying as that leaves me with nothing much to write in reply ...

#10 - Sorry, I didn't mean to annoy anyone. But I do get annoyed by crass stupidity as represented by most aspects of our ubiquitous pop culture. Xena exemplifies that. It's not you personally. Neither do I hold a grudge against family members.

You're right in guessing that my initial comments were a little tongue-in-cheek, but they had a serious edge to them too. To say the issue is unimportant seems to contradict your earlier comment that even the best of telly is not worth giving time to. I think there is a serious and important point to be made about the shallowness and stupidity of contemporary pop culture, one example of which is Xena. My last comment was lengthy for precisely that reason - to explain why I think the issue is important.

And I still say there's nothing funny about Xena - unless we make it so through mockery. Oh, the possibilities! If only I were as talented a lampoonist as Barry Humphries!

As Christopher Hitchens once said, "Never be a spectator of unfairness or stupidity. The grave will supply endless opportunity for silence".

If you want sex, get a girlfriend. Or buy one of those one-hand magazines. Or search the internet.

Poetry isn't about sex.

#12 - So what's 'To His Coy Mistress' about, or 'To his mistress going to bed'? Anyway, poetry is about whatever the poet wants it to be about - what gives you the right to take issue with that?

Also, I have to say that I find the first part of your post offensive and insulting to all of us who've posted, but particularly to the OP. I'm trying to make my mind up whether I should flag it on the 'personal attacks' ground - it's pretty close to that.

13 -- No, it wasn't an attack. It was an honest piece of advice. If you want sexual stimulation, that's not what poetry is for. Or, I would argue, not what fiction or nonfiction is for either. The bestseller list disagrees with me. I can live with that.

Critics complained to novelist Walker Percy that there was no sex in his novels. Why couldn't he write like other contemporary novelists? Percy replied (I paraphrase from memory): Those books stimulate different organs than mine do.

If you want love poems, that's another matter.

Yes, there are poems that allude to sex. There are no good ones that I know of that describe the sexual act. That would be pornography.

I don't see why you or anyone else should be insulted or offended at someone who has simply offered an opinion. I don't know if you can flag a post based on your desire to be offended on behalf of other people.

You can find sex in poetry. But some questions should be asked first: 1) Is this representative of the poet's total body of work? 2) Is this poet canonical? 3) Is this poem being understood correctly? 4) Are these sexual references anomalies in the history of poetry or are they representative? 5) Are these poems meant to arouse or to provoke some other kind of response?

I thought I might get in trouble with this one. I wanted to emphasize that it is possible to read poems for the wrong reason.

Read what you want. I'll read what I want.

Being interviewed late in life, John Betjeman was asked whether he had any regrets.
He replied that he wished he'd had more sex.

Hear him reading Senex at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9fx5FdT_hZo

Senex
by John Betjeman

Oh would I could subdue the flesh
Which sadly troubles me!
And then perhaps could view the flesh
As though I never knew the flesh
And merry misery.

To see the golden hiking girl
With wind about her hair,
The tennis-playing, biking girl,
The wholly-to-my-liking girl,
To see and not to care.

At sundown on my tricycle
I tour the Boroughs edge,
And icy as an icicle
See bicycle by bicycle
Stacked waiting in the hedge.

Get down from me! I thunder there,
You spaniels! Shut your jaws!
Your teeth are stuffed with underwear,
Suspenders torn asunder there
And buttocks in your paws!

Oh whip the dogs away my Lord,
They make me ill with lust.
Bend bare knees down to pray, my Lord,
Teach sulky lips to say, my Lord,
That flaxen hair is dust.

The most highly sexed beings upon the planet are the creators, the poets, sculptors, painters, musicians ..... and so it has been from the beginning. - Kahlil Gibran

15 -- Obviously a joke.

#13, #14 - Ah - now I understand. Your comments in #12, and then #14, are deliberately crafted to provoke argument acrimony. And I was unwary enough to be suckered in.

I won't be responding to any more of them.

I meant the poem was a joke. That's why I said 15.

Nice bird.

The theme is Sex not Pornography do not confuse the two.

There does tend to be a focused self-involvement during sex -- and not only by the ever-evil male.

As pop culture tends to be aimed at the lowest common denominator, was there ever a time when it wasn't shallow?

By contrast, Dana Gioa published an essay in which he complained of the declining popularity of (market for) poetry. In fact, and to the contrary, poetry has never had a large audience. The Place of Poetry: Two Centuries of an Art in Crisis (Lexington, KY: The University Press of Kentucky, 1981), Christopher Causen.

Poetry tends to demand both a superior literacy of both writer and reader, and patience.

Poetry can be about sex.

But don't tell anyone I said that; others might object, and deny that fact.

"I wanted to emphasize that it is possible to read poems for the wrong reason."

Agreed. There are only a limited number of possible interpretations of a given poem -- despite the uncritical view that a poem (or other work of art) can mean anything, and support an infinite number of interpretations, because "art is subjective".

The poet -- artist -- tends to provide objective, visual cues -- in poetry, words used v. words not used -- which limit the number of "correct" interpretations. A poem about dogs is not a poem about horses.

Obviously a serious expression of first-hand experience of sexual frustration.

Even were it a joke, it would be legitimate poetry.

Somewhere I heard the line, or made it up, that the only reason to study poetry is to seduce women.

______

To The Virgins, To Make Much of Time

by Robert Herrick

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles today
Tomorrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he's a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he's to setting.

That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may, go marry;
For having lost but once your prime,
You may forever tarry.

To His Coy Mistress

by Andrew Marvell

Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, lady, were no crime.
We would sit down and think which way
To walk, and pass our long love's day;
Thou by the Indian Ganges' side
Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood;
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow.
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For, lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.

But at my back I always hear
Time's winged chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song; then worms shall try
That long preserv'd virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust.
The grave's a fine and private place,
But none I think do there embrace.

Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may;
And now, like am'rous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour,
Than languish in his slow-chapp'd power.
Let us roll all our strength, and all
Our sweetness, up into one ball;
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life.
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.

Remember in the 1970s when everyone wanted to be blonde, blue eyed, and tan? Even the guys. I blame Farrah-with-the-feathered-hair for that. The California look. Except Farrah, like her good friend Robert Duvall, was from Texas. When The X-files hit it big, women wanted to have red hair, auburn really, like Dana Scully's, a trend that has not abated. In recent years I have noticed purple streaks in women's hair, such as in my sister's, perhaps due to the influence of Katy Perry.

More to the point, I have rarely met women with black hair. My mom has black hair, though in her childhood she was a blonde and hers is now black and grey streaked with white, as befits the dignity of age—not dyed, for God's sake.

I knew a girl in college with black, wavy, luxuriant hair down to her shoulders. I told her about this poem. She told me that she wanted six kids. I didn't get the girl with the black, wavy hair. She did get her six kids.

____________

To Amarantha, that she would dishevel her Hair

by Richard Lovelace

Amarantha sweet and fair,
Ah, braid no more that shining hair!
As my curious hand or eye
Hovering round thee, let it fly!

Let it fly as unconfined
As its calm ravisher the wind,
Who hath left his darling, th' East,
To wanton o'er that spicy nest.

Every tress must be confest,
But neatly tangled at the best;
Like a clew of golden thread
Most excellently ravellèd.

Do not then wind up that light
In ribbands, and o'ercloud in night,
Like the Sun in 's early ray;
But shake your head, and scatter day!

Kahlil Gibran was a rake, and perhaps an adulterer. It wouldn't surprise that he would justify himself in that by projection.