Imagist Poetry

Imagist Poetry.

Poets have always been facinated and perhaps a little perplexed by what makes a 'good' poem. One of the key ingredients has been recognized to be the creation of effective images in poems. Effective images solicit and incite emotional responses within the reader. Back in March of 2009 the Writer's Circle looked at the Imagist Movement in poetry in the first couple decades of the 20th century. We examined the self-proclaimed rules that Imagist poets deemed essential to this style of poetry. The main points emphasized direct treatment of the subject; to use absolutely no word that did not contribute to the presentation; and "to compose in sequence of the musical phrase, not in sequence of the metronome." Ezra Pound, one of the leaders of the movement, said "An 'Image' is that which presents an intellectual and emotional complex in an instant of time. . . . "

Perhaps the most famous of the Imagist poems is the following, written by Ezra Pound:


        In a Station of the Metro             
            
             The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
             Petals on a wet, black bough. 
           
             -- Ezra Pound

Other well-known poems that fall under the umbrella of Imagist poems are:.

          Fog

             The fog comes
             on little cat feet.
             It sits looking
             over harbor and city
             on silent haunches
             and then moves on.

            -- Carl Sandburg


         The Red Wheelbarrow

            so much depends
            upon
            a red wheel
            barrow
            glazed with rain
            water
            beside the white
            chickens.

           - - William Carlos Williams

           Oread

           Whirl up, sea--
           Whirl your pointed pines,
           Splash your great pines
           On our rocks,
           Hurl your green over us,
           Cover us with your pools of fir.

           -- HD (Hilda Doolittle)


The idea of focussing on creating short Imagist poems is one that has intrigued different members of the group at different times. Samples of some of these poems follow:


Small Poems (Imagist Style).


Adrift

Alone, nothing in sight,
Fortitude: swelling inside,
Hopes rise again.

By: J. Mark Bailey


Baby

Enter a new life,
Curiosity - wonderment,
You're the teacher now.

By: J. Mark Bailey



Leaves

Give me leaves of the sea grape tree,
the breadfruit and star apple.
I will make a bouquet of nature’s beauty.

By: Brenda Quin



Pruning

Every pruning creates
new growth in our gardens
and in ourselves.

By: Brenda Quin


Solitude
The clatter of plates
at kitchen sink, past midnight;
one light burning late.

By: H.M. Peter Westin


Eternity

From before the moment of creation,
outreaching time or place;
a word of absolute love.

By: H.M. Peter Westin

Diamante and Cinquain.

Diamante.

In November of 2010, the Writer's Circle group experimented with 2 additional forms of short poetry. The diamante is a seven line poem, shaped like a diamond. Line 1 is a single word that identifies the subject. Line 2 contains 2 adjectives that describe the subject (noun), while line 3 has action words (verbs) relating to line 1. The next line is made up of four nouns, 2 of which connect to line 1, and the other 2 which link to line 7. There are 3 action words in line 5 relating to line 7, two adjectives in line 6 that describe the noun in the final line, and the last line has one word (noun) that contrasts with line 1.

Cinquain.

The cinquain poem is comprised of five lines. The first line contains a single word (noun). Line 2 has two adjectives that describe the noun. Line 3 is made up of three -ing words. Line 4 is a phrase that connects to the noun. The final line has another noun that relates to the first.

Although simple in thier design, members found it difficult to craft poems in those specific styles which were satisfying in their unity and the image they presented.

After the Rains.

Heron,

feathery blue

standing, striding, striking…

graceful bird, solitary fisherman,

stretching, swallowing, flapping

patient dignified

aristocrat.

By: H.M. Peter Westin

 Squall

Thunderstorm,

ominous rumbling

rolling quickly, surrounding,

sudden bolts of anxiety

striking.

By: H.M. Peter Westin

Fruit of the Tree

Favourite and Least Favourite Fruit.

In June of 2011 one group assignment focused on some of the bounty of nature that surrounds us. We selected a fovourite and least favourite fruit as our topic to reflect and write on. The writing could take any form (poetry, essay, short story, etc.) and the depth of detail and expression was left open to the individual writers. There was great diversity in length, format, and opinions expressed on several different fruit. Some pieces took the form of expository writing, others more the form of a memoir. The example below was more mixed and 'artistic' in nature.


FAVORITE FRUIT? But I like them all!

I was raised in a home with a large garden with dozens of fruit trees. Among them were oranges, tangerines, plums, guineps, grapefruit, shaddock, limes, just to name a few.

My favorite was always the orange and tangerine of course. My father would wake us each morning with a peeled orange - this was given to us through the open window. A lot of people really don't know how to peel an orange so as to get every bit of the fruit down our stomachs. Most people just cut them in half and suck them. Not me though. I peel the rhind with a very sharp knife - going round and round until I come to the bottom end of the orange. Then I peel the pith off and there's the right way of doing that also, where the pit just comes off so easily - otherwise if you do it the other side up it leaves a lot on the orange. Then we break the orange into pegs and oolla - we eat it peg after peg. I can remember having so many tangerines in our garden that we supplied the Government with bags of them. I also took a lot of them to school for the teachers and friends.

The tamarind was my least favorite fruit. It's enclosed in a shell - very hard to get into. However, once we get the tamarind out, especially a green one, and dip it in salt, it is very nice. Ripe tamarinds can be used by taking the meat off the huge seed and mixing it with sugar and oolla, we've got tamarind balls.


Now to write a poem on my favorite fruit is okay
But to write one on my least favorite will take all day
Oranges are sweet nearly all the time
Pegged or cut in half to suck them is fine

Tamarind trees however are huge and hard to climb
Their limbs can be very small, tamarinds hard to find
These trees are strong and very wild with leaves so green
Tamarinds dipped in salt from my hand can be seen

I could go on all day or evening writing about fruit but I'm so hot right now and tired, not to mention thirsty, I'm about to tackle a mango - another favorite fruit of mine.

By: Joan Wilson  

The Islands Time Forgot.

Photo Exhibit at the National Art Gallery.

The Writer's Circle group members ventured out during April 2011 on individual field trips to attend a photo exhibit at the National Gallery comprised of 24 photos taken by David Douglas Duncan, of Caymanian turtlers along the Mosquito Cays off of Nicaragua and Honduras in 1939. The task was to view the displays and then to engage in some form of writing based on the photographs and the feelings they evoked.

The results took different forms, but struck similar poignant chords in several of the group writers' pieces. 

The Islands Time Forgot.

            Old photographs bring men back to life again, reclaiming the vigour of their lives some seventy plus years ago.

            These were hardy men, accustomed to long hours of back-breaking work, bronzed by the sun and steam cleaned by the humidity of the Mosquito Cays. They knew their life and their work well. You can see it in their eyes, that steady confidence, the self-assured way they hold themselves in the depths of the probing camera stills.

            You can also see the loneliness of their way of life in the creases of their weathered brows. Far from home and family for weeks at a time, they braved the stormy waters around isolated Cays along a sparsely populated foreign coastline. Their eyes betray a simple life of relative solitude, secluded harbours, the open waters of the voyage, the tight manoeuvrings of the chaotic catboat chase of those lumbering marine creatures, the green sea turtles, the hawksbill, and the Ridley Kempts.

            Your mind’s eye widens, bringing in overlapping horizons. You picture those left at home. The wife struggling to make ends meet and to keep the children under watchful eye. The approaching hurricane season, and the repairs from the previous season, put off until the end of the turtling season, when manpower returned and a few dollars needed for the materials that could not be harvested locally, or traded for and brought back aboard the schooner on the homeward voyage.

            And you can see something of the slower pace of life, the time aboard ship for song and dance, an accordion or violin, a quick nap among the rope coils on deck, catching the welcome breeze. You can catch fleeting glimpses of men at rest under coconut trees enjoying a refreshing drink cut from the tree, or collected from the ground nearby.  

            You can see living history in action. You notice the working man attire in every photograph. You see the truth of the statement that Caymanians did not have much, but they shared what they had willingly. And you think of what we have become today. You smile at past glory, the craftsmanship of the boat builders, the knowledge of the master seamen, the dedication and comradeship of the simple sailors. These men went in search of turtles to feed their families, to keep alive a way of life. They were rough and tough, and now they are gone.

By: H.M. Peter Westin

Photo Exhibit of Cayman’s Courageous Turtle Fishermen

A life, -and under some circumstances,

barely survival - in times of hurricanes

I do not know how many

men were lost, no radios, no

way of weather information, except by

their experience and inner knowing.

The photographs on display at

the Cayman National Gallery, are

exceptionally outstanding, depicting

the tough life of these Caymanian

turtle fishermen.

Looking at the photographs I

am struck by the strength and

determination of these men –

This was their livelihood, their

families (wives, children &

elderly parents). Left

behind on Grand Cayman, anxious,

yes, praying for good weather,

and successful catches, a time

of plenty on their longed for return.

The boats they sailed on were

made here in Grand Cayman, of

local woods, of which there were

many species, they knew

the best ones for the job.

By: Brenda Quin

Tanka Variations.

Having worked with the Haiku form, the group moved on to look at the Tanka, another of the traditional ancient Japanese forms of poetry. This form is actually older than the Haiku and goes back over 13 centuries. It contains 31 syllables and is broken into 5 lines. The lines contain the following syllable arrangement : 5 - 7 - 5 - 7 - 7.  Traditional Tanka poems contain 5 images and focus on associations within nature or humanity, presenting the poets response (reflection) to these. Tanka poetry was often thought of as love poetry. In more recent times, Tanka poems have been written with two separate but connected parts. The first part is contained within the first three lines, the second part coming in the final two lines. Together, the two parts often present a personal or emotional viewpoint. Literary devices such as similies and metaphors are often used.

As beginning Tanka writers, we approached the task of attempting to write a Tanka in a simplified manner. We made our Tanka be a response to, or extension of, our earlier group efforts at Haiku writing. We took our group Haiku efforts and added two 7 syllable lines to extend and complete our Tanka poems. Included are several efforts, many using the same chosen Haiku beginning and simply numbered to differentiate them.


Tanka Variations:

Calling 1

Shadows follow me,
Daylight slowly drifts away:
Loneliness beckons.
Stars come out in the darkest night
As friends with deep compassion.

Calling 2

Shadows follow me,
Daylight slowly drifts away:
Loneliness beckons.
Your words refresh my spirit,
Rekindle passion within.

Calling 3

Shadows follow me,
Daylight slowly drifts away:
Loneliness beckons.
Stars come out in darkest night
As friends with understanding.

Calling 5

Shadows follow me,
Daylight slowly drifts away:
Loneliness beckons.
Beauty deep within the soul,
Overcome with awe I stand.

Calling 6

Shadows follow me,
Daylight slowly drifts away:
Loneliness beckons.
All that was and is remains
Repeated through the ages.

Calling 7

Shadows follow me,
Daylight slowly drifts away:
Loneliness beckons.
The gentle waves speak to you,
The sea grape leaves in passing.

Arisings

Twilight descending

Moon calling from far away

Bright stars from up high;

My face and heart are aglow

I see new hope in your eyes.

Unravelling

You have gone crackers;

It shows as you walk by me

Trailing tiny bits.

Soon no one will even know

Who you were or what you dreamt.