Another Poetry Friday here on The Uproar, another set of poems to fill your thirsty soul! No need for an introduction to this week’s entry so let’s just dive in!  Each edition will include two poems, the first being a featured piece written by a famous poet that will be analyzed and interpreted according to my point of view. Of course, everyone’s interpretation is different and valid, and the comment section will be open for any further discussion. The second piece is written by yours truly and will be open to complete interpretation and analysis. Go forth, enjoy, and as you read, remember: “It is not what you look at that matters, it is what you see.” – Henry David Thoreau

Poem One: Dolor by Theodore Roethke

I have known the inexorable sadness of pencils,

Neat in their boxes, dolor of pad and paper weight,

All the misery of manilla folders and mucilage,

Desolation in immaculate public places,

Lonely reception room, lavatory, switchboard,

The unalterable pathos of basin and pitcher,

Ritual multigraph, paper-clip, comma,

Endless duplication of lives and objects.

And I have seen dust from the walls of institutions,

Finer than flour, alive, more dangerous than silica,

Sift almost invisible, through long afternoons of tedium,

Dropping a fine film on nails and delicate eyebrows,

Glazing the pale hair, the duplicate grey standard faces.

Thoughts: Roethke dives into the monotony and sadness of everyday life in this poem. Roethke was quoted saying, “This poem is an exposition of one of the modern hells: the institution that overwhelms the individual man.” After reading his purpose for writing this beautiful piece, everything falls into place as you start your second read. The speaker focuses on the monotonous melancholy of pencils, manilla envelopes, and the minute details of his environment; each aspect weighing him down and creating the sense of “dolor” that Roethke creates in this poem. Dolor is a state of intense sadness or depression, and the speaker is consumed by the details of his life that force him into a cycle of “Endless duplication of lives and objects.” The bootheel of The Man is tight on the throat of our speaker, and we feel the depression that seeps from all areas of society due to the tediousness of institutional life.

Poem Two:  Infinite Termination by D.C.

Stillness, a solitary friend to the meek and weary.

Find me, old friend, for thou must comfort my passing.

These bones wither day by day, never again to compress the Earth.

The sisters Wind and Rain have torn through this heavenly veil;

My destiny was thine, forever shared.

From first cry to final weep, infinite termination guides me.

Oh Death, dost thou not wish to rape me?

To the skies of silver glass and ebony halls, you must send me!

I beg of you!

Each memory bitterly crumbles to dust, soon ashes to the flame.

Moths travel into the light, to express their termination of wonder,

And yet, coerced are we by time to wither away.

Our lives, but a meaningless period of infinite termination.

Infinitely I see thine eyes upon me, a stronger presence still.

Utter the words through faint whispers, confirm my passing.

From this life to the final road, I know there shall be an end.

-D.C.

I hope you enjoyed this week’s edition of A Poem For Your Thoughts! Have fun at MORP this weekend, NASH, and stay tuned for more lyrical peeks of the universe in next week’s article!