Another week down, and thankfully this was a short one! What better way than to celebrate the end of the week with some great poetry! This week’s submission was requested by the one and only Gabrielle Kossuth, one of our very own writers here on the Uproar. So, let’s skip the formalities and dissect this poem! 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: I Go Back to May 1937 by Sharon Olds
I see them standing at the formal gates of their colleges,
I see my father strolling out
under the ochre sandstone arch, the
red tiles glinting like bent
plates of blood behind his head, I
see my mother with a few light books at her hip
standing at the pillar made of tiny bricks,
the wrought-iron gate still open behind her, its
sword-tips aglow in the May air,
they are about to graduate, they are about to get married,
they are kids, they are dumb, all they know is they are
innocent, they would never hurt anybody.
I want to go up to them and say Stop,
don’t do it—she’s the wrong woman,
he’s the wrong man, you are going to do things
you cannot imagine you would ever do,
you are going to do bad things to children,
you are going to suffer in ways you have not heard of,
you are going to want to die. I want to go
up to them there in the late May sunlight and say it,
her hungry pretty face turning to me,
her pitiful beautiful untouched body,
his arrogant handsome face turning to me,
his pitiful beautiful untouched body,
but I don’t do it. I want to live. I
take them up like the male and female
paper dolls and bang them together
at the hips, like chips of flint, as if to
strike sparks from them, I say
Do what you are going to do, and I will tell about it.

Thoughts: Sharon Olds demonstrates her mastery of building tension in this poem that asks an extremely profound question: what if we didn’t exist because our parents had never gotten together? Unlike Marty McFly in Back to the Future, the speaker actually initially wishes to prevent her parents from getting married! The speaker sees her young parents, “kids…dumb…innocent” as she describes them. She wants them to stay innocent but more importantly separated, because they are completely unaware of “the things/ [they] cannot imagine [they] would ever do.” This is where the tone of the poem shifts from nostalgia to painful tension, and the speaker alludes to an unhappy marriage, an abusive childhood, and possibly even contemplations of suicide. However, the tone yet again shifts in the last third of the poem. A hopeful and passionate tone takes over and the speaker expresses her intense desire to just exist. “I want to live.”, she cries, and her intent is so strong that she even wishes she could, “band them together/ at the hips, like chips of flint, as if to/ strike sparks from them.” This, in conjunction with the final line of the poem “Do what you are going to do, and I will tell about it.”, exemplifies Olds profound statement: The past does not define you and your experiences do not have to leave you in suffering; they can be used to make something beautiful and change your life for the better. As I read this poem, I imagine that the great philosopher Eckhart Tolle would agree with Sharon Olds’ opinion here. A famous quote of his is “Life will give you whatever experience is most helpful for the evolution of your consciousness. How do you know this is the experience you need? Because this is the experience you are having at the present moment.” Challenges and life experiences do not change or define you-you use them to shape the best version of you. Deep and incredibly personal, thought-provoking poetry.

Poem Two:  Her Name is Not Important by D.C.

The equivalence of three seats away, she sits, working.

Her smooth, blonde hair gracefully falls over her shoulders.

Her blue eyes are riddled with emotion and thought.

When I look into them, my heart melts,

There is a great schism in my brain,

My tongue is tied into knots.

Once a day, my day is brightened by her positivity.

It radiates throughout the room, casting out darkness.

We barely speak of important things, because words are blockaded by beauty.

A phenomenon never before experienced in history.

The king is locked in his chambers with so much to never say.

His queen, staring him in the face.

Light freckles speckled on a completed canvas.

The moon puts a part of its soul into her windows.

The sun envies her bright, golden lochs.

A robe of integrity, diligence, and kindness is draped over her

Tender shoulders, and she wears it with pride.

Her name is not important, all that matters is that she has blessed this Life.

-D.C.

I hope you enjoyed this week’s addition of A Poem for Your Thoughts. Stay tuned next week for another article, and feel free to request a poem for analysis!