since feeling is first


who pays any attention


to the syntax of things


will never wholly kiss you;

wholly to be a fool

while Spring is in the world

my blood approves,

and kisses are a far better fate

than wisdom

lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry

--the best gesture of my brain is less than

your eyelids' flutter which says

we are for eachother: then

laugh, leaning back in my arms

for life's not a paragraph

And death i think is no parenthesis

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

   That  verbal subway map you see over on the left is what the Sisters of the Sorrowful Mother used to make us do at Mother of Perpetual Help school to understand the syntax of things.  Sentence diagramming.  If you can do it, you can see exactly what every word, comma, and semi-colon is doing in every sentence.  I got very good at it, and here I am, analyzing poetry.  The problem was, while I was inside analyzing language, Rick Gasparetti was out on the playground kissing Geraldine Wykowski!  And she was pretty!


    The beautiful, complex message of this poem is that analysis destroys passion and spontaneity.  It’s complicated because you need to understand syntax to see the point, that understanding syntax is not as important as physically feeling a message.  I agree. One time I wrote a poem about kissing a girl, but all the time, I wanted to throw my laptop in the lake and kiss the girl.

    This simple assertion, that “feeling is first,” is philosophically bold.  He says, “Hey! We’re animals, physical beings, first. So, we can’t live well without the physical side.”  He’s belittling our intellect. And it’s true!  How often are intellectuals still pondering over the wisdom of going for it, (...”to eat a peach,” according to T.S. Eliot.) while some more passionate types are already giggling over a post-coital raspberry sundae somewhere. 


    Notice that “wholly” can be read “holy.”  Love making is sacred in natural religions.  Think of the Kama Sutra. So, it’s holy to be a fool in love in the spring.  Holier, to be a total fool...”Wholly to be a fool.”

           See, his blood, his physical self, approves of this romance.  No need to analyze.  Need to kiss!  Wisdom is a sad fate if it keeps one from kissing.  Notice he swears by Nature, not by a spiritual god.

           Her eyelids’ flutter is a great metonymy for her whole beautiful self.  Even this little cute thing is more powerful than any big idea. And it’s true!  How often do we fall in love with the way someone dangles a flip flop from her toe or scratches his chest when he’s confused?

          We English teachers make a big deal out paragraphs.  It drives us nuts that people can’t see how some ideas belong together and others need to be put somewhere else.  But, cummings is right; life’s not a paragraph.  Things don’t happen in logically organized chunks. I eat a sandwich, I fall in love with the waitress.  I drop my iphone. Somewhere a dog barks.  Where’s the paragraphing?


    “Death is no parenthesis” could be read a few ways. Parentheses enclose things, so maybe even death won’t end his passion.  More likely, since this poem is all about the physical, he has a more immediate meaning.  Parentheses are in the middle of sentences, so if death isn’t parenthetical, then it’s the end.  They have to laugh and lean back in each other’s arms now! Carpe diem!