Poem Response

Poetry has been written throughout the ages. The Greeks wrote poems, the Romans too, even the Sumerians. It is a tradition as old as language. Whether whimsical and light hearted, or a cutting satire, it has been dabbled in, failed at, and mastered. In this paper I’ll give my responses to two of the poems provided.

The first poem I will respond to is Rite of Passage by Sharon Olds. The poem to me is funny at first. I can almost remember those times in my childhood she describes, the whole posturing for dominance thing. The smugness I felt when I realized I had a one up on friend, and then the indifference or ill disguised jealousy when they had something on me. It couldn’t be said better that young boys in groups are a crowd of “small bankers” (Olds, Sharon, “Rites of Passage” from Strike Sparks: Selected Poems 1980-2002. Alfred A. Knopf, 2004.).

The humor I found was quickly tempered at the words she described her son saying. Part of me knows that poetic license was taken. The kid probably never said anything like that. But that has to be one of the most morbid lines of anything I’ve ever read, but therein I understand it. The line is used as a calming influence. Now assured of their dominance as a whole the group of boys settle down.

The next poem I will talk about is Song of Napalm by Bruce Weigl. I began reading this one because I like history. So this is a poem I will understand. He almost had me tricked to. Is a read I began to wonder, “Was it about napalm at all? I can tell he is in the jungle.” I approached this poem in the wrong way and I’ll admit that, but the little girl was a bit much.

I can deal with description, but the ending lines describing how a body when burnt assumes a position and all that. I won’t lie. I was a bit disgusted. This being said I can’t imagine what seeing that would do to you. The lines where he speaks of the lie he was telling himself to make it seem better swinging back on him. That reeks of tragedy to me. No one should have to see things like that. The whole poem strikes me as an angry satire, not of one countries decision to use a vile weapon, but of humanities need to continue to create such weapons.