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poem: A weekly poem, read by the author.
"Over Drinks"
By Stanley MossPosted Tuesday, July 4, 2006, at 7:18 AM ETClick here to listen to Stanley Moss read this poem.
The day is a lion across the horizon,
the forests, a thorn in its foot,
it gnaws on hapless years, its stomach full.
The lion rolls on its back kicking the heavens.
The lion of Judah is part of its pride, its mate—
some say the favorite.
Furthest from the truth: the night, the universe
is a black Labrador pup biting
as if we were its mother's teat.
Lear's fool says, "Truth's a dog, must to kennel … "
One day the mind will dream up an equation
for reality—I may grasp in my mouth
as a bitch holds her pup
or some, an after-dinner mint. It's true the night
is the same for the sun, the rose and us,
I mouth metaphors for memory like the zoo,
put lovers in cages with primates and reptiles.
I remember a mother sea lion feeding her young—
balancing a spinning world on the tip of her nose.
There is still time to rejoice in it all.
The Irish say, over drinks, "The night is still a pup."
Stanley Moss' most recent book is A History of Color. His New and Selected Poems 2006
will be published in the fall of 2006. For Slate's poetry submission guidelines, click here.
Click here to visit Robert Pinsky's Favorite Poem Project site.
Click here for an archive of "Poet's Choice" columns from the Washington Post.
Remarks from the Fray:
It's a shame that Pinsky chose the Fourth of July to post this fine poem by Stanley Moss. It's a difficult poem, and people have neither the time nor the inclination to think deeply on a picnic-filled day like today. But I'll squeeze in a critique before I shuck the corn and fire up the barby --
What I like best about this poem is its movement as the poet comes to realize the limitations of metaphor.
The narrator begins ponderously with a grand metaphor comparing the day to a lion and the forests to a thorn in the lion's foot. He continues, going so far as to say that the lion's favorite in his pride is the lion of Judah, symbol of the Israelites.
The narrator seems to have gone as far as he could with the lion metaphor and after the line break, he begins to mock his own metaphor-making. He begins, "Furthest from the truth…" implying that the dog metaphor is even more far-fetched than the lion metaphor. And he starts to go overboard, using the dog metaphor for the night, the universe, the truth (ala Lear's fool), and finally, an equation for reality. And just to reinforce his self-satire, he tells us that he may grasp reality "as a bitch holds her pup" just as others may grasp it as "an after-dinner mint."
If the night is the same for the sun, the rose and us, why is it man who insists on metaphors? The narrator answers himself by confessing he mouths metaphors to capture things and put them in a zoo (another metaphor!)
Apparently the animal metaphors have triggered a memory of a performing seal – which is now probably a metaphor for himself, the metaphor-making poet. And so – to hell with profound metaphors. Let's have a drink and stick with the commonplace metaphors like "The night is still a pup."
--MaryAnn
(To reply, click here.)
This poem is primarily about the "hair of the dog," a spin off of fun metaphors and quite frankly, that is about the offhand, offword depth of this poem. Fun, the associations of an intelligent man, but nothing to talk to Blake, Swift or Milton about. [...]
Cheers to Stanley Moss on the 4th of July, may his Blarney roll forth as stars from the backs of Dalmatians ascend to meet his great pup, the Black Labrador.
--Artemisia
(To reply, click here.)
"teat"? "bitch"? "pup"?
What century is this vocab coming from? The poem begins beautifully, but the second verse is, to me, old school, sexist, and somewhat lacking meaning in the 21st c.
My son calls his guy buddies "bitch" with affection.
I'm so tired of this kind of language from a certain league of poets. It's as funny as using "Sambo" or "Negro" or "Queer" or "Homo" to me.
--MJR
(To reply, click here.)
(7/8)
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Remarks from the Fray:
It's a shame that Pinsky chose the Fourth of July to post this fine poem by Stanley Moss. It's a difficult poem, and people have neither the time nor the inclination to think deeply on a picnic-filled day like today. But I'll squeeze in a critique before I shuck the corn and fire up the barby --
What I like best about this poem is its movement as the poet comes to realize the limitations of metaphor.
The narrator begins ponderously with a grand metaphor comparing the day to a lion and the forests to a thorn in the lion's foot. He continues, going so far as to say that the lion's favorite in his pride is the lion of Judah, symbol of the Israelites.
The narrator seems to have gone as far as he could with the lion metaphor and after the line break, he begins to mock his own metaphor-making. He begins, "Furthest from the truth…" implying that the dog metaphor is even more far-fetched than the lion metaphor. And he starts to go overboard, using the dog metaphor for the night, the universe, the truth (ala Lear's fool), and finally, an equation for reality. And just to reinforce his self-satire, he tells us that he may grasp reality "as a bitch holds her pup" just as others may grasp it as "an after-dinner mint."
If the night is the same for the sun, the rose and us, why is it man who insists on metaphors? The narrator answers himself by confessing he mouths metaphors to capture things and put them in a zoo (another metaphor!)
Apparently the animal metaphors have triggered a memory of a performing seal – which is now probably a metaphor for himself, the metaphor-making poet. And so – to hell with profound metaphors. Let's have a drink and stick with the commonplace metaphors like "The night is still a pup."
--MaryAnn
(To reply, click here.)
This poem is primarily about the "hair of the dog," a spin off of fun metaphors and quite frankly, that is about the offhand, offword depth of this poem. Fun, the associations of an intelligent man, but nothing to talk to Blake, Swift or Milton about. [...]
Cheers to Stanley Moss on the 4th of July, may his Blarney roll forth as stars from the backs of Dalmatians ascend to meet his great pup, the Black Labrador.
--Artemisia
(To reply, click here.)
"teat"? "bitch"? "pup"?
What century is this vocab coming from? The poem begins beautifully, but the second verse is, to me, old school, sexist, and somewhat lacking meaning in the 21st c.
My son calls his guy buddies "bitch" with affection.
I'm so tired of this kind of language from a certain league of poets. It's as funny as using "Sambo" or "Negro" or "Queer" or "Homo" to me.
--MJR
(To reply, click here.)
(7/8)