Edgar Allan Poe; "To My Mother"

While I'll admit I don't read much of Poe's poetry nowadays, I can say with certainty that his pieces are what first began my love for poetry and short stories. Like most English students I first began by reading his short story "Tall Tale Heart", and poems "The Raven", and "Annabel Lee". As a matter of fact, one of my most traumatic childhood memories was the result of the failure to recite "The Raven" in front of my entire class- not only did I freeze and fail to actually recite the poem, but I even cried. Like I said, it was one of my most traumatic memories. However, despite the awful experience I had with "The Raven", Poe's undeniably intriguing writings created a child superfan- one with lunchboxes with his face on it and everything (I wish I was joking). When deciding the poem to give in this article, I decided I wanted to show a poem that wasn't a particularly popular one. Below is, "To My Mother" written by Edgar Allan Poe and published in July of 1849.

"To My Mother"

Because I feel that, in the Heavens above,

The angels, whispering to one another,

Can find, among their burning terms of love,

None so devotional as that of "Mother,"

Therefore by that dear name I long have called you—

You who are more than mother unto me,

And fill my heart of hearts, where Death installed you

In setting my Virginia's spirit free.

My mother—my own mother, who died early,

Was but the mother of myself; but you

Are mother to the one I loved so dearly,

And thus are dearer than the mother I knew

By that infinity with which my wife

Was dearer to my soul than its soul-life.

The poem, "To My Mother" begins by stating the value of the word "mother" in saying, "among their burning terms of love, none so devotional as that of 'Mother'". Poe then goes on to express the gratitude to the mother of his wife, Virginia, in having created her. He continues to demonstrate the importance of his love for Virginia by saying he is more grateful to the mother of his wife for having created her than he is grateful to his own mother for creating him.

Charles Bukowski; " The Great Escape"

The origin story of my love for Charles Bukowski, unfortunately, is not nearly as interesting a story as that of my love for Edgar Allan Poe. My love for Charles Bukowski began after I'd begun to write poetry. After sending a poem to be critiqued and edited by a friend of mine who also enjoyed poetry, she made the comment that my poetry bore a similarity to one of her favorite authors, Charles Bukowski! Naturally, the next time I visited my local bookshop, I picked up a copy of "Sifting Through the Madness for the Word, the Line, the Way". In an experience that can only be called universal among avid readers, I then spent multiple hours shifting out of the way of customers walking through the aisles trying to pass me. All the while, I sat determined to read as much of the book as I could without having to buy it as, being a typical teenager, I had no money. Similarly to not choosing a particularly popular poem to show for Edgar Allan Poe, I chose "The Great Escape" by Charles Bukowski because it is one of my favorites.

"The Great Escape"

listen, he said, you ever seen a bunch of crabs in a

bucket?

no, I told him.

well, what happens is that now and then one crab

will stand on top of the others

and begin to climb toward the top of the bucket,

then, just as he's about to make it out

another crab grabs him and pulls him back

down.

really? I asked.

really, he said, and this place is just like that, none

of these want anybody to get out of

here.

I believe you, I said.

just then the supervisor walked up and said,

you fellows were talking,

there is no talking allowed on this

job.

I had been there eleven and one half

years.

I got off my stool and climbed the

supervisor

and I reached up and pull myself right

out of there.

it was so easy it was unbelievable.

but none of the others followed me.

and after that, whenever I had crab legs

I thought about that place.

I mean, I thought about that place

maybe 5 or 6 times.

then I switched to lobster.

Keeping with his usual style, Bukowski writes in short bursts explaining a story of crabs climbing up one another to save themselves and move forward. While this poem is written to be less cynical than his usual poems, this poem exemplifies not only the selfish nature of surviving, but also that of thriving.

Mary Oliver; "Wild Geese"

As an avid reader, it can become easy to think that you know exactly what type of writing you enjoy and exactly the type of writing you don't. For me, Mary Oliver, is a classic example of how we often cheat ourselves out of enjoyment by passing judgment too soon. My love for her poetry has only recently begun through the recommendation of a friend. Oliver primarily writes poetry expanding on concepts of the natural world applying not only to the outdoors, but also within each of us. Below I chose to show my favorite poem by Mary Oliver called "Wild Geese".

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of

your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will

tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear

pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the

clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh

and exciting-

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.

Mary Oliver's, "Wild Geese" is written simply and discusses the natural need within all of us to find a purpose and to appease a feeling of isolation in the world. She uses simple language in all of her poetry as a means of demonstrating the simplicity found in nature, which she frequently uses to compare humans too.