Testimonial by Rita Dove

Testimonial by Rita Dove

Back when the earth was new

and heaven just a whisper,

back when the names of things

hadn't had time to stick;

back when the smallest breezes

melted summer into autumn,

when all the poplars quivered

sweetly in rank and file . . .

the world called, and I answered.

Each glance ignited to a gaze.

I caught my breath and called that life,

swooned between spoonfuls of lemon sorbet.

I was pirouette and flourish,

I was filigree and flame.

How could I count my blessings

when I didn't know their names?

Back when everything was still to come,

luck leaked out everywhere.

I gave my promise to the world,

and the world followed me here.

I find this poem to carry a strong sense of nostalgia, one which is tangible as the reader describes the beloved memories of a time "when the earth was new". I've interpreted this time, which is so vividly described by Dove as one in which she exists no longer, to be childhood, and perhaps even innocence itself. She writes, "I caught my breath and called that life, swooned between spoonfuls of lemon sorbet".The narrator speaks as if his/her youth was the epitome of life, a perfect happiness in which one lives ignorant of hardship and struggle. She writes about youth's fragility and playfulness, "I was pirouette and flourish, I was filigree and flame", and how she had taken the delicately flawless moments for granted - "How could I count my blessings when I didn't know their names?". I love this poem because I feel she captures the familiar and habitual longing for one's childhood with the same elegance and delicacy that the poem itself is illustrating.  

Devices:

Alliteration - "swooned between spoonfuls of lemon sorbet"(12), "filigree and flame" (14), "luck leaked"(18)

Assonance - I noticed that she uses assonance in many of the stanzas in the second and last lines: "whisper" and "stick"; "gaze" and "sorbet"; "flame"and "names"

Dactyl - "pirouette" and "filigree" (13, 14)- they indicate the playfulness which Dove is trying to portray

Enjambment - 

"back when the smallest breezes

melted summer into autumn," (5-6)

Vacation by Rita Dove

I love the hour before takeoff,
that stretch of no time, no home
but the gray vinyl seats linked like
unfolding paper dolls. Soon we shall
be summoned to the gate, soon enough
there’ll be the clumsy procedure of row numbers
and perforated stubs—but for now
I can look at these ragtag nuclear families
with their cooing and bickering
or the heeled bachelorette trying
to ignore a baby’s wail and the baby’s
exhausted mother waiting to be called up early
while the athlete, one monstrous hand
asleep on his duffel bag, listens,
perched like a seal trained for the plunge.
Even the lone executive
who has wandered this far into summer
with his lasered itinerary, briefcase
knocking his knees—even he
has worked for the pleasure of bearing
no more than a scrap of himself
into this hall. He’ll dine out, she’ll sleep late,
they’ll let the sun burn them happy all morning
—a little hope, a little whimsy
before the loudspeaker blurts
and we leap up to become
Flight 828, now boarding at Gate 17.

I like this poem for its lack of grandure. What I mean by that is that there are many poets that focus on complex ideas, important events, overdramatic emotion, etc., and yet Dove often captures the simple, everyday moments that are often forgotten. Here, her poem is titled, "Vacation", and yet she describes the planeride. It is these little moments - the man knocking his knees, the baby's wail and the exhausted mother  that always seem to disapear into life and history, never remembered or awknowledged.
Devices:
Caesura  - "perforated stubs—but for now", "knocking his knees—even he": Dove seems to use the caesura as a way of adding in her thoughts, allowing the reader to see the planeride through her eyes.
Enjambment - lines 4-7, lines 8-15, lines 16-21 ...
Simile - "linked like unfolding paper dolls" (3-4), "perched like a seal trained for the plunge" (15)

Adolescence II by Rita Dove

Although it is night, I sit in the bathroom, waiting.
Sweat prickles behind my knees, the baby-breasts are alert.
Venetian blinds slice up the moon; the tiles quiver in pale strips.

Then they come, the three seal men with eyes as round
As dinner plates and eyelashes like sharpened tines.
They bring the scent of licorice. One sits in the washbowl,

One on the bathtub edge; one leans against the door.
"Can you feel it yet?" they whisper.
I don't know what to say, again. They chuckle,

Patting their sleek bodies with their hands.
"Well, maybe next time." And they rise,
Glittering like pools of ink under moonlight,

And vanish. I clutch at the ragged holes
They leave behind, here at the edge of darkness.
Night rests like a ball of fur on my tongue.

I picked this poem of Rita Dove because it was perhaps the most baffling to me of all her poems. I cannot grasp the complete meaning of her words. I understand that she is waiting for something that is soon to come, and therefore stays up in the nights worrying or anticipating this event as she waits in her bathroom. I have absolutely no idea what the significance of the bathroom is, or the three men who situate themselves specifcally in different areas of it. The moon is also repeated in this poem, and I think it must be a metaphor for this dream or hope she has, or maybe it is simply just the bright, sparkling anticipation. I like her use of language in this poem, whether it is about the men and the moon or about the night which "rests like a ball of fur on my tongue", and this is ultimately why I chose it.

Devices:
Trochee - "bathroom" and "waiting" (1)
Tercet - each stanza in this poem is a tercet
Dactyl - Glittering (12)

American Smooth by Rita Dove

We were dancing—it must have

been a foxtrot or a waltz,

something romantic but

requiring restraint,

rise and fall, precise

execution as we moved

into the next song without

stopping, two chests heaving

above a seven-league

stride—such perfect agony,

one learns to smile through,

ecstatic mimicry

being the sine qua non

of American Smooth.

And because I was distracted

by the effort of

keeping my frame

(the leftward lean, head turned

just enough to gaze out

past your ear and always

smiling, smiling),

I didn’t notice

how still you’d become until

we had done it

(for two measures?

four?)—achieved flight,

that swift and serene

magnificence,

before the earth

remembered who we were

and brought us down. 

The rhythm of the poem seems to reflect the dance which she describes so vividly. It is here that Dove's passion for dance is interconnected with her love of poetry, and together they form a peice of work that makes the reader feel as if they are in that moment with Dove. Illustrating the dance, Dove explains the feeling of being lost in the moment, having "achieved flight"(26), before she becomes aware of her surroundings once more and "the earth remembered who we were and brought us down" (29-30). I love that she is able to bring that moment to light.

Devices:
Caesura - "We were dancing—it must have " (1), "stride—such perfect agony,"(10), "four?)—achieved flight," (26)
Enjambment - lines 1, 3, 5-9, 12-14, 15-20, 22-24, 26, 28-30
Rhythm - I can't classify this poem under a specific meter, but the way in which she chooses to use her syllables and arrange her verses creates the effect of a dance-inspired rhythm.

"Teach Us to Number Our Days"

In the old neighborhood, each funeral parlor   

is more elaborate than the last.

The alleys smell of cops, pistols bumping their thighs,   

each chamber steeled with a slim blue bullet.

Low-rent balconies stacked to the sky.   

A boy plays tic-tac-toe on a moon   

crossed by TV antennae, dreams

he has swallowed a blue bean.

It takes root in his gut, sprouts

and twines upward, the vines curling   

around the sockets and locking them shut.

And this sky, knotting like a dark tie?

The patroller, disinterested, holds all the beans.

August. The mums nod past, each a prickly heart on a sleeve.

This poem was confusing for me, but to be honest, I liked the way it sounded when it was read and I was interested in gaining a better understanding of it. I have interpreted it as a poem that focuses on identity - the boy, innocent and ignorant of society's harsh reality is depicted after the image of the cops, whose power is predetermined ("holds all the beans"). Dove juxtaposes each character in their own separate scene. The cops patrol the dark alleys which linger with the scent of their bullets, a sign that the neighborhood is poor and that dreams rarely become reality for those who inhabit the "low-rent balconies stacked to the sky"(5). The boy, unaware of these restrictions(the barriers he will face, his powerlessness in such a society, the crime rate, as indicated by the "funeral parlor") is sitting blissfully in his innocence, dreaming dreams that, sadly, will soon be shattered. The moon seems to symbolize a brighter future to which the young boy aspires, and the tic tac toe game may be a symbol for the uncertainty he will soon face as he plays with this unpredicatable future. I am unsure of what Dove was hinting at by the mention of the dreams being "crossed by TV antennae", but perhaps she meant to indicate that the media is infecting his young mind, and crossing into his future. I think what I struggled with most in this poem was the last line. Dove writes, "August. The mums nod past, each a prickly heart on a sleeve". She might have chosen August because it is the last month before the Fall begins, which could be interpreted to mean the boy is headed for the dark and dreary winter, or more simply, a future that will hit him coldly. The mums which "nod past", could then symbolize the passing moment of bliss, which will soon be out-lived. Each moment the boy lives must be savored, because soon he could be headed for a different sky than the one he dreams of with the bright moon - a sky "knotting like a dark tie"(a darkening future).

Devices:

Open Form - There is no definite rhyme pattern or meter in this poem -  perhaps this only enhances the unpredicatale and ever-changing world of the boy, and life?

Quatrain - The first three stanzas are quatrains; oddly, this poem looks as if it is following the form of a sonnet, but then adds an additional line which lies alone at the end. This, with the obvious lack of rhyme and a definite rhythm, does not qualify the poem as a sonnet. I found it interesting that it almost took that form, however.
Hyperbole - "balconies stacked to the sky" (5)

Rita Dove

Rita Dove is a contemporary Poet (1952-present) who is a multitalented artist and an inspiration to the world of literature and music. It is not surprising to me that she was born into an accomplished family - her father was the first Black research chemist who broke the race barrier in the tire industry. Dove, herself, has accomplished major feats and awards in her lifetime. She was the yougest person, and the first African American, to be appointed appointed Poet Laureate of the United States and Consultant in Poetry at the Library of Congress in 1993 and has published a multitude of poems. However, Rita Dove is not only a poet but also an author of short stories, a novel, and a playwright. She has even writen songs, one of which was premiered by the Boston Symphony Orchestra. I was intrigued by her vast array of accomplishments, but of course by her poetry as well. Her poems are impressive, flavored by her background in the arts and her time in Germany, as well as her African American heritage. According to The Poetry Foundation (poetryfoundation.org), "Dove’s work is known for its lyricism and beauty as well as its sense of history and political scope." The foundation also added that Emily Nussbaum noted in the New York Times how dance and poetry connect for Dove: “For Dove, dance is an implicit parallel to poetry. Each is an expression of grace performed within limits; each an art weighted by history but malleable enough to form something utterly new.”

Links to biography: http://people.virginia.edu/~rfd4b/ and http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/rita-dove