Poetry For All

In this episode, we read and discuss Emily Dickinson's poem about the death of Elizabeth Barrett Browning. We discuss Dickinson's innovative syntax, her use of deep pauses, and her meditations on death and grief that create surprising effects in this short lyric. I went to thank Her I went to thank Her— But She Slept— Her Bed—a funneled Stone— With Nosegays at the Head and Foot— That Travellers—had thrown— Who went to thank Her— But She Slept— 'Twas Short—to cross the Sea— To look upon Her like—alive— But turning back—'twas slow—

Psalm 52 concerns a lying tyrant and God's impending judgment. Mary Sidney, who lived 1561-1621, was an extraordinary writer, editor, and literary patron. Like many talented writers of her time, she translated all the psalms. Here we talk about translation, early modern women's writing, religious engagements with politics, and the power of Psalm 52. For more on Mary Sidney, see The Poetry Foundation page: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/mary-sidney-herbert For the Geneva translation of Psalm 52, which Mary Sidney would have known, see here: https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Psalm%2052&version=GNV For a new collection of English translations of the psalms in the early modern era, see The Psalms in English 1530-1633 (Tudor and Stuart Translations) (https://a.co/d/6lKqKPS), edited by Hannibal Hamlin. Psalm 52 translated by Mary Sidney Tyrant, why swell’st thou thus,  Of mischief vaunting? Since help from God to us  Is never wanting. Lewd lies thy tongue contrives,  Loud lies it soundeth; Sharper than sharpest knives  With lies it woundeth. Falsehood thy wit approves,  All truth rejected: Thy will all vices loves,  Virtue neglected. Not words from cursed thee,  But gulfs are poured; Gulfs wherein daily be  Good men devoured. Think’st thou to bear it so?  God shall displace thee; God shall thee overthrow,  Crush thee, deface thee. The just shall fearing see  These fearful chances, And laughing shoot at thee  With scornful glances. Lo, lo, the wretched wight,  Who God disdaining, His mischief made his might,  His guard his gaining. I as an olive tree  Still green shall flourish: God’s house the soil shall be  My roots to nourish. My trust in his true love  Truly attending, Shall never thence remove,  Never see ending. Thee will I honour still,  Lord, for this justice; There fix my hopes I will  Where thy saints’ trust is. Thy saints trust in thy name,  Therein they joy them: Protected by the same,  Naught can annoy them.

In this episode, Niki Herd joins us to read and discuss an excerpt from The Stuff of Hollywood, a collection in which Herd experiments with a range of forms and procedures to examine the history of violence in America. To learn more about Niki Herd, you can visit her website (https://www.nikiherd.com/). The Stuff of Hollywood was just published by Copper Canyon Website. Please visit their website (https://www.coppercanyonpress.org/books/the-stuff-of-hollywood-by-niki-herd/) to purchase a copy. Photo credit: Madeline Brenner

In this episode, we closely read Shelley's "Ozymandias," a poem written in a time of revolution and social protest. We focus on the poem's sonnet structure, its engagement with--and critique of--empire, its meditation on the bust of Ramses II, and its afterlife in an episode of _Breaking Bad. _ To learn more about Percy Bysshe Shelley, click here (https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/percy-bysshe-shelley). Here is the text of the poem: I met a traveller from an antique land, Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand, Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed; And on the pedestal, these words appear: My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings; Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair! Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away.” Photo: Ramses II, British Museum