Wednesday, April 4, 2012

The Oriole

As an aspiring poet, I often get asked the question, "Well, who is your poet?". I could mention a dozen or so poets all at once, the name I always keep coming back to is Rene Char, which prompts my inquisitor to respond, "Who?".

Rene Char was a French poet who came of age during World War II and who I believe is an undiscovered master of the 20th century. He has a graceful and unmatched imagination, and at college I knew exactly where his books were shelved in the library (both the French originals and the translations). He moved through several different schools of poetry during his life and absorbed the best of all of them to achieve his own unmatched poetic voice. Surrealist to Imagist to Provencal--all these terms could be applied to Char at one point or another, but none truly define the whole of his career.

This undefinable aspect of Char makes him a poet's poet. He can be anything to anyone, and to me he is a central influence. I had the honor to review Nancy Naomi Carlson's latest translation of Char's work for The Rumpus, which you can find here. Below, I have included my attempt at Char's devastating short form poem, "The Oriole". Since it is the state bird of my home state of Maryland, this poem has a personal resonance for me, and I have a feeling I will edit this poem to include an homage to my home. But for now, enjoy.



THE ORIOLE


The oriole perched on the newborn sun.

The sword of his birdsong shut the door into night.

Nothing came of it.

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