This poem was freshly published on New Yorker July 14, 2021. It’s interesting and special in sentence pauses and word uses. See the brief introduction about the author, a currently well known poetess at the bottom.
you ask me again—why putting your tiny hand on the not yet
unsheathed bud on the rhododendron and I see
I need to be sky I need to be soil there are no words for why that I
can find fast enough, why you say at the foot of the cherry’s wide
blossomfall is it dead now why did it let go, why, tossed out
into what appears to be silence when I say let’s run the
rain is starting—why are we lost why did we just leave where we just
were why is everything so far behind now as we go on I
see you think when you reach me again to ask why when I say
are you coming now &
you say no, I want to stay, I want things to stay, I do not want to come
away from things—what is this we are entering—me taking yr hand now to speed
our going as fast as we can in this suddenly hard rain, yr hand not letting go
of the rose pebble u found feeling the first itching of personal luck as you now slowly
pocket it thinking you have taken with you a piece of what u could not
leave behind. It is why we went there and left there. It is your why.
Author: Jorie Graham 1950–
One of the most celebrated poets of the American post-war generation, Jorie Graham is the author of numerous collections of poetry.
Jorie Graham was born in New York City and raised in Rome, Italy. She studied philosophy at the Sorbonne in Paris before attending New York University as an undergraduate, where she studied filmmaking. She received an MFA in Poetry from the University of Iowa.
She has taught at the University of Iowa Writers’ Workshop and is currently the Boylston Professor of Rhetoric and Oratory at Harvard University.
About her work, James Longenbach writes in the New York Times: “For 30 years Jorie Graham has engaged the whole human contraption—intellectual, global, domestic, apocalyptic—rather than the narrow emotional slice of it most often reserved for poems. She thinks of the poet not as a recorder but as a constructor of experience. Like Rilke or Yeats, she imagines the hermetic poet as a public figure, someone who addresses the most urgent philosophical and political issues of the time simply by writing poems.”
You ask me again: “Why”, putting your tiny hand on the not yet unsheathed bud on the rhododendron.
And I see I need to be sky; I need to be soil. There are no words for why that I can find fast enough.
“Why", you say at the foot of the cherry's wide blossomfall. “Is it dead now? Why did it let go?”
“Why” tossed out into what appears to be silence.
When I say let's run, the rain is starting, "Why are we lost? Why did we just leave where we just were? Why is everything so far behind now as we go on?”
I see you think when you reach me again to ask why, when I say, “Are you coming now”, & you say, “No, I want to stay, I want things to stay, I do not want to come away from things.”
What is this we are entering? Me taking yr hand now to speed our going as fast as we can in this suddenly hard rain, yr hand not letting go of the rose pebble u found.
Feeling the first itching of personal luck as you now slowly pocket it, thinking you have taken with you a piece of what u could not leave behind.
Why do we do the things we do? Just to do it to experience it and then move on. Nothing we can keep constant. We go there and then leave. Maybe we can take something away with us but we can't stay there forever.
There is this kind of feeling that a lot of things we cannot control in real life. That's my impression of this piece.
The world is going forward too fast. I think a lot of people might be feeling out of control.
The hard rain in the poem to me is those uncontrollable situations that push us forward no matter how much we want to linger behind for those feelings we treasure.
The last is not the least. Actually, Sweetbug’s insightful comme
The last is not the least. Actually, Sweetbug’s insightful comments interpreted this poem really well. Thanks for sharing your thoughts rendering further comprehension of the nice piece.
This poem was freshly published on New Yorker July 14, 2021. It’s interesting and special in sentence pauses and word uses. See the brief introduction about the author, a currently well known poetess at the bottom.
这首诗刚刚在 2021 年 7 月 14 日在《纽约客》上发表。它在句子停顿和单词使用方面很有趣也很特别。 见底部的作者简介。作者是一位当代为人熟知的美国女诗人乔莉·格雷厄姆，哈佛教授。
Why
By Jorie Graham
you ask me
again—why
putting your tiny hand on
the not yet
unsheathed
bud on the
rhododendron
and I see
I need to be sky
I need to be soil
there are no words
for why that I
can find fast
enough, why
you say at
the foot of the cherry’s wide
blossomfall
is it dead now why
did it let go, why,
tossed out
into what appears
to be silence
when I say
let’s run the
rain is starting—why
are we lost why did
we just leave
where we just
were why is
everything
so far behind
now as we go on I
see you think
when you reach
me again to ask
why when I say
are you coming now &
you say no,
I want to stay, I want
things to stay, I do
not want to come
away from things—what
is this we are
entering—me taking yr
hand now to speed
our going
as fast as we can in this suddenly
hard rain, yr
hand not letting go
of the rose pebble u found
feeling the first itching of
personal luck as
you now slowly
pocket it thinking
you have taken
with you a piece of
what u could not
leave behind. It is
why we went there
and left there.
It is your why.
Author: Jorie Graham
1950–
One of the most celebrated poets of the American post-war generation, Jorie Graham is the author of numerous collections of poetry.
Jorie Graham was born in New York City and raised in Rome, Italy. She studied philosophy at the Sorbonne in Paris before attending New York University as an undergraduate, where she studied filmmaking. She received an MFA in Poetry from the University of Iowa.
She has taught at the University of Iowa Writers’ Workshop and is currently the Boylston Professor of Rhetoric and Oratory at Harvard University.
About her work, James Longenbach writes in the New York Times: “For 30 years Jorie Graham has engaged the whole human contraption—intellectual, global, domestic, apocalyptic—rather than the narrow emotional slice of it most often reserved for poems. She thinks of the poet not as a recorder but as a constructor of experience. Like Rilke or Yeats, she imagines the hermetic poet as a public figure, someone who addresses the most urgent philosophical and political issues of the time simply by writing poems.”
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诗歌欣赏：《Why》 《昨夜的香》 《电影·美国自由资本主义》 Mermaid 《剧本·外一首》总有凋谢的时候。：-）
说不定还会回来打我一锅盖。
“押韵，押韵，老娘给你一押韵！”：-）
现在凡是跟“草”押韵的，我都不说。
一位母亲带了自己的正好到了不断问“为什么”的年纪的孩子在花园里玩。孩子就一个杜鹃花蓓蕾和其他的事问很多问题。 母亲答不出。 孩子开始自己思考答案，开始有自己的思想，有独立意识。
下雨了，母亲拉着孩子奔走躲雨。孩子在长大，但他仍然还是孩子，他没有扔掉自己找到的一块玫瑰色小石头，而是放进自己的口袋...... 有新的美丽要去探索，旧的美丽却仍值得保存。
作者在故事的后面似乎讲了很多，至于她在讲什么，只能由读者自己意会。
当然，也许以上所说根本就都是错的，反正我是这样断了句来读的：
You ask me again: “Why”, putting your tiny hand on the not yet unsheathed bud on the rhododendron.
And I see I need to be sky; I need to be soil. There are no words for why that I can find fast enough.
“Why", you say at the foot of the cherry's wide blossomfall. “Is it dead now? Why did it let go?”
“Why” tossed out into what appears to be silence.
When I say let's run, the rain is starting, "Why are we lost? Why did we just leave where we just were? Why is everything so far behind now as we go on?”
I see you think when you reach me again to ask why, when I say, “Are you coming now”, & you say, “No, I want to stay, I want things to stay, I do not want to come away from things.”
What is this we are entering? Me taking yr hand now to speed our going as fast as we can in this suddenly hard rain, yr hand not letting go of the rose pebble u found.
Feeling the first itching of personal luck as you now slowly pocket it, thinking you have taken with you a piece of what u could not leave behind.
It is why we went there and left there.
It is your why.
Why do we do the things we do? Just to do it to experience it and then move on. Nothing we can keep constant. We go there and then leave. Maybe we can take something away with us but we can't stay there forever.
There is this kind of feeling that a lot of things we cannot control in real life. That's my impression of this piece.
The world is going forward too fast. I think a lot of people might be feeling out of control.
The hard rain in the poem to me is those uncontrollable situations that push us forward no matter how much we want to linger behind for those feelings we treasure.
The last is not the least. Actually, Sweetbug’s insightful comments interpreted this poem really well. Thanks for sharing your thoughts rendering further comprehension of the nice piece.
lace. Now you put pearls on it. It shines in Chinese. Thanks!