"Sonnet," Billy Collins

Named "the most popular poet in America" in the New York Times, Billy Collins is known for his wit and humor in his observations of the everyday, particularly reading and writing.

All we need is fourteen lines, well, thirteen now, 
and after this one just a dozen
to launch a little ship on love's storm-tossed seas, 
then only ten more left like rows of beans.
How easily it goes unless you get Elizabethan
and insist the iambic bongos must be played
and rhymes positioned at the ends of lines,
one for every station of the cross.
But hang on here while we make the turn
into the final six where all will be resolved,
where longing and heartache will find an end, 
where Laura will tell Petrarch to put down his pen, 
take off those crazy medieval tights,
blowout the lights, and come at last to bed. 

Billy Collins's poem "Sonnet" is a sonnet detailing the difficulty and tediousness of writing a sonnet. Initially he uses a nonchalant tone stating that "all we need is fourteen lines." He continues to emphasize the ease with which he can write a sonnet by noting when he has completed another line ("thirteen now and after this one just a dozen," "only ten more left").  
However, he soon realizes that there is more to a sonnet than simply 14 lines about "love's storm tossed seas." For example, an Elizabethan or Shakespearean sonnet consists of three quatrains and a couplet written in iambic pentameter with a specific rhyme scheme. These sonnets "insist the iambic bongos be played and rhymes positioned at the ends of lines." Similarly, Collins suggests the difficulty of writing a Petrarchan sonnet, noting that Laura will tell Petrarch to "put down his pen" and "come to bed at last."
Collins writes his poem using the typical structure of a Petrarchan sonnet: an octet followed by a sestet. He describes the struggle of writing a sonnet in the octet, then after the turning point or volta ("hang in here while we make the turn") he details the resolution ("into the final six where all will be resolved"). However, the "resolution" is Petrarch putting down his pen and going to bed, in what appears to be defeat. By using the basic structure of a sonnet but failing to follow many of the rules, such as meter and rhyme, Collins conveys the difficulty and frustration experienced by artists such as Petrarch and others, including himself.

However, this poem also conveys a larger message: we should not waste our time and energy trying to achieve the impossible. Instead, we should think freely, love freely, and express ourselves freely. Only then are we able to reach our goals and achieve success.

"Marks," Linda Pastan

Linda Pastan was Poet Laureate of Maryland from 1991 until 1995. In addition to being a mother and wife, she also writes poetry covering topics such as "family life, domesticity, motherhood, the female experience, aging, death, loss and the fear of loss, as well as the fragility of life and relationships."

My husband gives me an A
for last night's supper,
an incomplete for my ironing,
a B plus in bed.
My son says I am average,
an average mother, but if
I put my mind to it
I could improve.
My daughter believes
in Pass/Fail and tells me
I pass.  Wait 'til they learn
I'm dropping out.

Linda Pastan's "Marks" tells the story of a mother who is never able to fully satisfy her family. Each member of her family uses a different grading system or set of "marks" for evaluating the mother's performance. Her husband gives her letter grades, her son ranks her, and her daughter either passes or fails her. However, the ambiguity of the title also suggests that the "marks" may be much more than grades, and perhaps evidence of the mother's mental and emotional suffering.
In addition to the metaphor of marks as grades, the author also uses an extended metaphor to convey the frustration and exhaustion experienced by housewives and students alike. The poem lists the many household duties the woman's family expects of her, such as cooking and cleaning. Similarly, students often sit in boring classes with unhappy and unfair teachers who expect their students to get good grades while still participating in other activities and doing hours of homework every night. Both in school and at home we're held to standards that are too high. Though we may recognize that "if (we) put (our) minds to it (we) could improve," there comes a point when we find ourselves asking "what's the point?" Eventually these "marks," whether emotional, mental, or physical, become too much, and so like the mother in the poem, we "drop out." Only then do people recognize our hard work and accomplishments and discuss our worth and value.

"At the San Francisco Airport," Yvor Winters

Yvor Winters (1900-1968) was a poet, teacher, and critic of poetry known for his isolation. Born in Chicago, he attended the University of Chicago until he moved to New Mexico after being diagnosed with tuberculosis. He attended many other universities and worked on his doctorate at Stanford. His numerous works reflected his belief that any work of art should be “an act of moral judgement.”

This is the terminal: the light

Gives perfect vision, false and hard;

The metal glitters, deep and bright.

Great planes are waiting in the yard—

They are already in the night.

And you are here beside me, small,

Contained and fragile, and intent

On things that I but half recall—

Yet going whither you are bent.

I am the past, and that is all.

But you and I in part are one:

The frightened brain, the nervous will,

The knowledge of what must be done,

The passion to acquire the skill

To face that which you dare not shun.

The rain of matter upon sense

Destroys me momently. The score:

There comes what will come. The expense

Is what one thought, and something more—

One’s being and intelligence.

This is the terminal, the break.

Beyond this point, on lines of air,

You take the way that you must take;

And I remain in light and stare—

In light, and nothing else, awake.

In his poem "At the San Francisco Airport" Yvor Winters’s use of language beautifully tells the story of a father (probably Winters) saying goodbye to his daughter, perhaps for the last time. As they stand in the airport terminal, he realizes that "this is the terminal, the break." The word "terminal" means "an end or extremity," suggesting that his daughter will not return.

The father pays close attention to the details of the terminal. The light "gives perfect vision, harsh and hard" and "the metal glitters, deep and bright," conflicting with the darkness of the situation and the empty hopelessness he feels as he stands amid the chaos of the terminal. He recognizes that his daughter, though "small, contained and fragile" is like the planes already waiting: she has made her decision to leave, "to face that which (she) dares not shun."

Personally, I think she has decided to join the military. For whatever reason, her father knows that her chances of returning home are slim and as a result, "the rain of matter upon sense destroys (him) momently." The whole situation is hard for him to fully understand. He seems to lull himself into a false sense of security by assuring himself that they are one, that she carries him with her wherever she goes. In addition, they both share not only "the frightened brain, the nervous will," but also "the knowledge of what must be done." While she is doing an honorable and courageous thing, her father notes that "the expense is what one thought, and something more - one's being and intelligence." Even if she does manage to return home she won't be the same. She may suffer from a physical deformity or a mental illness such as PTSD.

The author's use of strong, precise adjectives and verbs convey the father's situation and emotions, but also the idea that saying goodbye and letting go is never easy. In fact we may find ourselves like the father, remaining "in light, and nothing else, awake,” as we watch them leave.

"Singapore," Mary Oliver

Mary Oliver was born in Ohio in 1935, and writes both poetry and prose. She publishes a new collection of work almost every year. According to The Poetry Foundation her main themes “continue to be the intersection between the human and the natural world, as well as the limits of human consciousness and language in articulating such a meeting.” The New York Times described her as “far and away, this country’s best-selling poet.”

In Singapore, in the airport,
A darkness was ripped from my eyes.
In the women’s restroom, one compartment stood open.
A woman knelt there, washing something in the white bowl.

Disgust argued in my stomach
and I felt, in my pocket, for my ticket.

A poem should always have birds in it.
Kingfishers, say, with their bold eyes and gaudy wings.
Rivers are pleasant, and of course trees.
A waterfall, or if that’s not possible, a fountain rising and falling.
A person wants to stand in a happy place, in a poem.

When the woman turned I could not answer her face.
Her beauty and her embarrassment struggled together,
and neither could win.
She smiled and I smiled. What kind of nonsense is this?
Everybody needs a job.

Yes, a person wants to stand in a happy place, in a poem.
But first we must watch her as she stares down at her labor,
which is dull enough.
She is washing the tops of the airport ashtrays, as big as hubcaps,
with a blue rag.
Her small hands turn the metal, scrubbing and rinsing.
She does not work slowly, nor quickly, like a river.
Her dark hair is like the wing of a bird.

I don’t doubt for a moment that she loves her life.
And I want her to rise up from the crust and the slop and
fly down to the river.
This probably won’t happen.
But maybe it will.
If the world were only pain and logic, who would want it?

Of course, it isn’t.
Neither do I mean anything miraculous, but only
the light that can shine out of a life. I mean
the way she unfolded and refolded the blue cloth,
The way her smile was only for my sake; I mean
the way this poem is filled with trees, and birds.

In her poem “Singapore,” Mary Oliver uses the situation and setting in order to show the beauty of every person, place, and situation. For example, when the speaker stumbles upon the woman cleaning toilets in the airport bathroom, “a darkness was ripped from her eyes,” and she is inspired. She finds a new subject for her poem and grabs her ticket to jot down her thoughts. She describes the elements every poem should have: birds, rivers, trees, a waterfall. “A person wants to stand in a happy place, in a poem.”
Yet the Singapore airport bathroom is a stark contrast from the setting of a happy poem.
Throughout the poem she tries to convince herself that this is a beautiful situation. She recognizes the beauty in the woman's face, but dismisses her embarrassment. She pays close attention to details such as her small hands. She also equates characteristics of the woman to the elements of a happy poem. For example, the woman "does not work slowly, nor quickly, but like a river." In addition, "her dark hair is like the wing of a bird." The speaker also doesn't "doubt for a minute that she loves her life."
However, eventually the speaker realizes that she cannot make the woman's pain into a "happy place, in a poem." Though she states that she wants the woman to "rise up from the crust and the slop and fly down to the river," she knows this probably won't happen. And yet Mary Oliver has made a beautiful poem out of a dark and dirty setting and a dismal situation. She uses her poem, it's situation, setting, speaker, and details in a unique way to show "the light that can shine out of a life" that may otherwise be overlooked.

"A Certain Lady," by Dorothy Parker

Dorothy Parker lived from 1893 to 1963. Her work as a poet, literary critic, and short story author was heavily influenced by her unhappy childhood. Both her parents died within a short period of time and her uncle died as a passenger on the Titanic. Her talent and success took a blow when she was listed as a communist on theHollywood blacklist. 

Oh, I can smile for you, and tilt my head, 
And drink your rushing words with eager lips, 
And paint my mouth for you a fragrant red, 
And trace your brows with tutored finger-tips. 
When you rehearse your list of loves to me, 
Oh, I can laugh and marvel, rapturous-eyed. 
And you laugh back, nor can you ever see 
The thousand little deaths my heart has died. 
And you believe, so well I know my part, 
That I am gay as morning, light as snow, 
And all the straining things within my heart 
You'll never know. 

Oh, I can laugh and listen, when we meet, 
And you bring tales of fresh adventurings, -- 
Of ladies delicately indiscreet, 
Of lingering hands, and gently whispered things. 
And you are pleased with me, and strive anew 
To sing me sagas of your late delights. 
Thus do you want me -- marveling, gay, and true, 
Nor do you see my staring eyes of nights. 
And when, in search of novelty, you stray, 
Oh, I can kiss you blithely as you go .... 
And what goes on, my love, while you're away, 
You'll never know. 

Initially the speaker conveys a light-hearted and happy tone, particularly in the first four lines as she conveys her devotion to this man. She smiles and tilts her head for him while listening to his stories. Her appearance, such as her "fragrant mouth" painted red and her "tutored finger-tips" deepens the reader’s understanding of the affection she feels for this man. 
However, we do not get a full sense of the speaker until later in the poem. She explains that she cannot only "laugh and marvel, rapturous-eyed" as the man shares his "list of loves" and stories "of ladies delicately indiscreet, of lingering hands, and gently whispered things," but she can also hide "the thousand little deaths (her) heart has died." The contrast between the speaker's light-hearted tone and the dark emotions she experiences parallels the speaker's tragic situation and all that is hidden from or unknown to the man she clearly loves so deeply. 
She does eventually convey a defeated tone as she explains that he is completely oblivious to her feelings and desire for his love. Because she knows her "part" so well, she appears "gay as morning, light as snow." 

In the last two lines of the poem the speaker further conveys a tone of sadness and frustration. When the man leaves "in search of novelty," the speaker remains behind heartbroken and suffering 
emotionally, and perhaps even mentally and physically, but the man will never know. Instead, when he returns, she'll be waiting for him, "marvelous, gay, and true," ready to listen as he "sings (her) sagas of (his) late delights."

"Eden," by Emily Grosholz

Emily Grosholz attended Yale University and the University of Chicago where she studied a multiple philosophical subjects, including the philosophy of literature, race, and science. She is currently a Liberal Arts Research Professor of Philosophy, African American Studies, and English and the Director of Philosophy Undergraduate Studies at Penn State University.

In lurid cartoon colors, the big baby

dinosaur steps backwards under the shadow

of an approaching tyrannosaurus rex.

"His mommy going to fix it," you remark,

serenely anxious, hoping for the best.

After the big explosion, after the lights

go down inside the house and up the street,

we rush outdoors to find a squirrel stopped

in straws of half-gnawed cable. I explain,

trying to fit in the facts, "The squirrel is dead."

No, you explain it otherwise to me.

"He's sleeping. And his mommy is going to come."

Later, when the squirrel has been removed,

"His mommy fix him," you insist, insisting

on the right to know what you believe.

The world is truly full of fabulous

great and curious small inhabitants,

and you're the freshly minted, unashamed

Adam in this garden. You preside,

appreciate, and judge our proper names.

Like God, I brought you here.

Like God, I seem to be omnipotent,

mostly helpful, sometimes angry as hell.

I fix whatever minor faults arise

with bandaids, batteries, masking tape, and pills.

But I am powerless, as you must know,

to chase the serpent sliding in the grass,

or the tall angel with the flaming sword

who scares you when he rises suddenly

behind the gates of sunset.

In her poem, "Eden," Emily Grosholz conveys the innocence and naivety of youth through her light-hearted, matter-of-fact tone. The child’s repetitive remark “his mommy going to fix it” conveys his belief that his “mommy” can fix anything and represents his youthful optimism. The tone and theme are also developed by the imagery of the "lurid cartoon cartoon colors" of the "big baby dinosaur" and the child's insistence that the dead squirrel is simply sleeping.

Grosholz further conveys this theme by alluding to the story of Adam and Eve. The mother (the speaker) states that her child is Adam, "freshly minted, unashamed," and she appears to to be God, always present and ready to help him.

The tone shifts as the mother adopts an apologetic and defeated tone, explaining that she is “powerless.” While she may appear to be omnipotent like God and ready to fix “whatever minor faults arise with band aids, batteries, masking tape, and pills,” she knows these problems are insignificant in comparison to what the future holds for her son. She explains to him that in this world "full of fabulous great and curious small inhabitants" there is also great evil, pain, and corruption that not even she can protect him from. Like God with Adam, she is powerless and can only hope that she has raised her child to be strong, to resist temptation, and to remain unwavering in his beliefs and values. After Adam and Eve were tempted by the serpent and ate the apple, they realized that they were naked. Similarly, eventually the child will experience this evil, pain, and corruption, and realize that it's up to him to save himself.

"Introduction to Poetry" by Billy Collins

Named "the most popular poet in America" in the New York Times, Billy Collins is known for his wit and humor in his observations of the everyday, particularly reading and writing.

I ask them to take a poem   

and hold it up to the light   

like a color slide 

or press an ear against its hive. 

I say drop a mouse into a poem   

and watch him probe his way out, 

or walk inside the poem’s room   

and feel the walls for a light switch. 

I want them to waterski   

across the surface of a poem 

waving at the author’s name on the shore. 

But all they want to do 

is tie the poem to a chair with rope   

and torture a confession out of it. 

They begin beating it with a hose   

to find out what it really means.

Billy Collins's "Introduction to Poetry" explores the problems many encounter when reading or studying poetry. Like the readers in the poem, we tend to "tie the poem to a chair with a rope and torture a confession out of it." We often "beat it with a hose to find out what it really means" instead of discovering what it means to each of us individually.

The poem's logical and rational progression parallels the way Collins wants readers to approach a poem. His conversational tone and use of simple language also conveys that understanding a poem does not have to be a complicated, never ending search for meaning. Rather, he encourages readers to interact with a poem: to look at the structure and style, listen to the words, and feel the message. His use of sensory details and action verbs, such as "hold," "press," "watch," "walk," and "feel," convey this active interaction. In addition, his imagery of the natural world, such as light, bees and mice, and the ocean, encourages readers to stop, take a step back, and appreciate the beauty of the words, to experience the poem and appreciate it as a form of art, and most importantly, to determine what it means on a personal level.

This poem may even be an extended metaphor for life and our constant need to know everything and to have constant control over every aspect of our lives rather than letting go and living in the present, appreciating life for what it is.