Darin,
I love this improv. It is really unusual and gives way for great opportunities to grow into a strong draft. I like that it starts out grounded in a place and quickly moves into action with the Angel slinking up next to the speaker. That the Angel in fact slinks is interesting and unexpected. We normally, of course, think of Angels descending, ascending, or magically appearing, so the very verb slink implies that this particular Angel is uncommon. The connotations of the verb slink also put this Angel in a shady light, which is also an unexpected turn for this archetypal character. A few suggestions I have if you continue to work on this draft is to pay attention to your line breaks. You end a great deal of lines with weak verbs or non-images: to it, know, of, and me. It really makes a difference and sticks with the reader if you end a line on a strong, concrete image. Or consider, I may have mentioned this before, the idea of reading your lines independently from one another. For example, your line: “it might close forever, for all I know” reads as an independent sentence when taken out of context of the poem. The line, “I’ve got problems and nightmares to,” however, reads oddly if taken out of context. It’s really just something to consider when you want to concentrate on strong lines and line breaks—they do help strengthen the overall architecture of your poem.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Free Entry, Week 9
It should not alarm you that I despise
something other than myself. I’m not
a feminist for nothing or else all those Tori
Amos songs taught me zilch about owning
a vagina. Yeah, sometimes I peruse through
the make-up aisle and think about lip gloss
and how nice it would be to dab its glistening
guarantee of sex on my dry mouth. But then
I remember that when I turn my head too fast
my hair sometimes gets stuck in this new cosmetic
radiance on my face and I want to go back to the bare
essentials of my own matte lips. I have always loved
experimenting with you and your love for me.
You always tease me about my reflection
and how you catch me looking at it after a bath--
how I still turn sideways and suck in my tummy,
how I won’t dye my hair, but I still paint my nails.
I look forward to the day when I can like the thought
of liking myself without the need for any woman
with unshaved or plastic body parts to tell me
what I should be. I wonder what the first woman
was like before other women came along. I wonder
who told her how to be?
something other than myself. I’m not
a feminist for nothing or else all those Tori
Amos songs taught me zilch about owning
a vagina. Yeah, sometimes I peruse through
the make-up aisle and think about lip gloss
and how nice it would be to dab its glistening
guarantee of sex on my dry mouth. But then
I remember that when I turn my head too fast
my hair sometimes gets stuck in this new cosmetic
radiance on my face and I want to go back to the bare
essentials of my own matte lips. I have always loved
experimenting with you and your love for me.
You always tease me about my reflection
and how you catch me looking at it after a bath--
how I still turn sideways and suck in my tummy,
how I won’t dye my hair, but I still paint my nails.
I look forward to the day when I can like the thought
of liking myself without the need for any woman
with unshaved or plastic body parts to tell me
what I should be. I wonder what the first woman
was like before other women came along. I wonder
who told her how to be?
Junkyard Quotes 1-4, Week 9
“Captured: America in Color”
-title of photo collection
“dogs are already enjoying a better life”
-Dog Island Fever
“The oldest known relatives of dinosaurs were the size of a house cat”
“the gazpacho is laced with Valium”
-New York Times
-title of photo collection
“dogs are already enjoying a better life”
-Dog Island Fever
“The oldest known relatives of dinosaurs were the size of a house cat”
“the gazpacho is laced with Valium”
-New York Times
Improv, Week 9
Beside a Chrysanthemum
--So Chong-Ju
To bring one chrysanthemum
flower, the cuckoo has cried
since spring.
To bring one chrysanthemum to bloom,
thunder has rolled
through black clouds.
Flower, like my sister returning
from distant, youthful byways
of throat-tight longing
to stand by the mirror:
for your yellow petals to open
last night such a frost fell,
and I could not sleep.
-----------------------------------------------------
To bring milk to the well,
every April, the millipede will curl
into a flat roll, like a saucer.
To bring milk to the schoolyard,
after the rain lets, after the children
pick themselves up from scrapped knee.
Milk, like the finest tusks returns
in favors from distant relatives,
leaves caught in the throat
of Spring, standing room only:
for your opal colored drops
that collect in the hand
of unexpecting orphans
that dream of warmth.
--So Chong-Ju
To bring one chrysanthemum
flower, the cuckoo has cried
since spring.
To bring one chrysanthemum to bloom,
thunder has rolled
through black clouds.
Flower, like my sister returning
from distant, youthful byways
of throat-tight longing
to stand by the mirror:
for your yellow petals to open
last night such a frost fell,
and I could not sleep.
-----------------------------------------------------
To bring milk to the well,
every April, the millipede will curl
into a flat roll, like a saucer.
To bring milk to the schoolyard,
after the rain lets, after the children
pick themselves up from scrapped knee.
Milk, like the finest tusks returns
in favors from distant relatives,
leaves caught in the throat
of Spring, standing room only:
for your opal colored drops
that collect in the hand
of unexpecting orphans
that dream of warmth.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Calisthenics, Week 8
*attempt at a crowne sonnet that I tried as a collaberation with a couple of other poets via email. We would start with the each other's lines.
I wish he was here right now, please call back
to tell me if he will leave my keys. Please,
I need my keys, he can keep the damn car,
can keep the cds that are in the trunk,
even that signed Stix vinyl my dad gave
me. My dog’s locked in the shed, so I need them
back, I don’t have his number, so yes please
call him and tell him to come over quick.
And when he comes, I will have lied about
the dog, and the keys, about the car, and
about keeping it all. I want him here,
I want him here now to tell him about
how I watch the door of his house to see
when his wife goes to work, when his kids leave,
how I want to knock on the door and shout:
remember when we were married, when we
talked of kids. Let me kiss you again.
I wish he was here right now, please call back
to tell me if he will leave my keys. Please,
I need my keys, he can keep the damn car,
can keep the cds that are in the trunk,
even that signed Stix vinyl my dad gave
me. My dog’s locked in the shed, so I need them
back, I don’t have his number, so yes please
call him and tell him to come over quick.
And when he comes, I will have lied about
the dog, and the keys, about the car, and
about keeping it all. I want him here,
I want him here now to tell him about
how I watch the door of his house to see
when his wife goes to work, when his kids leave,
how I want to knock on the door and shout:
remember when we were married, when we
talked of kids. Let me kiss you again.
Pedagogy forum, Week 8
One thing that I’ve been trying to prepare for lately is teaching my own creative process of writing a poem to Amy’s Creative Process class. I have been mining my drafts trying to find the most accessible to teach ‘beginner poets.’ Also, I am trying to find the draft that may have the most drastic changes to give the most visual example to the students. Since most of my drafts begin as improvs or calisthenics it might also be useful to give the students an exercise to generate language and show them that writing poetry does not require a muse. I hope to show the students that how I typical begin a poem—through a writing exercise from other texts—is how they can all begin to write a poem. I want to perhaps talk about Hugo’s techniques about a triggering subject once they have a lengthy bit of material to work with. Or, at least cull some sort of thread that may be apparent in their exercise to begin to see some architecture. I think I want to use the exercise that we actually did in class—to bring in several texts and have the student write down a line and then pass the text and write down another line from the next text and so forth. I think that this particular exercise is a great start to show those students least familiar with the act/process of writing poetry that they can just start writing and they don’t have to be ‘inspired.’
Monday, October 4, 2010
Sign Inventory, Week 8
“She Didn’t Even Wave”
-Ai
*The speaker carries on two conversations, one (in the past) with her mother moments before she dies and one with an unnamed “you.”
*Only the speaker’s mother “talks” in italics, but when the speaker “talks” to the unmentioned “you” there is no italics.
*The speaker buries her mother by herself.
*The speaker covers up her mother, but exposes herself in the next line: “but I couldn’t do much about her face, / blue-black and swollen, / so I covered it with a silk scarf. / I hike my dress up to my thighs / and rub them
*The speaker changes tenses from past to present on numerous occasions: so I covered her face-I hike my dress, It was real nice-I touch the rhinestone heart, I walked outside-and face the empty house, etc.
*The conversational interjections are unclear as to who is speaking: the speaker, the mother, the unnamed you?
*The poem is occupied with step-by-step actions: I do this, you did that, she did this, etc.
*The speaker is concerned with the sense of touch: I hike my dress to my thighs, I touch the rhinestone, you put your arms around me, she squeezed me so tight, hug me again.
*The poem centers around the fear of loss; the mother is concerned with her daughter leaving home for a man and then the daughter must deal with the death of her mother.
*Jean is the only name given. The mother is never named and neither is the you.
-Ai
*The speaker carries on two conversations, one (in the past) with her mother moments before she dies and one with an unnamed “you.”
*Only the speaker’s mother “talks” in italics, but when the speaker “talks” to the unmentioned “you” there is no italics.
*The speaker buries her mother by herself.
*The speaker covers up her mother, but exposes herself in the next line: “but I couldn’t do much about her face, / blue-black and swollen, / so I covered it with a silk scarf. / I hike my dress up to my thighs / and rub them
*The speaker changes tenses from past to present on numerous occasions: so I covered her face-I hike my dress, It was real nice-I touch the rhinestone heart, I walked outside-and face the empty house, etc.
*The conversational interjections are unclear as to who is speaking: the speaker, the mother, the unnamed you?
*The poem is occupied with step-by-step actions: I do this, you did that, she did this, etc.
*The speaker is concerned with the sense of touch: I hike my dress to my thighs, I touch the rhinestone, you put your arms around me, she squeezed me so tight, hug me again.
*The poem centers around the fear of loss; the mother is concerned with her daughter leaving home for a man and then the daughter must deal with the death of her mother.
*Jean is the only name given. The mother is never named and neither is the you.
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