Sign Inventory 1, Week 3

"Paramour" by Angie Estes (page 67 in Writing Poetry)

-free verse and recursive: repetition of sound is the motor of this poem, as in "par for/ l'amour is par/ for the course", "boeuf or beef", and "assignage [...]/ fromage [...] French call/ feet of the angels."
-total of 32 lines;
most are short (13-nearly half-consist of four or less words)
starting in line 18, longer lines become the norm (5 to 9 words; all in all, still not long)
-all ines enjambed
-besides the last line, only line 15 ends with a period
-italics occur throughout the poem, applied to foreign words, words pointed out to be chosen labels (home and love) and phrases specifically said or thought of (Picasso's she will or the French's feet of the angels)
-French is the only foreign language used, also claiming the title
-three people are named: a sculptor, a painter, and a poet
-there is an ongoing discussion of the discrepancy between art and reality (the relationship between name and thing, painter and painted, sculptor and sculpted)

Junkyard Quote 4, Week 3

"Peace on earth seems easier when everyone is sleeping"
"Happiness is a puddle of shade"

from lessons of a turtle (the little book of life) by Sandy Gingras

Response 2, Week 3

Response to Sydney's Improv. 1, Week 3

"Foggy-grey, funnel-cloud morning" creates a nice rhythm with twosyllable-one, twosyllable-one, twosyllable, with each of the - combinations starting with an f-word and moving to a double consonant beginning. Good phrase to keep. The dash within "under-neath" seems like a bit much, as if simply trying to keep up with a style. I don't disagree with any of the others. I love the visceral, somewhat creepy language used in describing the vaccuum. I also notice the use of "juggling" mentioned in chapter 5 of Writing Poetry. If you wanted to expand this or work out even more language, each of the competing themes (vaccuuming, scraping the finger, finding the diary) could be turned into a single-themed paragraph and afterwards recombined.

Junkyard Quote 3, Week 3

"paid in beer and onions" -Dr. Leslie

I guess whatever's practical to be paid in works, but I wouldn't be overly excited for pay day.

Response 1, Week 3

Response to Ben's Improv. 1, Week 3

It's interesting the elements you built off of from "Carson McCullers". Without borrowing any language, "Hemingway" instead imitates short lines and the theme of losing an accomplished writer. In contrast, your piece employs bulkier and more ambiguous language. I like the phrase "scatter canon wrapped in battered paws" for the language play; it's very fun to say.
I agree with Pauline about the last line lacking impact and second the suggestion of expanding the imagery in order to find somewhere else to go with it. Maybe you could begin generating more images by describing broad terms such as "legend" and "grace".

Calisthenic 1, Week 3

(Re-creation of the exercise from Thursday's class)

17 initial lines molded to the theme of the movement of sea turtles

Mayhem does not reign over this molecular water-ride
whose scenery holds keys to enciphered journeys across the sea;
migrations forever overcoming the screeching of friction
by giving into currents continuously, in double 12-hour shifts.
Each year is congruent: reflective, symmetric, transcendent.
He who condemned Io to its infernal fate ignored
the silently gliding sea turtle migrations, finitely primitive
and infinitely now. With the aid of extra men,
strategic use of sleeping pills, and ship-to-ship refueling,
we try to grasp their habits. But the world is round,
revolving endlessly in strands of earthly activity
forever beyond understanding. Not everything is expressed
in John's testimony, "The word becomes flesh".
Are their eyes fond of blues and spheres, snowflakes
of an almost stellar realm? Do they digest their meals
for a billion years, speaking in tones deeper
than the limits of human hearing? I would turn the moon inside out
to weave the web of water into which they cluster.

Junkyard Quote 2, Week 3

"-Do you have power of will?
 -I have the power of the sun."

q&a between me and my roomate

Improv. 1, Week 3

From Mourning to Morning
-Eliot Kahlil Wilson

"I was the night man, told to dress crow-formal,/ to greet somberly, to point dismally,/ to look potentially sad/ or vaguely pious. No smiling and- like the airport- / no jokes. In the break room, aboce the veneered dresser/ where the shoe polish and pornography were kept,/ a laminated poster gave the rules in black magic marker"

I was the night moon, drawn in grey magic marker, or maybe white, painted above the treeline, vaguely angled, potentially falling, and dismally smitten with the clouds, bright, bright clouds, outlined in glowing sticks of reflection, crows of mist and shades of glow, greeting the comets above (what is above, really?) without telling them jokes, no room for humor when the smell of shoe polish and gasoline hovers over naked breasts and mouth-numbing powder. Potentially, I am sad. Doubtfully, I am pious. Hopefully, I am dreaming.

Junkyard Quote 1, Week 3

"the feeling of waking up"- yoga instructor
What is the feeling of waking up?

Free Entry 1, Week 3

[Untitled]

The orchid inside succeeds at prodding

and prying me open, as I try to capture

a picture of milkweeds. I pray for rain

and rule in Babylon, the next great Sargon

building gardens for Ishtar and the organiscism

of the cosmos.  Like the navy blue waving

circular sky that frames arching flocks;

a silver halo that outlines each tree, swaying

with orgasm to the fruit of light.  God breathes

humidity and exhales breeze, onto water-reeds.

And when God holds his breath, it is stillness.

Sign Inventory 1, Week 2

Stopping for Gas Near Cheat Lake

-poem comprised of seven four-line stanzas
-each stanza follows the pattern of short line, long line, short line, long line
-unknown narrator
-the last line of the forth stanza and first line of the fifth stanza are italisized
-no rhyming
-repitition of "white" (skin, gum, and face)
-four questions openly/rhetorically directed, along with one directed at the narrator from the doctors
-references to liquid appear throughout (lake, water, gas, windshield fluid, vials, blood)
-lines 16 and 17 (italized) along with line 8 are the only sentences not enjambed

Response 2, Week 2

Response to Sydney's "Improv 2, Week 2"

I love how this improvisation captures so well the sound and style of Fireworks, August 25, but is still an individualized imitation (language wasn't overly mimicked, images were exchanged, etc.). I feel that riffing off of this could in turn define a direction, maybe focusing in on a particular event or feeling. I particularly enjoyed the line "A naked oak tree stares, the only witness to the dead world trampled under tattered fingerprints left from the souls of boots, and tire tracks". Much strong language is packed into this one sentence, and I think that working with it will be rewarding.

Response 1, Week 2

Response to Elizabeth Bounds's Week 2 Calisthenic.

I see a definite linguistic ambience throughout this exercise. It is simple and personal, sounding almost like free association, saying whatever popped into your head first. That works well with the incorporation of the idea of zen and light, and even adds a dimension to "raucous love-making"; it no longer sounds raunchy, but rather like something simple, natural, and beautiful, despite its loudness and disturbance.  One thing I would definitely change is "sort of tall".  This phrase fails to convey any real size and leads me to doubt whether or not the author is intimately acquainted with this object, which the rest of the poem seems to imply is true. 

Calisthenic/Text Exercise 1, Week 2

Object Studies, Ex. 10, Ch. 6

Shoes

Tread-bearing, toe-worn, imprinted

Speakers of direction, standing supporters, protection for my feet

Jumping fences, lacing, crossing the bridge

Stumbling upon my first pair in my closet, screwing spikes into track shoes, taking them off before lying with my boy

Envelop nerve endings, barrier before stepping on glass, proof of movement

Tread-bearing, toe-worn, speakers of direction

Laced by steady hand, carrying travelers across bridges,

but dropped on the floor before lying with another

(another with feet exposed and toes gripping; close, open).

Envelop nerve endings and be a barrier before glass;

otherwise, to the world, prove our movement.

Free Entry 2, Week 2

Poetic Mantra #1

I am a poet and a dancer.

I am a poet and a dancer.

I am happy and centered.

I am happy and centered.

My life is full of beauty and love

My world is full of beauty and love

My life is poetry and dancing.

My world is poetry and dancing.

I am full of beauty and love

My soul is filled with beauty and love

I am happy and centered.

I am a poet and a dancer.

Response 2, Week 1

Response to Ben McClain's "Improv 1, Week 1"

First, I will be picky. "It's" should be "its" and "two" if meant is confusing, and otherwise should be "too". I like the ending as a period, following the straightforward simplicity and abruptness of the poem, but the last line is actually being asked. This can easily by reconciled, either by using a question mark (I less prefer that) or by a small change such as "I wonder/ whether mice want [...]". The contrast in the language is great (sun, decay, bones, second chance); I would only suggest to write on, McClain! The longer you improvise, the more imagery you award yourself.

Response 1, Week 1

Response to Christine's Free Entry, January 19

I agree with Mackenzie’s discrepancy with the word “overzealously”. Such a long word with a prominent (and harsh) “z” sound clashes with the preceding poem and left me stylistically confused. Another instance I want to pick with is the phrase “crouched with half-bored classmates”. Crouching seems to imply interest, intentness; it serves to get closer and involves a higher focus in stabilizing the muscles. As far as “half-bored” goes, I feel it is not as strong of a descriptive word as could be there. However, the imagery of this piece is particularly specific and vivid. In just the first stanza, we are introduced to a narrator, classmates, teacher, mother, ex-husband, and ex-mother-in-law. Both of the class projects are detailed in a way that I can easily picture.

Text Exercise 1, Week 1

Poem #1263
"Tell all the Truth, but tell it slant--
Successin Cicuit lies
Too bright for our infirm Delight
The Truth's superb surprise

As Lightning to the Children eased
With explanation kind
The Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind--"

-Emily Dickinson

Syntax Mimicry:

"Gather all the stones, but gather them softly--
Honesty in groves dissipates
Too humble for our golden ancestors
The stones' last stand

As temples to the sun decompose
With darkness found
The stones must lie quietly
Or every church be abandoned--"

Junkyard Quote 4, Week 2

"even breathing feels all right" -All of my Days, song by Alexi Murdoch
The lyricality of this line works without music.

Improv. 1, Week 2

      "A single tethered horse,
stirrups glistening
      with fallen snow."
-Yosa Buson

wintertime simplicity
and nighttime teeth
chewing through reigns, crisply whitened
like new found land and unstepped snow
tracks through snow
and hooves through crystals
glistening like plastic cheeks on the faces of mannequins
in a mall at Christmastime
dressed up like jockeys or football players
inspiring dreams of fulfilling the aims of capitalism
and forgetting the untrodden fluff of the forest
for the packed ice of a parking lot.

Free Entry 1, Week 2

Every car that passes by is a ticking clock, and despair is the only thing my fingers yield. But even despair must be prodded, pried open and investigated. Nothing flows freely; nonsense is the hardest thing to come by, like a diamond but more valuable. So I will live as a honey bee and milk the nectar of sweet-smelling flowers. My despair will be winter, and I will endure it frozen in a snowflake, in a pond, alongside the icey shadowbox of a wooly mammoth. My love will be spring air, as I thaw from the deep slumber of stars and mountains, solemnly tasting the dewy sky. Every year my life begins there. And this year I'll go crazy, twisting my fingers through vast space, trying to capture the picture of honeybees. My nonsense requires too much thought, and suddenly I grow restless. Maybe tomorrow I will go mad, but not today. Today I am no orchid. I am a lowly tadpole, newly hatched and flopping in mud, barely able to dream a life of yellow and black stripes. My only hope is to swim fast enough to survive the day I sprout feet. With liberty to step on solid ground, I will journey to the Babylonian gardens, praying they're not as great as the pond.

Junkyard Quote 3, Week 2

"bad coffee that smells like my childhood" -Dr. Tietjen

Junkyard Quote 2, Week 2

"the organiscism of the cosmos" -Dr. Fraser

Junkyard Quote 1, Week 2

"My savior will not wear a shirt." This was the last line a friend spoke in my dream before I woke up.

Junkyard Quote 4, Week 1

"Every car that passes is a ticking clock" -from a conversation

Sign Inventory 1, Week 1

"Color Fortunes" by Terri Witek

No ryhme scheme
No enjambment (each line is a complete sentence)
"Color" or "Colors" appears in every line but #1 and 2, which contain, respectively, the words "green" and "blue"
Addressed to a "you" referred to in 11 lines out of 17
Most of the sentences follow a logic pattern (If this, then that; Because this, then that) and the "if" constructions dominate the poem, appearing 9 times
Sentences tend to work in pairs ("If you color your lips, your words will do battle./ If you color your toes, you'll find directions confusing.", "If you paint lean colors over fat ones [...]/ If you paint fat colors over lean ones [...]."
Only three sentences do not have commas, two of which are the first lines, and the other is line 10. These make up three of 5 assertions without 'logical' cause or support; the other two are the last lines. This makes for structurally different claims at the beginning, end, and (nearly) middle of the poem
Subtle alliteration/assonance throughout ("blue on the bottom", "sex will be excellent", "war will be glorious", "feel further", etc.)

Junkyard Quote 3, Week 1

"like a unicorn walking through a screen door"- posted on Facebook

Junkyard Quote 2, Week 1

"Measuring a summer's day" -"Tangerine", Led Zeppelin

Junkyard Quote 1, Week 1

"For by stroking of him I have found out electricity" -Christopher Smart, Jubilate Agno [My Cat Jeoffrey]
 Specifically, I like the phrase, "I have found out electricity" as metaphor for the static shock often following petting his cat; it's lovely and poetic, but not without an air of humor.

Improv. 1, Week 1

“An owl, yellow as a ladder, is hinged to the night./ Where is the place he carried from Paris/ like artificial fruit?”

Songbird, leader of the night, bite through flesh like fresh lemons

Imported from Paris, a cabinet, the navy blue waving of a boat

With side boards like owl wings, textured and beautiful through weather and wind

It rolls in from Sydney and rolls back to Paris

On the tip of my tongue, feathers grace color in thoughts

So bold, like artificial fruit, bleeding from the core

A nectar of plastic, so sweet to the unmoving

Mass of a hunted mouse, stricken down by the barn owl

Yellow as a ladder, green as a pear, you sit

And watch the nightbird hunt.

Free Write 1, Week 1

What of silence? Not shy, just quiet. You would speak of the things I see, maybe. I have experienced perfect bliss. It was a hammock, an arching flock of birds, a blue sky encircling a round world. “Dig a Pony” humming in my ears, and the trees outlined in silver vapors, emanating an overwhelming beauty; I lived for hours in orgasm. Sunshine, the Beatles swayed me in unison breath to the rock of the earth. Perfect bliss is harmony. But I dare not speak of it; it’s my secret. Not only my secret, but we dare not speak of it. We know too-good-to-be-true when we see it. Don’t we? But I know other things, other things to say. How’s the weather? The wind combs my eyelashes like lovers’ breath and God shines warmth, light on cheeks blessed by the aftertouch of a gentle hand. If I allow myself to speak so honestly. You don’t understand? Neither do I, generally. Trivial irrelevancies invade the commune like aphids on the wisteria outback. I will not be an aphid. Rather would I watch vague patterns on otherwise blank faces, playing games with which I have yet to accustom myself.  I would love to monologue in front of you. However, the imposing silence (which is stillness, you know) calls to me, my mother in this inviting world. I won’t pass her by, with all she calls. But I would love to sit down for coffee sometime. Friday, you say? Well, never mind that. We can speak later.