"Our bakers bake
fresh bread from
fresh dough every
day in every
bakery-cafe."
-Panera Bread advertisement on Pandora
The greatest thing is that it was written out like this, in a little stanza, complete with visual repetitions and a rhyme.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Monday, March 28, 2011
Improv. 1, Week 11
from "Cigarettes" by B. H. Fairchild (p 106)
"Yes, they kill you, but so do television and bureaucrats
and the drugged tedium of certain rooms piped
with tasteful music where we have all sat waiting
for someone to enter with a silver plate laden
with Camels and Lucky Strikes, someone who leans
into our ears and tells us that the day's work is done,
and done well, offers us black coffee in white cups,
and whispers the way trees whisper, yes, yes, oh yes."
Yes, they kill you, but so do parents and plastic
and the bad taste of sudden allergies, passed
down from who-knows-who and triggered by
who-knows-what, swelling shut your throat
by the third bite of boiled shrimp laden
with garlic, basil, and set out upon
a silver plate. At least with cigarettes
the onset is never so sudden, so unexpected:
an early dinner with family friends, started
with coffee, and ended with you're done.
"Yes, they kill you, but so do television and bureaucrats
and the drugged tedium of certain rooms piped
with tasteful music where we have all sat waiting
for someone to enter with a silver plate laden
with Camels and Lucky Strikes, someone who leans
into our ears and tells us that the day's work is done,
and done well, offers us black coffee in white cups,
and whispers the way trees whisper, yes, yes, oh yes."
Yes, they kill you, but so do parents and plastic
and the bad taste of sudden allergies, passed
down from who-knows-who and triggered by
who-knows-what, swelling shut your throat
by the third bite of boiled shrimp laden
with garlic, basil, and set out upon
a silver plate. At least with cigarettes
the onset is never so sudden, so unexpected:
an early dinner with family friends, started
with coffee, and ended with you're done.
Calisthenic, Week 11
Lexical Accretion (p 208)
The day is good for a West Moreland stroll
the day is good for skipping the toll
the day seems good for skipping, or
trolling, because each day is good
when rolling, rolling; rolling is good
for loose-leaf tobacco, loose dough,
dogs in dirt or horses in dirt, and now
it's a good day for a ride on a horse
or a ride down Moreland Avenue
is good if you want to skip the toll
is good if this morning you broke a bowl
is good when there's nowhere else to go
there's nowhere to go to score your goal
whatever that may be, wherever that
may be; maybe forever you'll skip
the toll of tobacco, lungs rolled in dirt
The day is good for a West Moreland stroll
the day is good for skipping the toll
the day seems good for skipping, or
trolling, because each day is good
when rolling, rolling; rolling is good
for loose-leaf tobacco, loose dough,
dogs in dirt or horses in dirt, and now
it's a good day for a ride on a horse
or a ride down Moreland Avenue
is good if you want to skip the toll
is good if this morning you broke a bowl
is good when there's nowhere else to go
there's nowhere to go to score your goal
whatever that may be, wherever that
may be; maybe forever you'll skip
the toll of tobacco, lungs rolled in dirt
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Response 2, Week 11
Response to Ben's "Free Write 1, Week 10"
Ben,
I enjoy the theme to this poem. It's like the demonstration presentations I had to do in high school (and again in Public Speaking): first you do this, here's why you do this, etc. The structure itself may benefit from experimentation though. Many of your lines are very long, going all the way to the margin. Others ("to clay", "cigarettes, and "Such is life") are cut extremely short. I don't get the feeling that these break choices are actively helping the piece. And watch your grammar: "malleable", "an unreasonable", "taken seriously", and at the end, "too much...too little."
Ben,
I enjoy the theme to this poem. It's like the demonstration presentations I had to do in high school (and again in Public Speaking): first you do this, here's why you do this, etc. The structure itself may benefit from experimentation though. Many of your lines are very long, going all the way to the margin. Others ("to clay", "cigarettes, and "Such is life") are cut extremely short. I don't get the feeling that these break choices are actively helping the piece. And watch your grammar: "malleable", "an unreasonable", "taken seriously", and at the end, "too much...too little."
Free Entry, Week 11
(coffee shop, rainy day)
words cross air, repetitive like bricks, as a man in an orange fleece jacket tries to speak over the racket of blenders, ice, various unknown others. his tennis shoes do not intrigue me, sporting their own announcement. Nike and I complete it, Just do it. clearing away newspapers, books--all those novels: Kings, Grishams, Roberts--I set out a soft notebook. black dragon oolong tea, with a distinctive aroma that tea drinkers from around the world can recognize. "Just a green tea" she asks, and a toddler in a blue cap waddles under the table. the grey backdrop to the trees. I walk through miniscule droplets, brings up a memory where I sit at my kitchen table with lights off, staring into rain: gutter-spout gushes and occasional light-flashes, the silencing blanketed onto us: thunder and water, thunder and water.
words cross air, repetitive like bricks, as a man in an orange fleece jacket tries to speak over the racket of blenders, ice, various unknown others. his tennis shoes do not intrigue me, sporting their own announcement. Nike and I complete it, Just do it. clearing away newspapers, books--all those novels: Kings, Grishams, Roberts--I set out a soft notebook. black dragon oolong tea, with a distinctive aroma that tea drinkers from around the world can recognize. "Just a green tea" she asks, and a toddler in a blue cap waddles under the table. the grey backdrop to the trees. I walk through miniscule droplets, brings up a memory where I sit at my kitchen table with lights off, staring into rain: gutter-spout gushes and occasional light-flashes, the silencing blanketed onto us: thunder and water, thunder and water.
Sign Inventory, Week 11
"The Striking Blondes" by Kate Northrop
-three stanzas
-first stanza made up of sentence spanning three lines, each which end at the margin with no apparent "line break", much like prose
-2nd stanza formed much like first, but is a question containing a colon and a semicolon in the middle of the second and third lines, respectively
-third stanza: seven lines, 2 questions, 2 sentences, also prose-like
-second to last line ends with a period at the margin (no enjambent)
-last line: one full sentence
-first stanzas begin with "they" and later refer to "us"
-last stanza begins with "we" and seems a primarily "us"-centered stanza, with references to "them"
-three stanzas
-first stanza made up of sentence spanning three lines, each which end at the margin with no apparent "line break", much like prose
-2nd stanza formed much like first, but is a question containing a colon and a semicolon in the middle of the second and third lines, respectively
-third stanza: seven lines, 2 questions, 2 sentences, also prose-like
-second to last line ends with a period at the margin (no enjambent)
-last line: one full sentence
-first stanzas begin with "they" and later refer to "us"
-last stanza begins with "we" and seems a primarily "us"-centered stanza, with references to "them"
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Junkyard Quote 4, Week 11
"How do we chart that accumulative ruin?" -this was in my notebook from the day Amy Pence came, but I don't remember specifically who said it
Junkyard Quote 2, Week 11
"the world started revolving at a different pace in another direction" -a friend in an email
Friday, March 25, 2011
Response 1, Week 11
Response to Pauline's Week 10 Improv.
Pauline,
Your mimicry of Gilbert's sort of confessional nostalgia comes across extremely well. I also like how your title provides a placement for the piece, which then is not referred to in the body. Your step by step imagery also works ("down the stairs, through the kitchen...lift the latch...tiptoed back"). One thing I would recommend paying attention to is line length. Some of them seem to drag out longer than they should (such as the one starting "I remember"). This is really a great draft though, keep it going.
Pauline,
Your mimicry of Gilbert's sort of confessional nostalgia comes across extremely well. I also like how your title provides a placement for the piece, which then is not referred to in the body. Your step by step imagery also works ("down the stairs, through the kitchen...lift the latch...tiptoed back"). One thing I would recommend paying attention to is line length. Some of them seem to drag out longer than they should (such as the one starting "I remember"). This is really a great draft though, keep it going.
Junkyard Quote 1, Week 11
"She's like the Malcom X to his Martin Luther King." -a comment in Hermeneutics
Monday, March 21, 2011
Free Entry, Week 10
Every day:
she wakes up,
a black-and-white cat
curled against her arm,
head on her shoulder.
some days she showers;
on other days she stands,
counts bathroom tiles
counts quilted flowers.
Tuesdays she reads
Mesopotamian emperors,
ancient Indian religions,
the art of reflexology,
the art of the 17th century,
or what nail polish
goes with her sandals.
her mouth may taste
sticky and sweet
from nighttime wine.
later she makes tea,
grown in her yard:
spearmint, lemongrass,
the rind of an orange.
at work, the same
girl in the hallway:
tall, thin, dark-haired
tight clothes, always
black or grey. or both.
evenings she sits
outside, eating
avocados, pumpernickel.
stares down the street
until dusk falls.
then she thinks,
writes how weeds
sprout through cracks
in the driveway;
the way tiny, yellow,
lily-pad leaves
sprinkle the sidewalk
with regeneration.
she wakes up,
a black-and-white cat
curled against her arm,
head on her shoulder.
some days she showers;
on other days she stands,
counts bathroom tiles
counts quilted flowers.
Tuesdays she reads
Mesopotamian emperors,
ancient Indian religions,
the art of reflexology,
the art of the 17th century,
or what nail polish
goes with her sandals.
her mouth may taste
sticky and sweet
from nighttime wine.
later she makes tea,
grown in her yard:
spearmint, lemongrass,
the rind of an orange.
at work, the same
girl in the hallway:
tall, thin, dark-haired
tight clothes, always
black or grey. or both.
evenings she sits
outside, eating
avocados, pumpernickel.
stares down the street
until dusk falls.
then she thinks,
writes how weeds
sprout through cracks
in the driveway;
the way tiny, yellow,
lily-pad leaves
sprinkle the sidewalk
with regeneration.
Improv., Week 10
from "Aubade" by Philip Larkin (p. 133 in Writing Poetry)
"Slowly light strengthens, and the room takes shape.
It stands plain as a wardrobe, what we know,
Have always known, know that we can't escape,
Yet can't accept. One side will have to go.
Meanwhile telephones crouch, getting ready to ring
In locked-up offices, and all the uncaring
Intricate rented world begins to rouse.
The sky is white as clay, with no sun.
Work has to be done.
Postmen like doctors go from house to house."
Meanwhile, offices ring with the locks of postmen,
never on time, never knowing the time,
intricately readying themselves to rouse.
Work will not wait, so the uncaring sun,
white like clay, goes from house to house
urging all to rise. Light strengthens
the boredom of an office, locked out of sun,
doing intricate work like how-much-for-this
and where-to-with-that. The social world
is something like clay, malleable and sticky,
inevitably hardening. The telephone rings
like a telepathic postman, arriving at each house
as their needs are met, unlocking an escape,
accepting each day the world takes its shape.
"Slowly light strengthens, and the room takes shape.
It stands plain as a wardrobe, what we know,
Have always known, know that we can't escape,
Yet can't accept. One side will have to go.
Meanwhile telephones crouch, getting ready to ring
In locked-up offices, and all the uncaring
Intricate rented world begins to rouse.
The sky is white as clay, with no sun.
Work has to be done.
Postmen like doctors go from house to house."
Meanwhile, offices ring with the locks of postmen,
never on time, never knowing the time,
intricately readying themselves to rouse.
Work will not wait, so the uncaring sun,
white like clay, goes from house to house
urging all to rise. Light strengthens
the boredom of an office, locked out of sun,
doing intricate work like how-much-for-this
and where-to-with-that. The social world
is something like clay, malleable and sticky,
inevitably hardening. The telephone rings
like a telepathic postman, arriving at each house
as their needs are met, unlocking an escape,
accepting each day the world takes its shape.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Response 2, Week 10
Response to Candis's Improv, Week 10
Candis,
Though it is another good exercise to replace the major words in a published poem, this one seems a bit too direct. Think of substituting the verb "stay" or changing the noun away from a color. This would allow for a more surprising split from Frost's piece. Another suggestion is a movement toward the concrete, especially in a piece whose theme is death. What is a scrap of dirt? And why should I see that same word three times? (By the way, "scrap's" should be "scraps".) Just keep playing, this kind of exercise has endless substitution possibilities.
Candis,
Though it is another good exercise to replace the major words in a published poem, this one seems a bit too direct. Think of substituting the verb "stay" or changing the noun away from a color. This would allow for a more surprising split from Frost's piece. Another suggestion is a movement toward the concrete, especially in a piece whose theme is death. What is a scrap of dirt? And why should I see that same word three times? (By the way, "scrap's" should be "scraps".) Just keep playing, this kind of exercise has endless substitution possibilities.
Junkyard Quote 4, Week 10
"How's Heaven?"
"It's fine. There's a shortage of chairs." -an episode of Family Guy
"It's fine. There's a shortage of chairs." -an episode of Family Guy
Calisthenic 1, Week 10
Ch. 12: Imagining the unimaginable
a 40 year old woman,
half her life ahead.
a jar of coins,
colored silver and copper,
metals dead long ago.
she strums a ukelele,
waits for the jar to fill.
a ticket to her mother,
back to Oregon,
to pictures of the retreiver
she rolled with in grass
thirty-some years ago.
but her whole life
lies behind her.
an empty jar and a ticket,
seat thirty-three E,
won't save her from
the sleeping semi driver.
the woman waiting in Oregon
will fly to South Carolina.
She will sleep in a house
foreign to her, fold blankets
she never bought.
the flowered yard will dance
and smile, regardless.
purples and reds;
tulips and wildflowers.
her mother will spread the ashes
along some sandy coast
where singing girls,
barefoot, will unknowingly
blend into her life.
a 40 year old woman,
half her life ahead.
a jar of coins,
colored silver and copper,
metals dead long ago.
she strums a ukelele,
waits for the jar to fill.
a ticket to her mother,
back to Oregon,
to pictures of the retreiver
she rolled with in grass
thirty-some years ago.
but her whole life
lies behind her.
an empty jar and a ticket,
seat thirty-three E,
won't save her from
the sleeping semi driver.
the woman waiting in Oregon
will fly to South Carolina.
She will sleep in a house
foreign to her, fold blankets
she never bought.
the flowered yard will dance
and smile, regardless.
purples and reds;
tulips and wildflowers.
her mother will spread the ashes
along some sandy coast
where singing girls,
barefoot, will unknowingly
blend into her life.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Junkyard Quote 3, Week
"I would remain idignant even if I was wrong." -I don't know who this came from; I had it jotted down on the back of a piece of paper.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Response 1, Week 10
Response to Elizabeth Wood's Spring Break Improv.
Elizabeth,
I love the idea of list poems, and I like how you followed Albergotti's form and simply changed the topic of the list. Your list seems to contain a much higher percentage of long phrases. It would add more interest and texture to play with clipped phrases too, and even more one-worded ones like "admiration." Lines I am not sold with include "the growing power of godesses' smiles" and "Chinese food lunches of laughter." The first is too impersonal and vague for this piece, whereas the second is awkwardly phrased. "Early morning phone calls", "hot tea with honey", and "wailing women singers" do a better job with particularity and interest. I suggest branching out even more than you have, modeling this piece closer to Albergotti's poem (which ranges from fine beer to white shirts, olives, walnut speakers, to cold fingers).
Elizabeth,
I love the idea of list poems, and I like how you followed Albergotti's form and simply changed the topic of the list. Your list seems to contain a much higher percentage of long phrases. It would add more interest and texture to play with clipped phrases too, and even more one-worded ones like "admiration." Lines I am not sold with include "the growing power of godesses' smiles" and "Chinese food lunches of laughter." The first is too impersonal and vague for this piece, whereas the second is awkwardly phrased. "Early morning phone calls", "hot tea with honey", and "wailing women singers" do a better job with particularity and interest. I suggest branching out even more than you have, modeling this piece closer to Albergotti's poem (which ranges from fine beer to white shirts, olives, walnut speakers, to cold fingers).
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Junkyard Quote 2, Week 10
"The Greeks would truce and put down their weapons to go watch the Olympics" -Dr. Leslie
(even better in that it's apparently true)
(even better in that it's apparently true)
Junkyard Quote 1, Week 10
"all the gears are visible, and the machine is thus visible" -Dr. Fraser
"Machine" and "gears" are both good, punchy words. Also, a strange way to look at it: usually one would think of seeing the machine and then uncovering the gears.
"Machine" and "gears" are both good, punchy words. Also, a strange way to look at it: usually one would think of seeing the machine and then uncovering the gears.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Free Entry, Spring Break Week
Light-hearted, I mock the wind as it blows through the open ceiling of Spanish architecture. I see how it quivers for me, speaks through me, each dog-eared leaf and coat-tailed branch shake, beg, and settle. The movement of this city makes it hard to find a breath, and I'm left black-faced in front of Planeta, each of its carefully selected ivies thriving in the concrete, tended for lush survival and hung in the air to join a parade of meticulous absurdities. This city has made me heavier, feet weighing down clouds with every step, pulled to the stamped sidewalks like skateboarders: up, down, hours, hours. Imagining the tiny hills of cold chills on their t-shirted bodies, watching the thrill of momentum rising from flexing, contact, calf-muscles; wheels, trucks, and the slight bend of black sandpaper glued on smoothly sanded wood, painted and branded. They mimick the wind. A face appears and stares. Waves politely, wordless empathy. The buzzing of mopeds, motorcycles, Nissan Micros, and two-toned taxi cabs; bees in a hive. They provide the background of my dreams until the wind picks up and sings in Russian, "Remember how like a tree you are" and settles back into the stillness of muscles spasms, blinking, or the stillness of earth in orbit.
Junkyard Quote 2, Spring Break Week
"a divinity whose brilliant smile glistened like oil in his gaze" -Albert Camus in A Happy Death
I love the idea of a tangible smile on a divinity, especially if it glistens like oil
I love the idea of a tangible smile on a divinity, especially if it glistens like oil
Junkyard Quote 1, Spring Break Week
"Consciousness is like a cardboard box thrown in the ocean" -my roomate
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