Response to Candis's "Free Write, Week 15"
Candis,
I like how the oxymorons were able to fuel your draft. I caught them throughout, such as "adult children," "little big," "baggy tights," etc. However, I think that sticking with them so strictly is limiting this piece's possibility. Expanding on the phrase "balancing insanity," trying to portray the act of balancing insanity instead of saying it outright, will allow for more concrete imagery and specificity. I suggest asking questions of all the oxymorons: How can people be "genuinely fake?" What does it mean to be "dysfunctionally functional?" I believe that this will help you create some surprising imagery that you may not have gotten without the oxymorons, but that you also cannot achieve with moving past them.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Response 1, Week 15
Response to Sydney's "Improv Week 15"
Sydney,
I respect the openness of this piece. It does not shy away from a taboo conversation; instead, it presents it in a calm, matter-of-fact way. I liked the male only speaks in cliches, but because of this, I think more of the poem should be devoted to non-cliches. The things he says dominate the piece; I felt like there should be more otherwise. What was the speaker thinking or feeling? Why does she believe him, or does she? Maybe you could borrow from the style of Old's poem: she documents this sort of time-line of the first weeks, detailing a span of feelings and responses. That could incorporated into this piece too, giving somewhat of a before and after along with a glimpse of thoughts throughout.
Sydney,
I respect the openness of this piece. It does not shy away from a taboo conversation; instead, it presents it in a calm, matter-of-fact way. I liked the male only speaks in cliches, but because of this, I think more of the poem should be devoted to non-cliches. The things he says dominate the piece; I felt like there should be more otherwise. What was the speaker thinking or feeling? Why does she believe him, or does she? Maybe you could borrow from the style of Old's poem: she documents this sort of time-line of the first weeks, detailing a span of feelings and responses. That could incorporated into this piece too, giving somewhat of a before and after along with a glimpse of thoughts throughout.
Calisthenic, Week 15
Recursivity Redux (p 216)
I started with:
"Do you remember my name?
The hornet gasps under misted glassware,
aware of the feeling of waking up.
Leaves, maroon ad always waxy,
seeping, fleshy green. Floorboards
strewn with marigold seeds; encen-
dedor, they call it. Enthendedor.
Bring up the anklet, the envelope, the
well-polished package with ocelot, ocelot,
ocelot feathers. Dancing on chardonnay,
born sea-borne blues, hand-me-down
arithmetic expecting the pyres, away tucked
away in the girl with the full let-down braids."
and generated:
A marigold-girl picking leaves off the
ground, arranging them in misted
glassware strewn with paint;
segmented hornets she puts in
an envelope, sends them to ocelots,
feathers, places of chardonnay
and waltzes. The arithmetic expected
to burn the pyres bares their blues, sings
sea-borne hand-me-downs, tucks away
fleshy green wax and better knows the
feeling when waking up on a dock.
I started with:
"Do you remember my name?
The hornet gasps under misted glassware,
aware of the feeling of waking up.
Leaves, maroon ad always waxy,
seeping, fleshy green. Floorboards
strewn with marigold seeds; encen-
dedor, they call it. Enthendedor.
Bring up the anklet, the envelope, the
well-polished package with ocelot, ocelot,
ocelot feathers. Dancing on chardonnay,
born sea-borne blues, hand-me-down
arithmetic expecting the pyres, away tucked
away in the girl with the full let-down braids."
and generated:
A marigold-girl picking leaves off the
ground, arranging them in misted
glassware strewn with paint;
segmented hornets she puts in
an envelope, sends them to ocelots,
feathers, places of chardonnay
and waltzes. The arithmetic expected
to burn the pyres bares their blues, sings
sea-borne hand-me-downs, tucks away
fleshy green wax and better knows the
feeling when waking up on a dock.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Free Entry, Week 15
I make lists, decide the way
my thought fall in lines. How
to expose oneself to the irony
of architecture? Something important,
something to be done.
A shiny black beetle
flexes spindly legs;
wings splinter on concrete.
Little insect struggles. Little insect
strangeness. Words tumble.
Battles, naming crystallizes
the whiteness of melody deflates.
Moving back and forth, the aristocrats
can't miss it. Qualify the question.
You are in this: floundering
on the page, crushing concrete.
my thought fall in lines. How
to expose oneself to the irony
of architecture? Something important,
something to be done.
A shiny black beetle
flexes spindly legs;
wings splinter on concrete.
Little insect struggles. Little insect
strangeness. Words tumble.
Battles, naming crystallizes
the whiteness of melody deflates.
Moving back and forth, the aristocrats
can't miss it. Qualify the question.
You are in this: floundering
on the page, crushing concrete.
Improv., Week 15
from Derek Walcott's "Sabbaths, W.I." (p 79)
"the burnt banana leaves that used to dance
the river whose bed is made of broken bottles
the cocoa grove where a bird whose cry sounds green and
yellow and in the lights under the leaves crested with
orange flame has forgotten its flute"
the great salamander wings that always laugh
the windy-house birch that plays with crushing seagulls
the surrender dove in a church with bells that teem and
thunder and with whose right, tell it to thieves, bested witth
rushed fame split asunder the roof
my dear fedora felt with pictures light
and heavy, with gears all numb in waxen brightness
and linoleum on a floor cut out from straw with
plastic, forget the stars, beg in a skirt, and leave by
bus route back apparently hit
"the burnt banana leaves that used to dance
the river whose bed is made of broken bottles
the cocoa grove where a bird whose cry sounds green and
yellow and in the lights under the leaves crested with
orange flame has forgotten its flute"
the great salamander wings that always laugh
the windy-house birch that plays with crushing seagulls
the surrender dove in a church with bells that teem and
thunder and with whose right, tell it to thieves, bested witth
rushed fame split asunder the roof
my dear fedora felt with pictures light
and heavy, with gears all numb in waxen brightness
and linoleum on a floor cut out from straw with
plastic, forget the stars, beg in a skirt, and leave by
bus route back apparently hit
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Junkyard Quote 2, Week 15
"I am made entirely out of too many Persian glass bees. 100 to be exact." -a friend, on facebook
Junkyard Quote 1, Week 15 (!)
"Professor Willaim Winslow Crosskey" -mentioned in "Originalism: The Lesser Evil" by Antonin Scalia
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Sign Inventory, Week 14
Corey Marks's "Gislebertus" (p 209)
-10 stanzas of varying constructions
-two main variants of stanza construction; the first is introduced in the second stanza and seen again in the fifth and ninth, the second is introduced in the third stanza and repeated in the 4th, 6th, 7th, and 10th
-this leaves the 1st and 8th stanzas as the only ones without corresponding stanzas
-four instances of italisizing: "12th century, St Lazare Cathedral, Autun" under the title, "craft", first word of the fifth stanza, two occurances of "his" in the ninth stanza's first line, and "Gislebertus/ hoc fecit" in the 2nd/3rd line of the 10th stanza
-frequent single- and two-word lines
-speaks of the Damned in the 6th stanza and refers to all damned in the 10th
-emphasis put on the making aspects of the art, such as hammering, pain, and decisions
-10 stanzas of varying constructions
-two main variants of stanza construction; the first is introduced in the second stanza and seen again in the fifth and ninth, the second is introduced in the third stanza and repeated in the 4th, 6th, 7th, and 10th
-this leaves the 1st and 8th stanzas as the only ones without corresponding stanzas
-four instances of italisizing: "12th century, St Lazare Cathedral, Autun" under the title, "craft", first word of the fifth stanza, two occurances of "his" in the ninth stanza's first line, and "Gislebertus/ hoc fecit" in the 2nd/3rd line of the 10th stanza
-frequent single- and two-word lines
-speaks of the Damned in the 6th stanza and refers to all damned in the 10th
-emphasis put on the making aspects of the art, such as hammering, pain, and decisions
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Junkyard Quote 2, Week 14
"You are overencumbered" -came up in some video game
-encumbered is a funny word
-who would same that to someone?
-encumbered is a funny word
-who would same that to someone?
Friday, April 15, 2011
Response 2, Week 14
Response to Christine's "Free Write Week 13"
Christine,
I have been on that website before (it's hilarious), but never though about using it for writing material. Thank you! because it obviously works. I like how you took the theme of birds and ran with it, making use of the odd construction of gthe verb "bird." However, I do think the phrase should be kept consistent because of its strangeness and technical incorrectness. I do not know if I prefer "bird you" or "bird for you," but I think this is a decision for later drafts. "Frustrated straw" is an interesting combination. In addition, I definitely wanted to steal your last image: "Beware of your hands./ They bloom on my waist, unexplained." I really liked the last line especially, but I am not sure if I would stick with the bewaring. I noticed the slight paralleling of the two stanzas (nook, bloom, feahter, bird) and agree that this is a great way to generate material and keep yourself going. In later drafts though, I would either emphasize this or take it away completely; it stands awkwardly in between right now.
Christine,
I have been on that website before (it's hilarious), but never though about using it for writing material. Thank you! because it obviously works. I like how you took the theme of birds and ran with it, making use of the odd construction of gthe verb "bird." However, I do think the phrase should be kept consistent because of its strangeness and technical incorrectness. I do not know if I prefer "bird you" or "bird for you," but I think this is a decision for later drafts. "Frustrated straw" is an interesting combination. In addition, I definitely wanted to steal your last image: "Beware of your hands./ They bloom on my waist, unexplained." I really liked the last line especially, but I am not sure if I would stick with the bewaring. I noticed the slight paralleling of the two stanzas (nook, bloom, feahter, bird) and agree that this is a great way to generate material and keep yourself going. In later drafts though, I would either emphasize this or take it away completely; it stands awkwardly in between right now.
Response 1, Week 14
Response to Sydney's "Improv Week 14"
Sydney,
First off, I am always jealous of your language. It tends to be somewhat dense, but always very conscious, worked with, and image laden. I love the phrase "limb-like wrists" in reference to the oaks. A grammatical change needs made though, in that "oak's" should be "oaks'", otherwise the following agreements should be singular. I like the subtle repetitions such as "sweating, always feels like sweaters." This is a good techinique to drive the piece forward and create a coherency of style. I do suggest being careful with the density of language though. It's great to an extent, but at a certain point it starts getting in the way of comprehension. I get so sucked into the sounds and individual phrases and words that the wholeness of the piece is ambiguous. Overall, it is an interesting move away from Northrop's poem and a clearly talented draft
Sydney,
First off, I am always jealous of your language. It tends to be somewhat dense, but always very conscious, worked with, and image laden. I love the phrase "limb-like wrists" in reference to the oaks. A grammatical change needs made though, in that "oak's" should be "oaks'", otherwise the following agreements should be singular. I like the subtle repetitions such as "sweating, always feels like sweaters." This is a good techinique to drive the piece forward and create a coherency of style. I do suggest being careful with the density of language though. It's great to an extent, but at a certain point it starts getting in the way of comprehension. I get so sucked into the sounds and individual phrases and words that the wholeness of the piece is ambiguous. Overall, it is an interesting move away from Northrop's poem and a clearly talented draft
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Free Entry, Week 14
(pulling lines from a few pages of nonsense)
I crunch a guitar into burned mushrooms, making room
for decibals too small to drown flaking-off fingernails,
drastically more bitter than yesterday. Chords build
webs like spiders, silk. Gymnopedie, and I am
the tingling piano. My future skin found mustard seeds
and a cup of water in amber glass. My mother's
favorite vine extends its little channels. I drop bits
of white chocolate on deliberate mounds built by ants.
Gold-sandaled youth bakes bread for the archers, the
mathmeticians, and those from Nova Scotia. "Keep it
low key," softly requested at dawn, the time meetings
always end.
I crunch a guitar into burned mushrooms, making room
for decibals too small to drown flaking-off fingernails,
drastically more bitter than yesterday. Chords build
webs like spiders, silk. Gymnopedie, and I am
the tingling piano. My future skin found mustard seeds
and a cup of water in amber glass. My mother's
favorite vine extends its little channels. I drop bits
of white chocolate on deliberate mounds built by ants.
Gold-sandaled youth bakes bread for the archers, the
mathmeticians, and those from Nova Scotia. "Keep it
low key," softly requested at dawn, the time meetings
always end.
Improv., Week 14
The Neighbor -Kate Northrop
Now it's their daughter
laughing with a boy who calls from the window
something precise and obscure
to two men crossing the park,
carrying large instruments
in dark cases.
Snow hangs over the city
and when one man stops, shifting his weight,
the other looks at the sky.
Then they walk on, past the fountain; they go
straight from the shadows of trees. Perhaps
they don't hear, or aren't worried by girls; perhaps
they couldn't care less, but I live here beside her
and I know that laughter made exactly of angles.
I know her face
and her eyes that are hollow,
smooth as a place where a rock has been.
Improvisation:
Now it's her turn
to yell at the men carrying coffins
too dark and sterile for names.
They cross the park,
laying down their cold cases in autos
lined for the living.
Their eyes tinge her tongue.
The car ferries its newly bound passenger
to a clay hole, held out of sun
by his mother's first arms.
Perhaps he heard as she yelled,
agreed, death founds life;
perhaps he lay wishing the solemn-hatted men
would throw the whole absurd box open,
dumping loose skin thick down earth. A tree
bloomed above would lean from his ground,
laying petals into his eyes
all while those still living
hastily brush ants off arms.
Now it's their daughter
laughing with a boy who calls from the window
something precise and obscure
to two men crossing the park,
carrying large instruments
in dark cases.
Snow hangs over the city
and when one man stops, shifting his weight,
the other looks at the sky.
Then they walk on, past the fountain; they go
straight from the shadows of trees. Perhaps
they don't hear, or aren't worried by girls; perhaps
they couldn't care less, but I live here beside her
and I know that laughter made exactly of angles.
I know her face
and her eyes that are hollow,
smooth as a place where a rock has been.
Improvisation:
Now it's her turn
to yell at the men carrying coffins
too dark and sterile for names.
They cross the park,
laying down their cold cases in autos
lined for the living.
Their eyes tinge her tongue.
The car ferries its newly bound passenger
to a clay hole, held out of sun
by his mother's first arms.
Perhaps he heard as she yelled,
agreed, death founds life;
perhaps he lay wishing the solemn-hatted men
would throw the whole absurd box open,
dumping loose skin thick down earth. A tree
bloomed above would lean from his ground,
laying petals into his eyes
all while those still living
hastily brush ants off arms.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Junkyard Quote 4, Week 13
"the more you love a memory, the stronger and stranger it is" -Vladimir Nabokov, a friend's facebook post
I like the pairing of stronger and stranger.
I like the pairing of stronger and stranger.
Junkyard Quote 3, Week 13
"polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons" -Nicolas Cheetham's book Universe: A Journey from Earth to the Edge of the Cosmos
though this looks like (and I guess really is) abstract physics jargon, it has such a little rhythm to it: it is in perfect iambic hexameter; the first four iambs are more annunciated and march-like, pushing the speaker/reader forward, and the last two iambs are fluidly strung-together and seemingly more final
though this looks like (and I guess really is) abstract physics jargon, it has such a little rhythm to it: it is in perfect iambic hexameter; the first four iambs are more annunciated and march-like, pushing the speaker/reader forward, and the last two iambs are fluidly strung-together and seemingly more final
Free Entry, Week 13
what to do in an array of basic star-clusters
do you remember my name? a hornet
gasping under misted glassware,
aware to the feeling of waking up.
leaves, maroon and always waxy
seeping fleshy green. floorboards
embellished in marigold seeds, ensen-
dador they call it, enthendador.
on an anklet, an envelope, a well-
polished package like oscelot, oscelot
feathers. dancing on chardonnay, we say
born sea-borne blues, hand-me-down
jewels, extended transpires tucked away
in the girl with the let-down braids.
do you remember my name? a hornet
gasping under misted glassware,
aware to the feeling of waking up.
leaves, maroon and always waxy
seeping fleshy green. floorboards
embellished in marigold seeds, ensen-
dador they call it, enthendador.
on an anklet, an envelope, a well-
polished package like oscelot, oscelot
feathers. dancing on chardonnay, we say
born sea-borne blues, hand-me-down
jewels, extended transpires tucked away
in the girl with the let-down braids.
Response 2, Week 13
Response to Pauline's Week 12 Improv
Pauline,
Ambitious improvisation! You kept your rhymes well without sounding forced. You also pick up on Roethke's somewhat ambiguous narration style geared more towards sound than meaning. I do not agree with the choice of "yearn" as a repetitive verb. It is a strangely closed kind of sound that tends to blend with "I" and "my"; maybe this is mere opinion, but it got bothersome. The other refrain, "I live by trusting what I think is right," seems too straightforwardly teach-y. Also, I would avoid "Grim Reaper." It carries too many connotations to be simply thrown in. Otherwise, this is a great draft of a difficult task. Keep playing with sounds, just saying things out loud a few times over to better guide your changes.
Pauline,
Ambitious improvisation! You kept your rhymes well without sounding forced. You also pick up on Roethke's somewhat ambiguous narration style geared more towards sound than meaning. I do not agree with the choice of "yearn" as a repetitive verb. It is a strangely closed kind of sound that tends to blend with "I" and "my"; maybe this is mere opinion, but it got bothersome. The other refrain, "I live by trusting what I think is right," seems too straightforwardly teach-y. Also, I would avoid "Grim Reaper." It carries too many connotations to be simply thrown in. Otherwise, this is a great draft of a difficult task. Keep playing with sounds, just saying things out loud a few times over to better guide your changes.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Calisthenic, Week 13
Sonic Translation: beginning of "Cancion primera" by Miguel Hernandez (from Spanish)
Cancer Primary
Say I retired old camp
over avalanche Sunday
Christ be the mentor all home pray.
Ok, abysmal enter hello leaving
eel abrasive discovered!
All animal can't die:
all animal Cape Verde
yours are eight-charge races.
Remember Zeus scars.
Cars re-vested
tastes dead and floral,
baroque, dolphin, death's nude
entitled cruel dad.
Crepe and tan in my men.
(This was a lot harder than I thought it would be!)
Cancer Primary
Say I retired old camp
over avalanche Sunday
Christ be the mentor all home pray.
Ok, abysmal enter hello leaving
eel abrasive discovered!
All animal can't die:
all animal Cape Verde
yours are eight-charge races.
Remember Zeus scars.
Cars re-vested
tastes dead and floral,
baroque, dolphin, death's nude
entitled cruel dad.
Crepe and tan in my men.
(This was a lot harder than I thought it would be!)
Response 1, Week 13
Response to Mackenzie's "Improv Week 13"
Mackenzie,
I like how you so well imitated the simplistic yet uniquely specific illustration of a scene, and I have mostly very centered comments. First, I think the word "vast" could be doing more. "[F]lashing" describes both the sky and a discotheque, but vast seems only relevant to the sky. I did, however, enjoy the parallelism between the thunderstorm and a firework show with people gathering "to watch the display." This could even be a source of expansion, trying to stay on track with the firework metaphor and see what other descriptive language it lends you. I love the phrase "hollow chest-rattle feeling"--I can picture/feel what it means well--but also suggest thinking about "hollow chest-rattle feel;" this is phonetically and grammatically a little more interesting. I don't agree with the phrase "vibrato crescendo settled" though. Both vibrato and crescendo imply movement; I don't think either ever settle. But, crescendo can be a verb, and vibrato can crescendo through/into (choose your preposition) a ribcage. One last specific comment: "brief illuminations" does not work for me. It sounds too trivial, and I feel that the piece is otherwise working to point out the extraordinary in this event. Good job, keep working!
Mackenzie,
I like how you so well imitated the simplistic yet uniquely specific illustration of a scene, and I have mostly very centered comments. First, I think the word "vast" could be doing more. "[F]lashing" describes both the sky and a discotheque, but vast seems only relevant to the sky. I did, however, enjoy the parallelism between the thunderstorm and a firework show with people gathering "to watch the display." This could even be a source of expansion, trying to stay on track with the firework metaphor and see what other descriptive language it lends you. I love the phrase "hollow chest-rattle feeling"--I can picture/feel what it means well--but also suggest thinking about "hollow chest-rattle feel;" this is phonetically and grammatically a little more interesting. I don't agree with the phrase "vibrato crescendo settled" though. Both vibrato and crescendo imply movement; I don't think either ever settle. But, crescendo can be a verb, and vibrato can crescendo through/into (choose your preposition) a ribcage. One last specific comment: "brief illuminations" does not work for me. It sounds too trivial, and I feel that the piece is otherwise working to point out the extraordinary in this event. Good job, keep working!
Friday, April 8, 2011
Sign Inventory, Week 13
Sylvia Plath's "Medallion"
-nine stanzas
-each stanza consists of three lines
-nearly all enjambed
-line 8 only non-enjambed sentence
-stanza 9 made of two sentences (only other stanza besides 3rd containing a full sentence)
-references to metals throughout ("Medallion", death's-metal, knifelike, pins, arrow, chainmail, bronze, gate, unhinged)
-and making/finding (forging) metals (smoldering, splitting a rock, flame, fire, "turned him in the light", worked)
-half-rhymes between 1st and 3rd line in each stanza (flame/time, that/trout)
Junkyard Quote 1, Week 13
"The only thing that didn't come back was acid wash" -I think it was Elizabeth that said this...it was in class anyway
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Improv., Week13
from "Crows" -Eric Smith (p 217)
It is too noon for noon.
A fan cuts heat into tatters,
and you tell me days should
unspool only like this.
It's just as effortless to burst
into the shiver of early
afternoon, open-mouthed,
and expect someone else
to do the work of crows.
Forgive them their voices,
the pillow fight of preening,
their ink deep eyes, too deep
to be aware of anything
but depth.
Improvisation:
It's all too right for right.
The twinkling asphalt cuts paths
through town, and you say roads
should cross countries like this.
It's just as infantile to jump
into murky ponds of late
afternoon, open-mouthed,
and reject working satellites
whizzing orbits through dark
matter. Forget the politics,
the race to rip out the stars,
the twinkling shards, too bright
to recognize anything but
their brightness.
It is too noon for noon.
A fan cuts heat into tatters,
and you tell me days should
unspool only like this.
It's just as effortless to burst
into the shiver of early
afternoon, open-mouthed,
and expect someone else
to do the work of crows.
Forgive them their voices,
the pillow fight of preening,
their ink deep eyes, too deep
to be aware of anything
but depth.
Improvisation:
It's all too right for right.
The twinkling asphalt cuts paths
through town, and you say roads
should cross countries like this.
It's just as infantile to jump
into murky ponds of late
afternoon, open-mouthed,
and reject working satellites
whizzing orbits through dark
matter. Forget the politics,
the race to rip out the stars,
the twinkling shards, too bright
to recognize anything but
their brightness.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Response 2, Week 12
Response to Elizabeth's "Improv Week 11"
Elizabeth,
This is a very successful improv. It's interesting how you chose to strictly mimic the content-structure of MacCaig's poem instead of simply taking cues from it. This gives you a greaet starting point for a piece. One aspect I'd like to comment on is your tendency toward abstractions whereas MacCaig stayed within the concrete. "You gape at me with possibilities" for example, is not illustrative, and I think could do more work. Try to paint a picture. I don't know what "complacent bricks" look like; "dirt guts" does a good job of showing though.
Elizabeth,
This is a very successful improv. It's interesting how you chose to strictly mimic the content-structure of MacCaig's poem instead of simply taking cues from it. This gives you a greaet starting point for a piece. One aspect I'd like to comment on is your tendency toward abstractions whereas MacCaig stayed within the concrete. "You gape at me with possibilities" for example, is not illustrative, and I think could do more work. Try to paint a picture. I don't know what "complacent bricks" look like; "dirt guts" does a good job of showing though.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Response 1, Week 12
Response to Mackenzie's "Improv Week 12"
Mackenzie,
I have mostly specific comments. Firstly, the last phrase in "stockings that twinkle and rub with desire" can be taken out entirely, leaving "stockings that twinkle and rub." The desire is implied (or "for free") in stockings, Bond, and the word "rub." Another phrase I think could be removed is "James Bond" in lines 4/5. I get the reference, but it distracts more than it adds. The section starting with "Two kids there" and ending with "I was told" needs a little clarification. I think you are refering to different rooms, but it is vague. Also, "half-brothers" comes after the games instead of the people, which is somewhat confusing. Overall, your imagery is great, specific and varied, and you have a very straight-forward kind of speaking style. Well done, keep revising.
Mackenzie,
I have mostly specific comments. Firstly, the last phrase in "stockings that twinkle and rub with desire" can be taken out entirely, leaving "stockings that twinkle and rub." The desire is implied (or "for free") in stockings, Bond, and the word "rub." Another phrase I think could be removed is "James Bond" in lines 4/5. I get the reference, but it distracts more than it adds. The section starting with "Two kids there" and ending with "I was told" needs a little clarification. I think you are refering to different rooms, but it is vague. Also, "half-brothers" comes after the games instead of the people, which is somewhat confusing. Overall, your imagery is great, specific and varied, and you have a very straight-forward kind of speaking style. Well done, keep revising.
Calisthenic 1, Week 12
The art of interrogation (p 102)
Excuse me, sir (or maybe
ma'am) but may I ask why
you are here in my house?
This is my brown-plaid blanket
you're crawling on, you see,
my gold plush chair. And
it's not that I am particularly
possessive; nevertheless,
you do have this stinger on
your backside. A beautiful
little evolution like this surely
does not demand the death
penalty, but I'm also afraid
I can talk no reason to you.
Where I'm getting is here:
Will you please be kind and
cooperative enough to hop
right into this glass jar? I will
set you free outside, to get back
to your hive, my butterfly bushes,
your sweet larvae. Why ever
leave these in the first place?
Why abandon the fresh smell
of dewy morning mist, each
flower's distinctive nectar, for
the fibers in my throw, the
coolness of air conditioning,
and the darkness accompanying
life played out under a roof?
Excuse me, sir (or maybe
ma'am) but may I ask why
you are here in my house?
This is my brown-plaid blanket
you're crawling on, you see,
my gold plush chair. And
it's not that I am particularly
possessive; nevertheless,
you do have this stinger on
your backside. A beautiful
little evolution like this surely
does not demand the death
penalty, but I'm also afraid
I can talk no reason to you.
Where I'm getting is here:
Will you please be kind and
cooperative enough to hop
right into this glass jar? I will
set you free outside, to get back
to your hive, my butterfly bushes,
your sweet larvae. Why ever
leave these in the first place?
Why abandon the fresh smell
of dewy morning mist, each
flower's distinctive nectar, for
the fibers in my throw, the
coolness of air conditioning,
and the darkness accompanying
life played out under a roof?
Improv. 1, Week 12
from "The Chiming of the Hour", Dan Albergotti
"The is the gray day that the Lord hath made.
She hears the soft, rapid ticking of the clock
beside her bed and how it mingles with
the bells outside. The woman does not know
why the wind chimes sound altogether different
in the winter months. She does no know
what puts her in her navy dress and heels,
behind the wheel of her husband's old sedan,
and into the pew they sat in all those years."
She does not know why she chooses
the color blue for her bedroom,
"seaside mist" to be specific, in
semi-gloss. Something brings her
to wicker weaving, simple chairs
with light, linen cushions, and chests
sanded down, corners rusted by time.
She hears the soft, rapid fluttering
as a mixture of snow, hail, and rain
fall outside her old Chicago bricks.
What drove her to law school in
the middle of a city whose trademark
grey-and-white birds are pigeons?
She leans over her fifth-floor
balcony when the salt trucks pass,
closing her eyes, imagining
the oily, melted ice to be the
friendly sea, the salty scent
foaming into the air, catching
the breeze and leaving a thin,
dusty layer on sun-worn skin.
"The is the gray day that the Lord hath made.
She hears the soft, rapid ticking of the clock
beside her bed and how it mingles with
the bells outside. The woman does not know
why the wind chimes sound altogether different
in the winter months. She does no know
what puts her in her navy dress and heels,
behind the wheel of her husband's old sedan,
and into the pew they sat in all those years."
She does not know why she chooses
the color blue for her bedroom,
"seaside mist" to be specific, in
semi-gloss. Something brings her
to wicker weaving, simple chairs
with light, linen cushions, and chests
sanded down, corners rusted by time.
She hears the soft, rapid fluttering
as a mixture of snow, hail, and rain
fall outside her old Chicago bricks.
What drove her to law school in
the middle of a city whose trademark
grey-and-white birds are pigeons?
She leans over her fifth-floor
balcony when the salt trucks pass,
closing her eyes, imagining
the oily, melted ice to be the
friendly sea, the salty scent
foaming into the air, catching
the breeze and leaving a thin,
dusty layer on sun-worn skin.
Friday, April 1, 2011
Junkyard Quote 3, Week 12
"It's weird to think there's an infinite number of sounds you can make with your mouth." -a girl in the hallway
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