Seriously, I'm done for the night after this.
"I will try and be the person my dogs think I am."
Wednesday, September 7
Free Write 1, Week 2
This is actually something I wrote about a girl I guess I really didn't even know? I had to read about a lot of people being torn up over her recent passing--and when I say recent I mean yesterday. I don't know what to think about what I have here--I just hope no one finds it insulting or misinterprets anything I said. Obviously feelings surrounding this matter are understandably raw and I meant this to be a tribute of sorts to her as opposed to a commentary against facebook. I hold a lot of respect for the families and friends of T.M., and I will them all the strength I can imagine. I guess I just found it fascinating how so readily available media made me to her heartbreak and I wanted a record of that.
I strayed away from capitalization on purpose. XD Don't ask me why--it just felt right to do with this. Also, there might be a section in there that might be confusing. I don't know why I did it, but it felt easier to type for me. T.M. passed away from cancer at 17, and instead of addressing the disease I instead used dates? So that's what that is. Anyway, please give feedback. I'd like to polish this up quite a bit for personal reasons.
+ New Message
beauty is terminal--
it shrivels in a battle
against the inside. curls
fetal under time's asphyxiation.
lives croon necked
and moon skinned
on wall photos
and facebook profiles.
hers were the eyes they'd kill for--
piercing in a cropped prom photo, they
were the same eyes she'd left in,
never for a moment dulled.
what happens to her wall
when there's no user behind it?
when the hearts left empty
blot their sorrows and share their tears
in the translated patter of 1's and 0's--
drowning a community without bodies,
simply solemn faces beyond a blue screen
connected in trial without touch.
prayers delivered in 19 words per minute
and tributes made in intangible inboxes.
who reads those password protected letters?
how can she know her final goodbyes
if those eyes--
still like the split of broken glass,
has slipped into darkness--
then elevated into light?
if she could read my goodbyes
i'd type her a letter,
titled "June 21st
to July 23rd,"
and tell her how i miss her
though i never really knew her
until yesterday.
i'd tell her it's unfair she's gone
though she heard it many times before
and will hear it many more
in whispering hallways on birthdays
and holidays passing.
i'd tell her she hasn't updated statuses lately
and i'd like to know what heavens like,
and to upload photos if she can
so her family can see smiling faces.
i'd tell her to add me to her friend's list
and that life down here is about the same--
forever moving but missing that last ingredient
to make what's left seem special.
and at the end of my letter
though i've never been good
at sentimental sayonaras
i'd say
that even the young leave early
and that beauty dies once
but lives in memories,
in mobile photos,
in cropped prom pictures,
in high school year books forever.
I strayed away from capitalization on purpose. XD Don't ask me why--it just felt right to do with this. Also, there might be a section in there that might be confusing. I don't know why I did it, but it felt easier to type for me. T.M. passed away from cancer at 17, and instead of addressing the disease I instead used dates? So that's what that is. Anyway, please give feedback. I'd like to polish this up quite a bit for personal reasons.
+ New Message
beauty is terminal--
it shrivels in a battle
against the inside. curls
fetal under time's asphyxiation.
lives croon necked
and moon skinned
on wall photos
and facebook profiles.
hers were the eyes they'd kill for--
piercing in a cropped prom photo, they
were the same eyes she'd left in,
never for a moment dulled.
what happens to her wall
when there's no user behind it?
when the hearts left empty
blot their sorrows and share their tears
in the translated patter of 1's and 0's--
drowning a community without bodies,
simply solemn faces beyond a blue screen
connected in trial without touch.
prayers delivered in 19 words per minute
and tributes made in intangible inboxes.
who reads those password protected letters?
how can she know her final goodbyes
if those eyes--
still like the split of broken glass,
has slipped into darkness--
then elevated into light?
if she could read my goodbyes
i'd type her a letter,
titled "June 21st
to July 23rd,"
and tell her how i miss her
though i never really knew her
until yesterday.
i'd tell her it's unfair she's gone
though she heard it many times before
and will hear it many more
in whispering hallways on birthdays
and holidays passing.
i'd tell her she hasn't updated statuses lately
and i'd like to know what heavens like,
and to upload photos if she can
so her family can see smiling faces.
i'd tell her to add me to her friend's list
and that life down here is about the same--
forever moving but missing that last ingredient
to make what's left seem special.
and at the end of my letter
though i've never been good
at sentimental sayonaras
i'd say
that even the young leave early
and that beauty dies once
but lives in memories,
in mobile photos,
in cropped prom pictures,
in high school year books forever.
Improv 1, Week 2
Please don't think I'm a sex fiend! I'm seeming so dirty lately.
Lucille Clifton
wishes for sons
i wish them cramps.
i wish them a strange town
and the last tampon.
I wish them no 7-11.
i wish them one week early
and wearing a white skirt.
i wish them one week late.
later i wish them hot flashes
and clots like you
wouldn't believe. let the
flashes come when they
meet someone special.
let the clots come
when they want to.
let them think they have accepted
arrogance in the universe,
then bring them to gynecologists
not unlike themselves.
----
wishes for men
i wish them dry.
i wish them in matted beds
flustered in self-burdens
with no drop of K nor Y.
i wish them responsibility,
all deals in latex and estrogen.
i wish their condom breaks.
later i wish them dry heaves
with open toilets
like gasping faces. let the
vomit come when they
wake in the morning.
let the toilet flush
like an upbeat tempo.
let them think they've grasped
the rounded edges of pain,
then let them watch support skip town
before the water breaks.
Lucille Clifton
wishes for sons
i wish them cramps.
i wish them a strange town
and the last tampon.
I wish them no 7-11.
i wish them one week early
and wearing a white skirt.
i wish them one week late.
later i wish them hot flashes
and clots like you
wouldn't believe. let the
flashes come when they
meet someone special.
let the clots come
when they want to.
let them think they have accepted
arrogance in the universe,
then bring them to gynecologists
not unlike themselves.
----
wishes for men
i wish them dry.
i wish them in matted beds
flustered in self-burdens
with no drop of K nor Y.
i wish them responsibility,
all deals in latex and estrogen.
i wish their condom breaks.
later i wish them dry heaves
with open toilets
like gasping faces. let the
vomit come when they
wake in the morning.
let the toilet flush
like an upbeat tempo.
let them think they've grasped
the rounded edges of pain,
then let them watch support skip town
before the water breaks.
Sign-Inventory 1, Week 2
The Artist as Left-Hander
Stephen Dunn
Each morning, thinking of you,
I rise from the counterworld of sleep
into those right-handed conventions
of day, so right I know
they must be wrong. Surely the world
belongs to others. Stick shifts.
Can openers. Definitions of decency.
I never recognize myself when America
gives back its images. The sitcoms,
billboards; sometimes I feel insane.
Only baseball with its beautiful word
southpaw has given me a proper name.
Southpaw. I'm about to attack, I'm
crouching in the woods with a name like that.
The other side, my advantaged ones,
is always angry, and is not dumb.
I've learned your language.
I've gotten into your workplaces and your homes.
--Dunn mentions "you" in the first stanza but does not mention you again to the last stanza. The second stanza focuses mainly on the speaker.
--The poem uses the adjective "counterworld" to describe dreams as an opposite of reality.
--The word "those" in the third line alienates the conventions before the speaker establishes them as wrong.
--The poem plays on the multiple meanings of the word "right".
--The first alliteration in the piece comes at the end of the first stanza. "Definitions of decency." It brings attention to the line in order to emphasize that this poem is more than just right versus left. That we use right to define decency.
--The poem illustrates America's images as sitcoms or billboards.
--By putting the word "southpaw" on the next line, Dunn emphasizes the word long before he italicizes it.
--There is a contrast versus the media of right-handed America and the woods-oriented surroundings of the left-handed speaker in the second stanza.
--The speaker focuses on his neglected left side throughout the piece, but then closes the poem by describing his "right" side as angry.
--The poem focuses on the ostracizing of the left but ends focusing on how the left has assimilated, and hints at capable danger.
Stephen Dunn
Each morning, thinking of you,
I rise from the counterworld of sleep
into those right-handed conventions
of day, so right I know
they must be wrong. Surely the world
belongs to others. Stick shifts.
Can openers. Definitions of decency.
I never recognize myself when America
gives back its images. The sitcoms,
billboards; sometimes I feel insane.
Only baseball with its beautiful word
southpaw has given me a proper name.
Southpaw. I'm about to attack, I'm
crouching in the woods with a name like that.
The other side, my advantaged ones,
is always angry, and is not dumb.
I've learned your language.
I've gotten into your workplaces and your homes.
--Dunn mentions "you" in the first stanza but does not mention you again to the last stanza. The second stanza focuses mainly on the speaker.
--The poem uses the adjective "counterworld" to describe dreams as an opposite of reality.
--The word "those" in the third line alienates the conventions before the speaker establishes them as wrong.
--The poem plays on the multiple meanings of the word "right".
--The first alliteration in the piece comes at the end of the first stanza. "Definitions of decency." It brings attention to the line in order to emphasize that this poem is more than just right versus left. That we use right to define decency.
--The poem illustrates America's images as sitcoms or billboards.
--By putting the word "southpaw" on the next line, Dunn emphasizes the word long before he italicizes it.
--There is a contrast versus the media of right-handed America and the woods-oriented surroundings of the left-handed speaker in the second stanza.
--The speaker focuses on his neglected left side throughout the piece, but then closes the poem by describing his "right" side as angry.
--The poem focuses on the ostracizing of the left but ends focusing on how the left has assimilated, and hints at capable danger.
Junkyard Quote 3 and 4, Week 2
I actually have a thing for foreign films... They're really good if you watch them, and honestly, I enjoy them a lot more than mainstream American movies. Occasionally the concepts of these movies are difficult to understand because of cultural understanding, but overall, with some focus and understanding I feel like
I come off with something more substantial. Take for instance, this Japanese cult classic "Suicide Circle". I love this movie... Possibly not for the faint of heart, but overall, good movie. It takes a couple watches to get it all the way through but if you're willing to try it I recommend this movie. Think of it as a commentary on the high suicide rates in Japan and then put a bunch of crazy kids in it. I was like... literally scared of kids for a week after this movie. Moving along.
Our two junkyard quotes come from the same scene in this movie, actually. There is this scene where a man named Genesis randomly breaks out in song and dance as his women are "entertained" around him. It is so random. Think like... a horror movie of a Japanese Beatle busting out his guitar in a bowling alley. Sheer brilliant. Actually, this is giving me ideas for freewrite... moving alone.
Anyway, the quotes from the song "Because the Dead."
My favorite is, "I want to die as beautifully as Joan of Arc inside a Bresson film."
then there is "A unfamiliar yellow dog keeps grinning as it tears us from the ones we love."
I've actually yet to figure out what the yellow dog is? So if anyone has some guesses, I'd like feedback on it.
I come off with something more substantial. Take for instance, this Japanese cult classic "Suicide Circle". I love this movie... Possibly not for the faint of heart, but overall, good movie. It takes a couple watches to get it all the way through but if you're willing to try it I recommend this movie. Think of it as a commentary on the high suicide rates in Japan and then put a bunch of crazy kids in it. I was like... literally scared of kids for a week after this movie. Moving along.
Our two junkyard quotes come from the same scene in this movie, actually. There is this scene where a man named Genesis randomly breaks out in song and dance as his women are "entertained" around him. It is so random. Think like... a horror movie of a Japanese Beatle busting out his guitar in a bowling alley. Sheer brilliant. Actually, this is giving me ideas for freewrite... moving alone.
Anyway, the quotes from the song "Because the Dead."
My favorite is, "I want to die as beautifully as Joan of Arc inside a Bresson film."
then there is "A unfamiliar yellow dog keeps grinning as it tears us from the ones we love."
I've actually yet to figure out what the yellow dog is? So if anyone has some guesses, I'd like feedback on it.
Classmate Response 2, Week 2
In Response to Dawn's freewrite:
I'm not going to lie, I love a good freewrite and I think this one was much more successful than your last attempt. I've said before that I'm kinda neurotic. I love to nitpick and when I do I shut off my mind to possibilities. That's why I love the freewrite. It forces me to open my mind to any sensory information around me. I'm then scrambling to put words on the page as opposed to erasing them all off. This probably is a good exercise for you in the long run but after you're done with it I'd like to see it utilized.
What you want to do after you're done with a freewrite is not leave it. You want to explore with it. I've been mentally picking at your freewrite and have assembled a sort of junkyard by rearranging and picking out/adding words. For instance--your first section about that girl became:
marbled concrete pressed under,
bitching students rambling
about paralled parked cars
and limited space.
a girl in oversized sweat pants, tight tank,
nipples exposed--I guess that’s why
they call this nippy weather--
carries the conversation elevated
no one hears.
Anyway, not a great example but I wanted to show you that in every freewrite you have something you can carry over into poetry. Find something that you connect to emotionally. I find my environment provides the best outlet. When you spill words out on a page like that they tend to sort of come out in this interesting odd way, hence the phrase--marbled concrete. And you have a lot of words coupled here that creates great imagery. I'm sure this wasn't on purpose but-- Ha, ha, ha. Wrist hair? Love it. Stick THAT in a poem somewhere. Who the hell writes about wrist hair? And what's more you seem to continue this infatuation with hair in the last couple lines. Perhaps you have your focus here? Things reoccur for a reason in my opinion.
But I'm rambling. Please do try and utilize the freewrite. You have an interesting writing style. In fact, perhaps a sort of list poem might work for you, like Meitner's "Instructions for Vigilant Girls". These freewrites dish out the language for you, and your need to control could help create a really great list poem. Hope this is helpful.
What you want to do after you're done with a freewrite is not leave it. You want to explore with it. I've been mentally picking at your freewrite and have assembled a sort of junkyard by rearranging and picking out/adding words. For instance--your first section about that girl became:
marbled concrete pressed under,
bitching students rambling
about paralled parked cars
and limited space.
a girl in oversized sweat pants, tight tank,
nipples exposed--I guess that’s why
they call this nippy weather--
carries the conversation elevated
no one hears.
Anyway, not a great example but I wanted to show you that in every freewrite you have something you can carry over into poetry. Find something that you connect to emotionally. I find my environment provides the best outlet. When you spill words out on a page like that they tend to sort of come out in this interesting odd way, hence the phrase--marbled concrete. And you have a lot of words coupled here that creates great imagery. I'm sure this wasn't on purpose but-- Ha, ha, ha. Wrist hair? Love it. Stick THAT in a poem somewhere. Who the hell writes about wrist hair? And what's more you seem to continue this infatuation with hair in the last couple lines. Perhaps you have your focus here? Things reoccur for a reason in my opinion.
But I'm rambling. Please do try and utilize the freewrite. You have an interesting writing style. In fact, perhaps a sort of list poem might work for you, like Meitner's "Instructions for Vigilant Girls". These freewrites dish out the language for you, and your need to control could help create a really great list poem. Hope this is helpful.
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