First of all, this is a really difficult form for me. Here is my progression with the Pantoum we were assigned.
I played with the lines first:
Sitting in the damp sand,
looking to a cider sky,
I see my house is built
by a tree without teeth.
Look to a cider sky
beyond a fence of withered green
by a tree without teeth.
The purpose of this will be apparent.
Through a fence of withered green
that lies mothy and chaffed,
all purposes of this will be apparent.
It will stand, vaguely confessional.
Lie, mothy and chaffed
from the swift twin swifts.
You stand, vaguely confessional,
Becoming sufficiently fierce.
You stand, vaguely confessional.
I see my house is built,
becoming sufficiently fierce
sitting on the damp sand.
The poem pretty much makes no sense, but I felt like I was getting somewhere.
So here are some changes that I made. I am still not sure how I like it, though.
When I was sitting in the damp sand
and looking to the cider sky,
I recognized that my house is built
next to a tree without teeth.
If you look to the cider sky
and see beyond the fence of withered green,
through the tree without teeth,
then the purpose of this will become apparent.
Beyond a fence of withered green
that lies mothy and chaffed,
you will see the purpose of this will become apparent
and will stand before you, vaguely confessional.
You will lie, mothy and chaffed
from the swift twin swifts of life.
You will then stand, vaguely confessional,
becoming sufficiently fierce.
From the swift twin swifts of life
I recognized that my house is built,
becoming sufficiently fierce
when I was sitting in the damp sand.
Input? Thoughts? I don't know how I like it. I almost like the first one better, but I don't think that I did it right.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Villanelle Form
One Art
By: Elizabeth Bishop
The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.
--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.
When class first started, I stated in one of my blogs that "One Art" was my favorite poem. It still is, but I didn't know the context of the poem. Knowing that "One Art" is a Villanelle makes the poem even more special to me, especially when looking at Bishops draft, and realizing the hard work and effort that it took to create this poem. I always knew that she had repeating lines in her poem, but I never NOTICED them, if that makes any sense. I never even really paid attention to rhymes, or even noticed them. I just noticed that the poem flowed so well, and was beautifully crafted.
Going back to Bishop's draft, it is hard to believe it is even the same poem, and even harder to believe how a she used a villanelle to better express her purpose in the poem. She still gets to say what she wants to say, and get across to the audience the grief of losing a loved one or friend, but the Villanelle allowed Bishop to do in in fewer lines. Even the title change of the poem was perfect for this form.
Here are some of my favorite alterations that Bishop made to her draft when changing "One Art" into a Villanelle:
-She changes "one begins by 'mislalaying'" to "loose something everyday" or "so many things seem to be filled with intenet/to be lost that their loss is no disaster."
-Bishop used some religious imagery in her draft ("I have lost, it can never be found" and "He who looseth his life...") yet she takes it out in her Villanelle to keep with a central theme.
-Instead of coming out telling the audience she lost a person, as she does in the draft, Bishop begins to almost hold a conversation in the Villanelle, making it more personable.
Needless to say, the Villanelle served "One Art" very well, and I feel like writing good poetry like Bishop could be possible for me through experimenting with forms like she has!
By: Elizabeth Bishop
The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.
--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.
When class first started, I stated in one of my blogs that "One Art" was my favorite poem. It still is, but I didn't know the context of the poem. Knowing that "One Art" is a Villanelle makes the poem even more special to me, especially when looking at Bishops draft, and realizing the hard work and effort that it took to create this poem. I always knew that she had repeating lines in her poem, but I never NOTICED them, if that makes any sense. I never even really paid attention to rhymes, or even noticed them. I just noticed that the poem flowed so well, and was beautifully crafted.
Going back to Bishop's draft, it is hard to believe it is even the same poem, and even harder to believe how a she used a villanelle to better express her purpose in the poem. She still gets to say what she wants to say, and get across to the audience the grief of losing a loved one or friend, but the Villanelle allowed Bishop to do in in fewer lines. Even the title change of the poem was perfect for this form.
Here are some of my favorite alterations that Bishop made to her draft when changing "One Art" into a Villanelle:
-She changes "one begins by 'mislalaying'" to "loose something everyday" or "so many things seem to be filled with intenet/to be lost that their loss is no disaster."
-Bishop used some religious imagery in her draft ("I have lost, it can never be found" and "He who looseth his life...") yet she takes it out in her Villanelle to keep with a central theme.
-Instead of coming out telling the audience she lost a person, as she does in the draft, Bishop begins to almost hold a conversation in the Villanelle, making it more personable.
Needless to say, the Villanelle served "One Art" very well, and I feel like writing good poetry like Bishop could be possible for me through experimenting with forms like she has!
Sunday, February 7, 2010
My hand at syllabic poetry
Writing in syllabics is a lot harder than I thought it would be! Here is one, I hope it isn't bad.
The Strange Cat
There is the strange cat,
in the wayward house down
yonder. Running through a
land of sink-holes, after
a large, tricksy wren.
He leaps towards his abrupt,
early eternity.
Don a dirty gas mask.
There is no heaven here.
Yes, it is weird, but I kinda liked it. I did 5 syllables in the first lines of each stanza (except the last) and 6 syllables on the rest. I hope I did okay, I am not that great at counting syllables. As I said before, it is really difficult to do syllabics, but I like it! It makes you choose your words differently. I would like to go back to some of my poems, and try doing them in this form.
The Strange Cat
There is the strange cat,
in the wayward house down
yonder. Running through a
land of sink-holes, after
a large, tricksy wren.
He leaps towards his abrupt,
early eternity.
Don a dirty gas mask.
There is no heaven here.
Yes, it is weird, but I kinda liked it. I did 5 syllables in the first lines of each stanza (except the last) and 6 syllables on the rest. I hope I did okay, I am not that great at counting syllables. As I said before, it is really difficult to do syllabics, but I like it! It makes you choose your words differently. I would like to go back to some of my poems, and try doing them in this form.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
The Sonnets of Today and Yesterday
When reading about sonnets, I think about how different that they are in today's world. I have decided that I am going to do some small research on contemporary sonnets and sonnets that were written in the Elizabethan Era. The difference between the subject matter in these poems are fascinating to me. I have always been interested in how things change, and you can defiantly see how different sonnets were in the Elizabethan Era, Even though Elizabethan Sonnets were usually written for Queen Elizabeth.
Examples of Elizabethan Sonnet:
III
William Shakespeare
Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest
Now is the time that face should form another;
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.
For where is she so fair whose unear'd womb
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb
Of his self-love, to stop posterity?
Thou art thy mother's glass and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime;
So thou through windows of thine age shalt see,
Despite of wrinkles this thy golden time.
But if thou live, remember'd not to be,
Die single and thine image dies with thee.
One Day I wrote Her Name Upon The Strand
Edmund Spenser
One day I wrote her name upon the strand,
but came the waves and washed it away:
Again I wrote it with a second hand,
But came the tide and make my pains his prey.
Vain man (said she) that dost in vain assay
A mortal thing so immortalise;
For I myself like to this decay,
and eke my name be wiped out likewise.
Not I (quod I); let baser things devise
To die in dust, but you shall live by fame;
My verse your virtues rare shall eternise,
And in the heavens write your glorious name:
Where, when as Death shall all the world subdue,
Or love shall live, and later life renew.
Contemporary Sonnet Examples:
In Simultaneous Rooms
Alfred Dorn
How many doors open, how many close
while your eyes skims this "moments monument"?
Holed up in a slum lord's apartment house,
and old man dies, alone, irrelevant.
Another life is pierced out of the womb,
from tropic sleep into our arctic day.
In the deluxe hotel's Edwardian room
a window fiercely hugs a rose bouquet
set by a chamber half her age, with card
warbling silk words that curtain has design.
In the Sahara of a hospital ward
a bed explodes with pain like a land mine.
And meanwhile the galaxy, that spiral ear
carrying us through darkness, does not hear.
Nightfall
Jared Carter
Now while I sit here in this dark chamber
By firelight, a lost traveler returned
From a distant country, and half unlearned
In his own tongue--I must risk the danger
Of remembrance. Pensive, I would linger
Over old books, yellow pages burned
By unquenchable years, that I once yearned
To know: the verse of forgotten singers.
First almost nothing remains--a fragrance
Of blossoming trees, a single footstep
On the cobbled stone beneath my window.
Yet every line reverberates. A dance
Perhaps, in the way the music has kept
To an old balance, among these shadows.
Though I only listed a couple of these sonnets in each section, but the list can go on and on. As you can see, both the Contemporary and the Elizabethan Sonnets are 14 lines, in 10 syllables. There are very interesting differences in the two, however. As I have seen in many Contemporary Sonnets, they tend to not rhyme as often as Elizabethan Sonnets. Also, the subject manner in both of these poems are very different. In most Elizabethan Sonnets, they are geared towards an object of affection, or love. I noticed in Contemporary Sonnets, however, that they tend to lean on a variety of subject manners.
I think I could learn a lot from looking at these two styles of sonnets. I think that I can learn about how beautiful language can be, while writing about things that I would like to write about. I have always strayed away from Sonnets because I have always been taught that they were written in admiration to someone or something. Looking at Contemporary Sonnets shows me the variety that they can be in.
Examples of Elizabethan Sonnet:
III
William Shakespeare
Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest
Now is the time that face should form another;
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.
For where is she so fair whose unear'd womb
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb
Of his self-love, to stop posterity?
Thou art thy mother's glass and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime;
So thou through windows of thine age shalt see,
Despite of wrinkles this thy golden time.
But if thou live, remember'd not to be,
Die single and thine image dies with thee.
One Day I wrote Her Name Upon The Strand
Edmund Spenser
One day I wrote her name upon the strand,
but came the waves and washed it away:
Again I wrote it with a second hand,
But came the tide and make my pains his prey.
Vain man (said she) that dost in vain assay
A mortal thing so immortalise;
For I myself like to this decay,
and eke my name be wiped out likewise.
Not I (quod I); let baser things devise
To die in dust, but you shall live by fame;
My verse your virtues rare shall eternise,
And in the heavens write your glorious name:
Where, when as Death shall all the world subdue,
Or love shall live, and later life renew.
Contemporary Sonnet Examples:
In Simultaneous Rooms
Alfred Dorn
How many doors open, how many close
while your eyes skims this "moments monument"?
Holed up in a slum lord's apartment house,
and old man dies, alone, irrelevant.
Another life is pierced out of the womb,
from tropic sleep into our arctic day.
In the deluxe hotel's Edwardian room
a window fiercely hugs a rose bouquet
set by a chamber half her age, with card
warbling silk words that curtain has design.
In the Sahara of a hospital ward
a bed explodes with pain like a land mine.
And meanwhile the galaxy, that spiral ear
carrying us through darkness, does not hear.
Nightfall
Jared Carter
Now while I sit here in this dark chamber
By firelight, a lost traveler returned
From a distant country, and half unlearned
In his own tongue--I must risk the danger
Of remembrance. Pensive, I would linger
Over old books, yellow pages burned
By unquenchable years, that I once yearned
To know: the verse of forgotten singers.
First almost nothing remains--a fragrance
Of blossoming trees, a single footstep
On the cobbled stone beneath my window.
Yet every line reverberates. A dance
Perhaps, in the way the music has kept
To an old balance, among these shadows.
Though I only listed a couple of these sonnets in each section, but the list can go on and on. As you can see, both the Contemporary and the Elizabethan Sonnets are 14 lines, in 10 syllables. There are very interesting differences in the two, however. As I have seen in many Contemporary Sonnets, they tend to not rhyme as often as Elizabethan Sonnets. Also, the subject manner in both of these poems are very different. In most Elizabethan Sonnets, they are geared towards an object of affection, or love. I noticed in Contemporary Sonnets, however, that they tend to lean on a variety of subject manners.
I think I could learn a lot from looking at these two styles of sonnets. I think that I can learn about how beautiful language can be, while writing about things that I would like to write about. I have always strayed away from Sonnets because I have always been taught that they were written in admiration to someone or something. Looking at Contemporary Sonnets shows me the variety that they can be in.
Monday, February 1, 2010
#1 for Week Four: Free Thought
I have decided to list my favorite song lyrics ever, and my least favorite song lyrics ever.
My favorite: First of all, I am a glutton for Damien Rice. I love him, and if I could, I would marry him, and shoot out his babies.
"The Animals Were Gone"
Woke up and for the first time the animals were gone
It's left this house empty now, not sure if I belong
Yesterday you asked me to write you a pleasant song
I'll do my best now, but you've been gone for so long
The window's open now and the winter settles in
We'll call it Christmas when the adverts begin
I love your depression and I love your double chin
I love 'most everything that you bring to this offering
Oh I know that I left you in places of despair
Oh I know that I love you, so please throw down your hair
At night I trip without you, and hope I don't wake up
'Cause waking up without you is like drinking from an empty cup
Woke up and for the first time the animals were gone
Our clocks are ticking now so before our time is gone
We could get a house and some boxes on the lawn
We could make babies and accidental songs
I know I've been a liar and I know I've been a fool
I hope we didn't break yet, but I'm glad we broke the rules
My cave is deep now, yet your light is shining through
I cover my eyes, still all I see is you
Oh I know that I left you in places of despair
Oh I know that I love you, so please throw down your hair
At night I trip without you, and hope I don't wake up
'Cause waking up without you is like drinking from an empty cup
I love some of the images Damien Rice gives in this song. My favorite is "waking up without you is like drinking from an empty cup." I love it, because he shows how pointless waking up without his lover is through that line.
My least favorite lyrics: No offense Lady Gaga, you are catchy and all, but come on.
Disco Heaven
Oh, the disco heaven
Oh, the disco heaven
Get back, bunny
It's getting cold in here little honey
We got a show to put on your dress
Take a minute for us and relax, relax
Cupid's got me, oh with his bow & arrow, baby
He'll hit you in the pants, hot pants
Get the people to dance and relax, relax
Oh the lights still on, we're dancing
Yeah the floor is shaking
In this disco heaven
(oh, the disco heaven)
The disco heaven
(oh, the disco heaven)
Oh the lights still on, we're dancing
Yeah the floor is shaking
In this disco heaven
(oh, the disco heaven)
The disco heaven
(oh, the disco heaven)
Throw your head back, girly
Throw it like those girls in the movies
We got a show to put on your dress
Take a minute for us and relax, relax
The ball is turning, 300 mirrors burning
Through the hearts of the crowd
In the back hips just banging the track
To the music, the music
Oh the lights still on, we're dancing
Yeah the floor is shaking
In this disco heaven
(oh, the disco heaven)
The disco heaven
(oh, the disco heaven)
Oh the lights still on, we're dancing
Yeah the floor is shaking
In this disco heaven
(oh, the disco heaven)
The disco heaven
(oh, the disco heaven)
Oh we got that disco
D-i-s-c-o
And we're in heaven
H-e-a-v-e-n
Disco heaven
Feels just like heaven
Disco heaven
Disco heaven
A line up for the dance
Yeah bring those fancy pants
Y'know there's disco in the air
And hairspray everywhere
A disco heaven
A disco heaven
Disco heaven
Disco heaven
Oh the lights still on, we're dancing
Yeah the floor is shaking
In this disco heaven
(oh, the disco heaven)
The disco heaven
(oh, the disco heaven)
Oh the lights still on, we're dancing
Yeah the floor is shaking
In this disco heaven
(oh, the disco heaven)
The disco heaven
(oh, the disco heaven)
No offense. Hit me in the hot pants?
My favorite: First of all, I am a glutton for Damien Rice. I love him, and if I could, I would marry him, and shoot out his babies.
"The Animals Were Gone"
Woke up and for the first time the animals were gone
It's left this house empty now, not sure if I belong
Yesterday you asked me to write you a pleasant song
I'll do my best now, but you've been gone for so long
The window's open now and the winter settles in
We'll call it Christmas when the adverts begin
I love your depression and I love your double chin
I love 'most everything that you bring to this offering
Oh I know that I left you in places of despair
Oh I know that I love you, so please throw down your hair
At night I trip without you, and hope I don't wake up
'Cause waking up without you is like drinking from an empty cup
Woke up and for the first time the animals were gone
Our clocks are ticking now so before our time is gone
We could get a house and some boxes on the lawn
We could make babies and accidental songs
I know I've been a liar and I know I've been a fool
I hope we didn't break yet, but I'm glad we broke the rules
My cave is deep now, yet your light is shining through
I cover my eyes, still all I see is you
Oh I know that I left you in places of despair
Oh I know that I love you, so please throw down your hair
At night I trip without you, and hope I don't wake up
'Cause waking up without you is like drinking from an empty cup
I love some of the images Damien Rice gives in this song. My favorite is "waking up without you is like drinking from an empty cup." I love it, because he shows how pointless waking up without his lover is through that line.
My least favorite lyrics: No offense Lady Gaga, you are catchy and all, but come on.
Disco Heaven
Oh, the disco heaven
Oh, the disco heaven
Get back, bunny
It's getting cold in here little honey
We got a show to put on your dress
Take a minute for us and relax, relax
Cupid's got me, oh with his bow & arrow, baby
He'll hit you in the pants, hot pants
Get the people to dance and relax, relax
Oh the lights still on, we're dancing
Yeah the floor is shaking
In this disco heaven
(oh, the disco heaven)
The disco heaven
(oh, the disco heaven)
Oh the lights still on, we're dancing
Yeah the floor is shaking
In this disco heaven
(oh, the disco heaven)
The disco heaven
(oh, the disco heaven)
Throw your head back, girly
Throw it like those girls in the movies
We got a show to put on your dress
Take a minute for us and relax, relax
The ball is turning, 300 mirrors burning
Through the hearts of the crowd
In the back hips just banging the track
To the music, the music
Oh the lights still on, we're dancing
Yeah the floor is shaking
In this disco heaven
(oh, the disco heaven)
The disco heaven
(oh, the disco heaven)
Oh the lights still on, we're dancing
Yeah the floor is shaking
In this disco heaven
(oh, the disco heaven)
The disco heaven
(oh, the disco heaven)
Oh we got that disco
D-i-s-c-o
And we're in heaven
H-e-a-v-e-n
Disco heaven
Feels just like heaven
Disco heaven
Disco heaven
A line up for the dance
Yeah bring those fancy pants
Y'know there's disco in the air
And hairspray everywhere
A disco heaven
A disco heaven
Disco heaven
Disco heaven
Oh the lights still on, we're dancing
Yeah the floor is shaking
In this disco heaven
(oh, the disco heaven)
The disco heaven
(oh, the disco heaven)
Oh the lights still on, we're dancing
Yeah the floor is shaking
In this disco heaven
(oh, the disco heaven)
The disco heaven
(oh, the disco heaven)
No offense. Hit me in the hot pants?
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Figuring Out Who I Am, As A Writer (Free)
Things that I like to write about:
I love to write about nature, people, and places. I seem naturally drawn to these things, but I would like to expand from them some. I think it is amazing when people can use objects, such as a pair of scissors, and make them into something more. I have never really been able to do that. I kind of tried to with the orange in my last poem, I tried to use it as a metaphor for a man, but I am pretty sure that it didn't get across to some people.
Also, I am not very good with rhyme. I attempted to do something with it in my last poem, to step out of my box, but it didn't feel "natural." I would like to learn how to do rhyme more naturally, so it is something that I will work on. I think Jenna did an excellent job in "Cosmo Girl," her rhymes were wonderful. I think it just takes practice, or maybe rhymes are just not for me.
I am also an emotional writer. I have a hard time being able to write from someone else's shoes. Most of my poetry is very reflective of the experiences that I have been through. Not that that is a bad thing, that is how Marie Howe's poetry is, but I would like to learn how to detach myself from some of the subjects I write about. If I can sometimes take the "me" out of my work, I feel like maybe I would be able to maybe write better. But then again, maybe that is my opinion.
I love to write about nature, people, and places. I seem naturally drawn to these things, but I would like to expand from them some. I think it is amazing when people can use objects, such as a pair of scissors, and make them into something more. I have never really been able to do that. I kind of tried to with the orange in my last poem, I tried to use it as a metaphor for a man, but I am pretty sure that it didn't get across to some people.
Also, I am not very good with rhyme. I attempted to do something with it in my last poem, to step out of my box, but it didn't feel "natural." I would like to learn how to do rhyme more naturally, so it is something that I will work on. I think Jenna did an excellent job in "Cosmo Girl," her rhymes were wonderful. I think it just takes practice, or maybe rhymes are just not for me.
I am also an emotional writer. I have a hard time being able to write from someone else's shoes. Most of my poetry is very reflective of the experiences that I have been through. Not that that is a bad thing, that is how Marie Howe's poetry is, but I would like to learn how to detach myself from some of the subjects I write about. If I can sometimes take the "me" out of my work, I feel like maybe I would be able to maybe write better. But then again, maybe that is my opinion.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Thought's on Howe
The Mountain
It wasn't only the mountain then,
but the mountain later
rising in sleep
or deep in teh middle of stuttered proclamation
-
when, startled, he saw it,
how it had looked to him before,
how it had felt underfoot
like the back of an animal
heaving him down over and over again,
and the small stones that fell with him
making a music
and the silence then.
Once, he put his ear to water almost weeping
to the mouth of a sleeping child
so many many dead.
And the gravelly walk down then
the stones singing
and the wrist of the branch that held him
when he caught it, held him up.
It wasn't only the mountain then, that day:
the sky clearing, his awful thirst,
but the day after,
and all the days when he, forever moving,
felt it move in him.
It was like that
but he could not say it.
It was what rose up in him one minute
before walking
what seemed to block his view whenever
he looked too closely at something
his son,
his own hand, his food sometimes.
Finally, can you understand how easily
he relinquished it? The grit
the cracked bone, the new land?
He was that tired of walking in what
he knew was the wrong direction.
And he knew
better than anyone, how long the way back was
to where he stared,
when tending the lambs, day dreaming,
for no apparent reason, he looked up.
In class, we defined poetry as something that we cannot get out of our heads. I cannot get Marie Howe's poetry out of mine. I love her work, I think that she is amazing. Especially in this poem, I feel like I can feel Moses, what he was thinking, how he was feeling. I think I could learn a lot from Howe's style. She makes the stanzas hers. Her stanzas never rule her, she makes them perfect for what she is trying to say, and she never seems blocky, or ridgid, unless she wants her poetry to be that way. I love her passion. I hope that one day I can become as good of a writer as she is. Until then, I will use some of her techniques in my own poetry, starting with the one due Tuesday.
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