I'm supposed to find a poem
strung from Lvov to Djemaa el Fna,
from a spirit bear and pubescent angst
to plague and broken marriage
(who)
like the time the cat
leapt for dragonflies
in a poem about laundry,
the laundry-list of stolen verbs
become metaphor
when applied to Pip
(do you think)
or when a poem
about "f" and "l"
became the farmer Albert,
gone fallow.
or the love poem to a ceiling fan
and the butter-stripes of sunlight
on the bedspread.
(you are?)
RUBBISH
skitters across the square,
a ballroom contest with the dust
as warriors settle
into the soil again
at dawn
and the boys in white go home,
drum skins flaccid on their frames,
the dance ends, the snakes coil
in their baskets
the waterman,
weathered to leather,
stinks up the alley way
into the souk
(no one would want)
but that was years ago
here on a cliff over the Pacific
I roam naked to the sun
and the white bear,
my totem
and my torturer
(to read this)
I pack my mask with pungent herbs
that he might not attack me
There is no poem in these things - detail
at the front door
refusing to be beaten away -
only voices
the bad ones
who whisper
"fraud"
The day after my eighth birthday, my father
told me I couldn't go on the roof any more.
"pretender"
Little girls cry saltdew
on my dream.
Author notes
I had a blast with this exercise. The workings-out are here: http://sparsemoments.blogspot.com/
(They take up the last three entries, starting with "Synchronicity.")
I probably would have kept the poem, if it is a poem, hidden over there, but it seems only fair to share it with Annalise, who got the ball rolling, and to whom I am grateful.
The poem referenced is "To Go to Lvov" by Adam Zagajewski. The title is a line from that poem.
A contest entry
- Poem. Dream. Conflict. by Annalise.
3000 points, ended March 10, 2008, 11 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 24 of 24
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The inclusion of the bits in parenthesis are used for obvious separation here and they are used well. Each fragment feels like a tiny note for the soul, so that you may read this in a few years and be reminded of how you have grown as a person/writer and what has made you who you are. It is really the little moments that shape us anyways. No one becomes anything from merely waiting. One must take up the reins and etch their own fate into the background. And this does that.
It might shock you to know that I don't actually see this as several poems, at least not definitely. I noticed right away that you capture the moments, the bits, but it creates a greater importance. It envelops the reader and quite possibly you the writer with an intensity that is bound by spirit and blood.
Sometimes as a writer we have to get out the poetic pieces before we can create the work/art and I think this has a good contrast of imagery made for the writer and contains a lot of sharp understanding for the reader, who may or my not know you. And that's also the thing: To be able to create something personal and make your readers relate to certain key moments throughout.
I enjoy the off the shoulder feel of a lot of this and love how it creates a greater importance to language in poetry.
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the first poem ... i just love it ... the poetry of the stuff of life is pure poetry ! and the who do you think you are keeps me vacillating between self and the poet ...
second one too ... i just love it ! .... such wonderful use of language and imagery throughout ... a ballroom contest with the dust (damn ... that lovely in its context AND skitters) ... drum skins flaccid on their frames (yum) and again, within the whole and the whole - just fabulous ...
okay ... i am not saying anymore for fear of crossing over into raving ...
i need to go see how the blog fits into this whole ...
enjoyed so much >>> Gina -
Hi Zara. Would you be interested in submitting this to a new publication (for a book)?
Here's the link: http://allpoetry.com/contest/2394283
You can read up on the guidelines. Submit a couple more if you like and put everything on one page. The only caveat is that it hasn't been published before.
Hope you will. Thanks.
Jaden
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What a worthy gold!
Structured, even while experimental and free, by dreams caught in everyday chores, chamber and otherwise, and retrospective socialization and restrictiveness, into becoming exactly the poet who you are today ...
Yes, I guess you should read that again! Hahahahahaha.
Well.
Simply brilliant, if I may say.
Love
Myra
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A lot of poets here write outside the box and I applaud them all. I'm a one-track-mind writer and not ashamed of that simply because I write to amuse myself and anyone else who happens to enjoy that type of poetry. (or whatever it is)
Having said that ... even though I am no poet, I consider myself a good judge of poetry. Yea okay
Anyway ... having read you almost from the get-go, you're probably one of the most versatile writers at this site, consistantly good. In other words ... you're the shitz.
Desiree
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I'll take it to heart that you said "versatile." I needed to hear that, because it seems to me I keep saying the same thing over and over and over and over, and always in the same voice.
But yes, you've read me from the get-go, and I can't tell you how much I appreciate that.
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I've saved yours for last because I feel lost trying to comment. I have followed your blog posts as you progressed in this exercise and as each step materialized I became more interested.
I realize that the people who dedicated themselves to this exercise did so for themselves more than for the contest but I've been amazed that so many have done so . . . honored, almost, that they did so for this contest.
The dream section of your blog-posted steps interest me, extremely. I love learning the personal experiences of different places. Your description of "the North" really created an urge in me to view this firsthand (which is amazing because I hate the cold. Here in Ohio I complain about our random and not-so-frequent snowstorms).
I've never seen a bear in person besides in a zoo setting. To me, having personal contact with such a creature is exciting. I had to google the spirit bear. I never knew there was another "white bear" beyond the polar bear. I once had a dream where I fought off a polar bear (in Kentucky!) in order to save my children. It wasn't a good dream, at all. It still bothers me to the point I am uneasy with my children being away from me... not because of the polar bear, though.
I can relate to "avoid conflict like the plague." I'm extremely non-confrontational, myself... to the point that people who relish confrontation actually scare me. I avoid them, too. I fear my ex-husband for this exact reason. Doesn't help that we have three children together. I still can't stand up to him... 5 years after splitting up. My 8 year old daughter has this avoidance problem, also. She suffers in silence in fear of having to confront an issue, a person. I feel bad I've passed this on to her.
As for your prompt poem: I had never read the prompt poem before, thank you for introducing me to it (and the poet, who has an interesting lifestory, also).
Your poem is exceptionally well written. I really can't pinpoint an exact line or phrase that intrigues me as the whole poem is so well woven together (and written) that the poem on a whole intrigues me.
Thank you for sharing your journey through this exercise in this contest. I have enjoyed reading it, immensely.
(I told Stef that my comment to him was probably the longest I have left here at AP. I think, though, that this one is now the longest. I really don't "talk" this much. I promise! LOL)
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"Talking" is great feedback. I'm really happy to get your response to my ramblings (speaking of "talking" a lot!) on the blog. Isn't this what everyone wants, who writes - to know that they've elicited a response, especially an emotional response, in the reader? So, thank you for your detailed comment - it really is a gift.
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synchronicity
chronic as if the clouds were rhythm
allows the sky
not to fall so heavy on your back
I mean the whole reason for symmetry
is to disonate
in third tones
in betweens
where the silence is deafening
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It probably isn't the frog that your thinking of (which was a toad wasn't it?). I see the frog that your father told you was in your throat ...in him telling you to get off the roof.
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No, that was the frog I was thinking of too, but the roof story is quite a different one. I think it had to do with femininity. Dad always seemed to think men would want to look up my skirt - as if I'd wear a skirt to climb the roof!
Part of our Health curriculum is what we euphemistically call "Family Life." Today one girl asked, hopefully, "Are we really really finished with family life?" and I said yes, but of course the question envelope would always be there. One boy said, "Oh, you should see if there's a question in it. ... I didn't put it there, I swear!"
So the question was, "What is lube and what is it used for?" I didn't read the question out loud, because I have Gr. 5's in the room, and sexuality is not a part of Gr. 5 curriculum, and we're given specific instructions in the training to limit the discussion at the Gr. 5 level to puberty and anatomy. So. I said I'd save it for when the Gr. 5's weren't around. They didn't know why it mattered, but I explained and also said if a Gr. 5 student went home and talked about stuff that wasn't in the curriculum, I might get in trouble. And my VERY gifted Gr. 5 boy said, "Like we're gonna go home and talk about it???!!"
This has nothing to do with poems or frogs, but I thought you might enjoy the story.
back atcha
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I think I was thinking of your Father's personality ... in general.
"you sound like a frog" "don't go on the roof"
sorta thing.
I can't even digest that other part of your story, yet.
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So, I started reading Divagations by Stéphane Mallarmé last night. One of the things that struck me was he writes that all poems are about the same thing - and each poem is part of the Great Book (of Man). So if you break that down, each poet's work is a chapter in the Great Book and really, Lute said this too me 4 years ago, all the work of the poet is part of the tapestry. Where am I going with all this?
I see the Singing like a frog poem here, I see our conversations about "success" in publishing, I remember the poem that you wrote in response to Lvov to Djemaa el Fna, your cat poems, and of course Albert
I recognize this mania.
So glad you game to the slumber/poem party.
You've been missed.
Lisa
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Everything else, yes, but where's the frog?
I have run out of new things to say, you see, so I'm recycling the old stuff. Not consciously, but it came out that way. If all we are is recyclers, then I'm vindicated.
Thank YOU for the invitation. It's been fun.
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LIttle girls cry saltdew
on my dream
exquisite last line
saltdew a word to fly like a kite in the wind today
love poem to ceiling fan gets applause
butter-stripes of light just right
yummy
rubbish voice hard to accept
as such a truth most endure
fight off
succumb to
write most excellent poetry in spite of
or because? despite....
rigorous fight
I love reading the work from this exercise
I love the weave
and texture of the many parts
Oh did I say how the opening is stunningly alluring
I fell right into this full tilt
and
not to not mention
the boys
at dawn and at death
thank you for your sharing here
all of this
though that voice of "fraud" "pretender" is a fool who thinks otherwise
and we know invited or not
the many guests come and go,
love kat
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I really like your take on this exercise, it's original, and I love the format, and the way I had to play with the words as I went from place to place here.
Really some beautiful images too.
Good to see you writing here again!
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and thank you for dropping by
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expectatations greatly influenced and re-read and re-read to soak up all, even went to your blog space thing to fill in all the details
girls and boys can be so cruel to each other, keep your head up girl and don't be afraid of those pesky bullets, remember lucky strike - three strikes your dead...
grand piece of work
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Thanks for reading, Gill, in both places.
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I have looked and looked at this and I honestly can't think what to say. I am blown away, hitting the ground running and screaming into the noise of the train.
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Well, you've been there through all the steps, so I'm surprised your feet aren't strapped securely to the ground. Awfully nice thing to say, though.
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Oh, I think it's wonderful.
Things I will steal:
the Butterstripes bit. Drumskins hanging from bones.
Things I will not:
The reflexive self hate of the poet and the poem.
Things you have stolen from me:
Snakes in baskets during the war.
It's a beauty.
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Thanks. You're right - the self-indulgent crap has to go.
I stole snakes from you? See, I don't even know I'm stealing any more. There really were snakes, but we figured they were drugged. They looked drugged. Or was it us who were drugged? In Morocco, EVERYONE is drugged, including the cobras.
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Oh, you know I was just talking shit, and the connection is very tenuous. http://allpoetry.com/poem/2028895
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