This semester was a progression of experimentation. We began with the known, the real (?), the (mostly) representational—then moved to where we decide what is real, and the world is at our mercy (even more). Then we entered poetry, where in some ways there is more structure (form)—but in most there is less—if only in [...]
The theme song of the evil hordes’ advance
The lumber of the drums, it swallows thee/you/all
romance, dance, perchance
The music floating limply in the air
See this writeboard for an up-to-the-minute updated version. Since there is no way to edit these posts without losing one’s sanity.
In the worst hour of the worst seasonof the worst year of a whole peoplea man set out from the workhouse with his wife.He was walking—they were both walking—north.
This powerful poem begins with a decisive [...]
So. What was EL170 for me? EL170 was a turning point, for one. It wasn’t until I wrote my creative non-fiction piece that I realized I might actually have sometime to offer as a writer, and that it might be something to consider for my future. The feedback I received on that piece, and on [...]
HER VOICE IS TINLIKE FLOATING THROUGH THE AIR
EXPANSE OF OPEN ROADS DIVIDING US
WHEN SHE COMES DOWN TO VISIT I USE NAIR
I’m still conflicted about poetry—not quite ready to seal my judgment on it yet, which is good since I”m signed up for a poetry class next semester, but still… I never really felt I was able to get into poetry, I was always writing around it, trying to get at things I couldn’t really feel. [...]
Someday, if I go bald
I can blame my grandfather
It’s easy to blame someone
you never met
I hate poetry.
Every word is wrong
Disgustingly simple, cliché
Who do I think I am?
To define a phenomenon
To know you have lied, misrepresented
Or at least,
tried your best and failed
A growling shock of anger,
indignance, despair.
You search for words you know
do not exist.
The music is weak
impotent, despite their valiant
efforts to churn the air
The bass swallows,
the treble fades
I know the song yet cannot find the parts
Lost in this sea of adolescents and itching
adolescent eagerness.
My mind strains, and finally
begins to find familiar notes
My body wants to jump to sing to play
Yet locked and bound I stand, maybe a sway
But [...]
Prose
Sometimes Muted Tones are nice
Almost the opposite
of the blaring
“I don’t trust you
enough to let you find me
on your own
So I’m going to screech”
-colors.
Muted colors
carry a subtlety their
more saturated companions
will never know.
You want a white that looks white, but
doesn’t really feel white;
You want the cleanliness, but not
the oppressive starkness
of a sanitary ward.
Elegance, simplicity
in light.
Muted light.
