So this week I was prompted by my poetry professor to write a political/pop culture poem. I have a tendency to write political poems but for some reason, it was terribly difficult to do this on demand! Usually, I don't intend to write something that is political, it just comes out that way. So I forced it this week and it just felt wrong and my poem did not go over as well as I would have liked it to in workshop.
What I really feel bad about is that a classmate announced that the chapbook he put together will be published. I am really happy for him. I am. But my stomach dropped and my mood totally changed and I totally turned his good news against myself. Suddenly, I felt like I wasn't good enough.
The truth is...I'm not. Not yet. I recognize this and that's why I study and read and write regularly and nearly every piece I write is better than the last. I will get there. I wish I was there already is the thing that upsets me. My time will come. Yeah, I can keep spouting all the positive affirmations in the world to myself but the truth is...I'm ready for a yes. So I have to keep putting myself out there to create more opportunities for people to tell me yes.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Monday, February 25, 2008
The Britney Spears of Poetry
After reading this article that Ron Silliman linked to on his blog I am convinced that Edna St. Vincent Millay (whom I love) was the Britney Spears of her time. Dudes (like 2 of her lovers that I believe she had an orgy with) are working on Edna's biography and they have been working on it for like 30 years. There was mention in the article that she's got some nude photos that could be released in 2010. What!
Yeah and they talk about how after she fell off from the poetry scene and got hooked on morphine how she just let herself go. That's so Britney, Edna! Or I guess Britney is pulling an Edna because Edna was scandalous way before Britney's time.
I feel terrible for even saying any of this about Edna because I mean it when I say I love her. I memorized a sonnet of hers, my favorite lines that I can remember: "Well I have lost you and I lost you fairly, in my own way and with my consent" and "Had I loved you less or played you slyly/I might have held you for a summer more/but at the cost of words I value highly/and no such summer like the one before".
Oh...and Edna was down with the extra-marital affairs too. They really just put her business out there. Doesn't make her poetry any less well-crafted nor does it lessen the impact of her lines. It's just some juicy drama for Edna to rest in peace to, I guess.
Scandalous!
Yeah and they talk about how after she fell off from the poetry scene and got hooked on morphine how she just let herself go. That's so Britney, Edna! Or I guess Britney is pulling an Edna because Edna was scandalous way before Britney's time.
I feel terrible for even saying any of this about Edna because I mean it when I say I love her. I memorized a sonnet of hers, my favorite lines that I can remember: "Well I have lost you and I lost you fairly, in my own way and with my consent" and "Had I loved you less or played you slyly/I might have held you for a summer more/but at the cost of words I value highly/and no such summer like the one before".
Oh...and Edna was down with the extra-marital affairs too. They really just put her business out there. Doesn't make her poetry any less well-crafted nor does it lessen the impact of her lines. It's just some juicy drama for Edna to rest in peace to, I guess.
Scandalous!
What Would You Tell Them?
So I went ahead and accepted my guy friend's offer to be my man LOL After his response to the poem I shared with him, how could I not? So I told him I'm going to send him poems with questions everyday. I think it will be good for both of us. So here's how that went today:
I Go Back to May 1937
by Sharon Olds
I see them standing at the formal gates of their colleges,
I see my father strolling outunder the ochre sandstone arch, the
red tiles glinting like bent
plates of blood behind his head, I
see my mother with a few light books at her hip
standing at the pillar made of tiny bricks with the
wrought-iron gate still open behind her, its
sword-tips black in the May air,
they are about to graduate, they are about to get married,
they are kids, they are dumb, all they know is they are
innocent, they would never hurt anybody.
I want to go up to them and say Stop,
don’t do it—she’s the wrong woman,
he’s the wrong man, you are going to do things
you cannot imagine you would ever do,
you are going to do bad things to children,
you are going to suffer in ways you never heard of,
you are going to want to die. I want to go
up to them there in the late May sunlight and say it,
her hungry pretty blank face turning to me,
her pitiful beautiful untouched body,
his arrogant handsome blind face turning to me,
his pitiful beautiful untouched body,
but I don’t do it. I want to live. I
take them up like the male and female
paper dolls and bang them together
at the hips like chips of flint as if to
strike sparks from them, I say
Do what you are going to do, and I will tell about it.
--
My Question: if you could go back to the day your mother met your father, what would you say to them?
His answer:
I would tell them they aren’t right for each other.
I would let them know that the best thing for them is to keep moving and not look back.
I would tell my mother that life can be full of challenges.
I would tell her to join the Army and see the world.
I would tell her to invest her money, so she will never be without.
I would tell her to not have children too soon and burden herself.
I would tell her to love herself before she forgets how.
I would watch myself fade from existence.
--
I like that. It's very self-sacrificing. His mother's happiness and opportunities matter to him most....more than his own. See why I've allowed him to have me? LOL
I'm formulating a poetic response to my own question. Maybe that will be my evening writing. We shall see.
I Go Back to May 1937
by Sharon Olds
I see them standing at the formal gates of their colleges,
I see my father strolling outunder the ochre sandstone arch, the
red tiles glinting like bent
plates of blood behind his head, I
see my mother with a few light books at her hip
standing at the pillar made of tiny bricks with the
wrought-iron gate still open behind her, its
sword-tips black in the May air,
they are about to graduate, they are about to get married,
they are kids, they are dumb, all they know is they are
innocent, they would never hurt anybody.
I want to go up to them and say Stop,
don’t do it—she’s the wrong woman,
he’s the wrong man, you are going to do things
you cannot imagine you would ever do,
you are going to do bad things to children,
you are going to suffer in ways you never heard of,
you are going to want to die. I want to go
up to them there in the late May sunlight and say it,
her hungry pretty blank face turning to me,
her pitiful beautiful untouched body,
his arrogant handsome blind face turning to me,
his pitiful beautiful untouched body,
but I don’t do it. I want to live. I
take them up like the male and female
paper dolls and bang them together
at the hips like chips of flint as if to
strike sparks from them, I say
Do what you are going to do, and I will tell about it.
--
My Question: if you could go back to the day your mother met your father, what would you say to them?
His answer:
I would tell them they aren’t right for each other.
I would let them know that the best thing for them is to keep moving and not look back.
I would tell my mother that life can be full of challenges.
I would tell her to join the Army and see the world.
I would tell her to invest her money, so she will never be without.
I would tell her to not have children too soon and burden herself.
I would tell her to love herself before she forgets how.
I would watch myself fade from existence.
--
I like that. It's very self-sacrificing. His mother's happiness and opportunities matter to him most....more than his own. See why I've allowed him to have me? LOL
I'm formulating a poetic response to my own question. Maybe that will be my evening writing. We shall see.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Sharing Poems
So I have the luxury of having a guy friend who actually seems to enjoy discussing my poetry with me and well, poetry in general too, anyone's. So that's nice. So I figured I could be a poetry nerd with him and I sent him a poem from Claudia Emerson's Late Wife that I liked and I asked him this question along with it:
What would you do if you met me after my husband passed away and the dog that I'd shared with him died?
Here's the poem and then his response:
Old English
I buried the sheepdog for you, trying
to save you from that grief, dug through muscled
roots, past rain-wet earth to harder, drier
soil that did not cling, but scoured the shovel.
Even the expected, smaller death recalled
the other. I transplanted sedum from the garden
to mark the place and obscure it.
--Claudia Emerson
Oh...it seems like she started this poem off like a sonnet. There's a abab rhyme scheme and 10 syllable lines in the first stanza. Many of the other poems in that section of the book are sonnets. I'm guessing this was a complete sonnet that she revised down to this. I kinda wanna email her and ask her or something. Hmmm...maybe I'll wait and see if I can come up with more questions. That would be fun.
Okay so his response:
I would help you bury the dog before I brought a new puppy home. Anyone have a shovel? Time for new memories with the new man in your life.
What would you do if you met me after my husband passed away and the dog that I'd shared with him died?
Here's the poem and then his response:
Old English
I buried the sheepdog for you, trying
to save you from that grief, dug through muscled
roots, past rain-wet earth to harder, drier
soil that did not cling, but scoured the shovel.
Even the expected, smaller death recalled
the other. I transplanted sedum from the garden
to mark the place and obscure it.
--Claudia Emerson
Oh...it seems like she started this poem off like a sonnet. There's a abab rhyme scheme and 10 syllable lines in the first stanza. Many of the other poems in that section of the book are sonnets. I'm guessing this was a complete sonnet that she revised down to this. I kinda wanna email her and ask her or something. Hmmm...maybe I'll wait and see if I can come up with more questions. That would be fun.
Okay so his response:
I would help you bury the dog before I brought a new puppy home. Anyone have a shovel? Time for new memories with the new man in your life.
Thelma
Her daughters
wrapped their arms
around a melody first,
blankwordsforspacBirthed
cradled the song
against the softness
of their breasts,
blankwordsforspac like a child
infused the harmony
with the rhythm
of their heartbeats,
blankwordsforspacalive
nurtured a verse
into existence
like a newborn child,
blankwordsforspacbeaten and wailing
then ripped that song open
on its way past tongue and teeth,
exposed its truth in the open air,
blankwordsforspacshivering
so only the blood
of the music was left
dripping in affected ears.
blankwordsforspacwet and wriggling
Too many of her daughters
injected, snorted, or swallowed
a new truth for themselves
blankwordsforspachoping to return
and for their children; almost all of them,
now, as silent as shadows trembling
under tapping toes
blankwordsforspacto mother's gentle darkness
struggling to keep time.
wrapped their arms
around a melody first,
blankwordsforspacBirthed
cradled the song
against the softness
of their breasts,
blankwordsforspac like a child
infused the harmony
with the rhythm
of their heartbeats,
blankwordsforspacalive
nurtured a verse
into existence
like a newborn child,
blankwordsforspacbeaten and wailing
then ripped that song open
on its way past tongue and teeth,
exposed its truth in the open air,
blankwordsforspacshivering
so only the blood
of the music was left
dripping in affected ears.
blankwordsforspacwet and wriggling
Too many of her daughters
injected, snorted, or swallowed
a new truth for themselves
blankwordsforspachoping to return
and for their children; almost all of them,
now, as silent as shadows trembling
under tapping toes
blankwordsforspacto mother's gentle darkness
struggling to keep time.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
The Benefits of Rejection
I revised "The Rough Side". Everyone say hello to "Thelma"
Thelma
Her daughters
wrapped their arms
around a melody first,
cradled the song
against the softness
of their breasts,
infused the harmony
with the rhythm
of their heartbeats,
nurtured a verse
into existence
like a newborn child,
then ripped that song open
on its way past tongue and teeth,
exposed its truth in the open air,
so only the blood of the music was left
dripping in affected ears.
Too many of her daughters
injected, snorted, or swallowed
a new truth for themselves
and for their children; almost all of them,
now, as silent as shadows trembling
under tapping toes that struggle
to keep time.
Thelma
Her daughters
wrapped their arms
around a melody first,
cradled the song
against the softness
of their breasts,
infused the harmony
with the rhythm
of their heartbeats,
nurtured a verse
into existence
like a newborn child,
then ripped that song open
on its way past tongue and teeth,
exposed its truth in the open air,
so only the blood of the music was left
dripping in affected ears.
Too many of her daughters
injected, snorted, or swallowed
a new truth for themselves
and for their children; almost all of them,
now, as silent as shadows trembling
under tapping toes that struggle
to keep time.
Rejection: Haruah Breath of Heaven
So I was hoping to hear back on any of my submissions today and I did. It's a rejection but it was the best rejection ever!!! LOL See:
Greetings: Thank you for your submission of "The Rough Side" to Haruah: Breath of Heaven. We regret to inform you that we cannot use your submission at this time.
This response to you is automatically generated. However, it has been and continues to be our practice to share with our contributors parts of the discussion about their works that might help clarify our decision. What follows is/are excerpted from the editorial team's discussion. Each team member's remarks are separated by a row of asterisks. Also, following the last excerpt, there may be additional comments from the team member processing this correspondence.
Specific remarks about your submission:
*****I like what the poet is saying. Just needs a bit of work to pull it together.
*****The two lines about 'dying memories of those girls who used to sing' confused me at first and I had to read it a couple of times to gather the meaning. The image of 'girls dying' made no sense in the context of 'mothers giving birth' to a love of music in their children. Perhaps making clear that this is something that happens only when the women have grown old would have helped.
*****The uneven nature of the piece seems to come from where the lines are broken. IMO, line breaks can be used to separate ideas, to emphasize phrases, or to reveal layers of meaning. For example, I thought this worked well: "the way all of the women she birthed wrapped their arms around a melody first;" As a single sentence, the emphasis falls on "birthed", but breaking the line gives added emphasis to "melody". But in these three lines, the phrases get scattered, and I had troubling keeping a coherent thought. "cradled the song against the softness of their bosoms, infused it with the rhythm of their heartbeats; nurtured it like a newborn child," *****
-----
That was a pretty great critique and I'm so glad that they took the time (35 days isn't bad) to respond and so thoroughly. I'm actually a little touched. I recommend others submit here definitely. They have actually given me energy for the process of revising this poem.
So this is what it is to be a writer. I can handle this.
Greetings: Thank you for your submission of "The Rough Side" to Haruah: Breath of Heaven. We regret to inform you that we cannot use your submission at this time.
This response to you is automatically generated. However, it has been and continues to be our practice to share with our contributors parts of the discussion about their works that might help clarify our decision. What follows is/are excerpted from the editorial team's discussion. Each team member's remarks are separated by a row of asterisks. Also, following the last excerpt, there may be additional comments from the team member processing this correspondence.
Specific remarks about your submission:
*****I like what the poet is saying. Just needs a bit of work to pull it together.
*****The two lines about 'dying memories of those girls who used to sing' confused me at first and I had to read it a couple of times to gather the meaning. The image of 'girls dying' made no sense in the context of 'mothers giving birth' to a love of music in their children. Perhaps making clear that this is something that happens only when the women have grown old would have helped.
*****The uneven nature of the piece seems to come from where the lines are broken. IMO, line breaks can be used to separate ideas, to emphasize phrases, or to reveal layers of meaning. For example, I thought this worked well: "the way all of the women she birthed wrapped their arms around a melody first;" As a single sentence, the emphasis falls on "birthed", but breaking the line gives added emphasis to "melody". But in these three lines, the phrases get scattered, and I had troubling keeping a coherent thought. "cradled the song against the softness of their bosoms, infused it with the rhythm of their heartbeats; nurtured it like a newborn child," *****
-----
That was a pretty great critique and I'm so glad that they took the time (35 days isn't bad) to respond and so thoroughly. I'm actually a little touched. I recommend others submit here definitely. They have actually given me energy for the process of revising this poem.
So this is what it is to be a writer. I can handle this.
Obsessions
I am obsessed with acceptance. I am on the lookout for anywhere that will say "YES!" to even one of my poems. I have some pieces that have been submitted for over a month and I'm ready for some word!
I am obsessed with mfa acceptances/rejections. I'm not even eligible to apply to MFAs until the end of this year! LOL I like going to message boards and blogs and reading about how the applicants are feeling. There are some posters who are more vocal whom I can't wait to see if they get into the programs they want.
I am obsessed with poet's blogs. Seriously I spend hours on the internet just reading the blogs of poets who are trying to do the same things that I am doing.
I'm obsessed with this line from Major Jackson's "Urban Renewal iii": "You are almost invisible in all this plain decay." Last night I memorized the entire poem because of that one line. I decided that when anxiety tries to get the best of me, I am going to focus my attention on memorizing a poem. It worked last night. Next I plan on memorizing Claudia Emerson's "Artifact".
I've decided to make this my actual blog instead of just a submission thing. I'll still track my submissions but I'll let loose about other things here too.
I am obsessed with mfa acceptances/rejections. I'm not even eligible to apply to MFAs until the end of this year! LOL I like going to message boards and blogs and reading about how the applicants are feeling. There are some posters who are more vocal whom I can't wait to see if they get into the programs they want.
I am obsessed with poet's blogs. Seriously I spend hours on the internet just reading the blogs of poets who are trying to do the same things that I am doing.
I'm obsessed with this line from Major Jackson's "Urban Renewal iii": "You are almost invisible in all this plain decay." Last night I memorized the entire poem because of that one line. I decided that when anxiety tries to get the best of me, I am going to focus my attention on memorizing a poem. It worked last night. Next I plan on memorizing Claudia Emerson's "Artifact".
I've decided to make this my actual blog instead of just a submission thing. I'll still track my submissions but I'll let loose about other things here too.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Submission: New York Summer Writer's Institute
My poetry professor nominated me for a scholarship here. So I sent off my writing sample this week, of course with high hopes of getting one of 10 scholarships. My sights are always set so high LOL... we shall see!
Submission: Perigee
I actually entered a poetry contest for this online journal a few years ago. Of course i didn't win or anything. But I was really impressed with this journal the first time I read it because the poetry in that issue I read made me say to myself, "wow, a poem can do that?"
So yeah...this submission means something. We shall see.
So yeah...this submission means something. We shall see.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
I said that (below) and now I'll say this.
I'm working on a full-length manuscript of great poems. I think I have an awesome theme and concept. I think it's something new and refreshing and also slightly disturbing. I'm committed to this and I will have 48 complete poems that will be published.
I've got 11 poems written so far. Most have been work-shopped and most of them are in rotation trying to make their own lives in journals before they come together for the collection. I have to keep going!
I've got 11 poems written so far. Most have been work-shopped and most of them are in rotation trying to make their own lives in journals before they come together for the collection. I have to keep going!
I don't write enough.
That's my confession and I promise to change. I only write 1 maybe 2 poems a week and that's just not enough with the amount of time I've been gifted with. I promise to change.
That is all.
That is all.
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Submission: Dylan Days Creative Writing Contest
Funny story...I wasn't sure who Bob Dylan was and I hadn't heard of this contest before tonight. But on Wednesday a girl in my poetry class commented that she liked my poems and just wanted to follow me around like Bob Dylan. I love her lol! Anyway...I saw a listing for this contest after that and I decided to shout "Serendipity!" and enter away. We shall see!
Submission: North Central Review
Another undergrad lit journal submission. Something HAS to come through! I know it will...
Submission: Rougarou
I submitted 3 pieces to this journal for the University of Louisiana, Lafayette. We shall see!
Friday, February 8, 2008
Submission: Binnacle Ultra-Short Competition
I just submitted a sonnet I just revised to this competition for the University of Maine's journal. We shall see!
Submission: Ode Anthology
My most wonderful poetry professor gave me a letter she received from one of her colleagues requesting poetry submissions. She really liked an ode I wrote for class and said I should submit and use her name. I just sent off the submission via email to C&R Press. We shall see!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
