Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts

24.4.11

Easter

No poem today
on Easter.

At least not so far.
I'm staying with my seester.

– Felix Morgenstern

Posted for NaPoWriMo day 24. The task would have been to "write a bouts-rimes. The bouts-rimes is a sort of poetic parlor game: you write a poem using the rhyming end words from another poem. They’re usually done with sonnets in English. So today I challenge you to write a bouts-rimes sonnet, using the end words from either K. Silem Mohammad’s poem You White White Teatime Teen, which was itself constructed anagrammatically from Shakespeare’s Sonnet VI, or from Robert Frost’s The Silken Tent. So your end words are either:
rage, doom, age, tomb, sighs, breast, thighs, west, mad, blues, plaid, shoes, fail, mail
or
tent, breeze, relent, ease, pole, heavenward, soul, cord, bound, thought, round, taught, air, aware."
This did not inspire me at all. I read both poems quickly, but neither did anything for me.
As the above silly ditty says, I was at my sister's place in the country for Easter, and I only had time to go online briefly in the morning.

PS: The following transpired after all...

Sonnet written in an hour of poetic darkness

As after midnight I rage,
I feel only doom,
and my age
appears close to the tomb.

Thick sighs
alight from my breast,
not thighs,
you idiot off there in the west.

Call me mad,
give me the blues,
wear preppy plaid,
step on my shoes –

whatever you do, you'll definitely fail
to get any more of my mail.

21.4.11

A shining

Today you will concentrate on your inner life
(rather than celebrating your outer life),

and you will be celebrating the beauty
that lies in the small, cosmic kernel of life

that is inside you. You will once again
feel the power and flow of inner life

into the world surrounding you, as you
go to work on your inner and outer life.

– Iself (© 2011)

Ghazal written for NaPoWriMo day 21.
Maybe a bit heavy on the inner/outer life stuff and in general, and pale with abstraction, but so be it.
Brought about partially by my daily horoscope, which said, “The day ahead should be a pleasant one, Iself. For the next few days your inner life will interest you more than usual. You may not necessarily become a psychoanalyst, but you will be tempted to seek insight into some of life's more profound motivations. In fact, you become a fervent truth-seeker in all areas of your life. It could be an especially valuable opportunity to learn why you feel so shy and inhibited in public. Perhaps this way you can overcome it.”

20.4.11

Celebrity spotlight & other exiles

For you

“Everything that happens is for the best,”
you said on the way from work last week,
and when I read “I thought of you
with the passion of exile”* this morning
while taking the day's initial piss this
was therefore probably also for the best,
as well as reading my horoscope,
which was asking me if I'd thought
of living in another country, preferably
one where the action is in my field,
instead of going dry in the desert.
Add to that the advertisement for
Catherine Zeta Jones' treatise on a
disorder that is “characterized by
high and low moods” and the
recognition that I also must have
this, except that I used to think
it was fairly normal, it all falls
into place, don't it. Sometimes
I have an inkling that I need to take
life in my own hands instead of
standing by and letting it happen.
But what could I do, about you,
for example, other than exile myself?
“Everything that happens is for
the worst,” it could also be said,
because you can't really tell
the best from the worst, can you,
once it’s happened.

– Iself (© 2011)

Written for NaPoWriMo day 20 along the lines of “Today’s challenge is to write a poem inspired by something you’ve overheard.”
*I've slightly misquoted this. In The Return of the Soldier by Rebecca West, a novel from 1918 which I've been reading for the last two weeks, it actually says “I thought of him with the passion of exile.”
And the title, where did that come from? From this:

19.4.11

Rouge

She was a metaphor of rouge. Not only did she eat lots
of beets – “iron, you know” – but also felt like this
warm, creamy, beety mass: rouge. Rouge bra, rouge
stockings, rouge pubic hair, rouge curlers, rouge heart,
rouge lungs growing and deflating, rouge earlobes,
rouge soles – “pet me” – rouge milk, rouge Camaro, rouge
grass, rouge dogs, no rouge spiders, rouge smoky kiss
from rouge lips ...

– Johannes Beilharz (© 1981)

Posted for NaPoWriMo day 19. The task was “Pick a color – something you like, something important to you. Red, yellow, whatever. Now, write a poem that uses the color in every or nearly ever line: a hypnotic invocation of the color.” This made me immediately think of the above poem from way back when.

Made known to Writer's Island as usual. Three big cheers to Writer's Island for hosting NaPoWriMo.

16.4.11

Haikuode

to the liquid which
pounces down on us, drenching
to the very bone.

– Iself (© 2011)

Written for NaPoWriMo on day 16. Today, the task was to "celebrate that yin yang quality – the eternal twinning of opposites by doing one of the following: write a poem in the form of a complaint about something that is good or you like, or in the form of a hymn to something that is bad or that you dislike. A rant about blue skies, an encomium to rainy days. A curt dismissal of strawberries or beach vacations; a paean to Brussels sprouts, or waiting rooms."
Well, each of these ideas could have set off my creative forces, but rain was first – so there!
Not to worry, though; I'll probably rant about strawberries on the beach very soon.

15.4.11

Laura and Petrarch

A dissonant character sonnet

Deprive him of thrive,
the rugged barbarian,
let her be more alive,
the tender vegetarian.

Let him moan
frustration from shore to shore,
let her groan
with a need for more.

Let him become a little listless,
isolated on a remote isle,
let her develop some bristles
to make him walk the extra mile.

Let those deeds all be done
and soon they’ll be one.

– Felix Morgenstern (© 2011)

For day 15 of NaPoWriMo, the task was to write a sonnet. Well, here is mine, with claptrap rhyme and full of helpful suggestions for an ancient couple.

Since I was asked: The rhyme scheme used here follows the Shakespearean or English sonnet, while the meter does not.

14.4.11

Five minutes for no-one

It's grey out there,
and that nicely
coincides with the grey
zone inside me.
It's been a lot like that
after waking up,
it takes me time
to again slip into the world
after the absence of sleep,
the tie to another world,
which seems to have
become rather dull
as I mostly don't dream
any more. I used to
write for someone,
but even that has stopped.
I might drive to work
with her in half an hour,
but not even that
has been decided.
We are that spontaneous.
So let this be a
spontaneous day –
hey, I've got enough
hair on my head
to pull myself
out of the grey.

– Iself (© 2011)

Written for day 14 of NaPoWriMo in about 5 minutes, as suggested.

13.4.11

Big, square and

Big,
square,
black and
floppy. Stuck
in a big toaster-
like thing that made grinding noises.

– Iself

Written for NaPoWriMo day 13 on the subject of nostalgia. Can there be nostalgia for 8-inch floppy disks? I suppose there can be, as this fibonacci proclaims.

12.4.11

Blues in D

Woke up
this morning,
had to clean
the place
before leaving
for work
so the cleaning
lady would have
a clean slate
to work from,
raced through
the joint
to remove
scattered
items of clothing
and make
piles of scattered
papers neater,
started the PC
to find that
someone
wants me
to translate
a 30-line poem
into Spanish,
and how much
would that cost,
well it's a good
question,
the question of
being poetic
in Spanish,
I felt like giving
in sight unseen
and for a price
you can't refuse,
hoping the poem
would have a lot of
blood-red corazones
in it.

– Iself (© 2011)

Written for NaPoWriMo day 12. The task was to write a 40-line poem in a single sentence, possibly something sounding a bit Victorian. Well, this one ended up sounding more Berrigansian than Victorian, but so be it. The title came last, and out of nowhere. But wait – isn't it the title of somebody's* song?

*It is indeed ... "Blues in D" by Kate and Anna McGarrigle, performed here by Nick Cave and Jenni Muldauer:

11.4.11

The picture of little J.B. in a prospect of machinery

An orange disk shines a beam on a shred of past –
exposing the new sawmill being set up after 1960's fire,
exposing the boss’ little boy.

Is he a nuisance in the way of the workers there?
He’s around 4 or 5,
he watches and interacts,
not always fully comprehending,
not always being able to separate joke and reality.

One day he stands with his back to the gap surrounding the big saw,
a bit too close, takes one step back,
and whoosh goes down his first big flight
onto a springy bed of sawdust,
with the grown men scrambling down there
to see if he’s alive, if he’s all right.

He is all right, he’s still alive, he holds the memory
and now switches off the beam.

– Iself (© 2011)

A straight, artless mirror image of John Ashbery’s The picture of little J.A. in a prospect of flowers for NaPoWriMo day 11.

10.4.11

Holly, it’s folly

Oh what another winner hath landed Holly!
The best thing about him is that he’s jolly.
He ogles young women voraciously
and slurps his coffee rapaciously.
His looks betray that he’s five times your age,
dear Holly, and it takes no sage
to figure out
that he buys his clothes at McDowd.
Those thick, froggy-eyed specs
imply there won't be much sex.
In short, my angel, between you and me,
you are, as usual, barking up the wrong tree.

– Felix Morgenstern (© 2011)

Written for day 10 of NaPoWriMo.
Today, the idea was to “try to write a poem backwards. I don’t mean letter by letter, or word by word, but line by line. Start by writing out an old saying that takes the form of a declarative statement. Like “Birds of a feather flock together,” or “A miss is as good as a mile.” That will be the last line of your poem. The next line you write will be the second-to-last, and so on, until you reach the “beginning.” To help you keep your focus, let’s say that the poem has to be an address to someone or something that can’t answer back – a person who is absent, or an animal or inanimate object.”
I followed the rules ... well, more or less. I did indeed choose the final saying first. As to the rest, I kept writing new lines and rearranging them to such an extent that I no longer remember what initially was first, second, third, etc.
The address is definitely to someone who is absent – apart from the name, nothing is said about Holly, even though it's clear that she seems to have a serious case of bad judgement.

9.4.11

Malcolm writes

to avoid seeing Marjorie in person as her condition might be contagious:

“Yesterday you wrote in your letter
that you are sick and not feeling better.

I hope this reply with pickle and lime
will give you a much better time.

In the event that this does not work,
I advise you to go see that jerk

down the street who calls himself healer.
He’ll give you a paper for the dealer

of sweet mint-flavored pills
that for sure will cure all your ills.”

– Felix Morgenstern (© 2011)

Written for NaPoWriMo day 9 in response to this: “... today you are encouraged to write a nursery rhyme. 4 to 6 lines, 3-5 accented syllables per line (don’t worry about making them iambs or dactyls or what…as long as your lines are short), and of course, a rhyme or two.”

8.4.11

As if you'd won the lottery

Don't stand there with that shit-eating grin on your face,
my dear, as if you'd just won the red noise prize.

Let me tell you that a fruit's a fruit and a tart's a tart,
and that Annabelle – well, suffice it to say

that I knew her in school, and all to well.
If you know what I mean.

So don't you feed me that 'J'en sais rien' line.
I seen the two of you parked in my car,

and it was rocking.

– Iself (© 2011)

Written for day 8 of NaPoWriMo.

This was written in response to:
"Today’s prompt is a bit of a smorgasbord, and reflects the fact that we are at day seven. It asks you to write a poem with seven different phrases, ideas, or just plain old “things” in it. These are:
1) an example of synasthetic metaphor — one that describes one sensory perception using adjectives more naturally suited to a different sense (e.g., “a red noise,” or a “a bitter touch”)
2) a fruit
3) the name (first or last) of someone you knew in school
4) a rhetorical question
5) a direct address to the poem’s audience — “Reader” or “mom” or “Michelle,” or maybe just “You”)
6) a word in a foreign language
7) a reference to a game of chance (darts or pool or the lottery or etc).
All of these may seem pretty disjointed, and indeed, they’re meant to be. But these kind of little “projects” can work wonders in keeping a poem both lively and concrete, instead of letting it wander off into a forest of abstractions)."

7.4.11

The Matapedia

What is it?
A road somewhere in Canada?

Shreds from a song
to form an inaccurate picture

"And we raced the Matapedia –
and we were not afraid"

But there is also an unexpected meeting
with room for ample speculation

"He said, 'Oh my God, it's Kate!'
'No, I'm the daughter of Kate.
My name is Martha.
Who are you?
Ma never told me about you.'"

And on they race the Matapedia,
with minutes to spare.

I imagine to board a ferry –
a ferry to somewhere or nowhere.

– Iself (© 2011)

Written for NaPoWrimo day 7 in response to the following: "Today’s prompt is one of musical ekphrasis. Ekphrastic poetry comments upon or is inspired by another work of art in a different medium. Most people think of it as a poem inspired by a painting or a sculpture. But it could also be music!"

Lest this remain too cryptic...
As pointed out by vivinfrance in her comment, the Matapedia is a river in Québec, Canada. I still think, however, that the song by Kate and Anna McGarrigle on the album of the same name I'm alluding to must refer to a road running along the river, but I could be wrong. I would assume that the Kate and Martha characters mentioned in the song are Kate McGarrigle and her daughter Martha Wainwright.

Here's a link to the song on Youtube:

6.4.11

I could feel

I could feel
some melodic drowning
coming on today
with horrid greatness.

With horrid greatness
I could feel
some melodic drowning
coming on today.

– Iself

It's all about oxymorons today, this 6th day of NaPoWriMo, and the ones I used were generated by the Serendipitous Oxymoron Maker at the very first try. And I didn't even need to consult the horoscope today ... it was all right there with horrid greatness ... that melodic drowning, or at least some of it. Beware, oh moron, of oxys.

5.4.11

The 2011 Francisco Cabrera Revolution


We almost missed the revolution.
– Paul Hughes
In a nightmarish café
(garish, gaudy lights,
smoke twirls, drone,
laughter, cackling)
in which I'd long given up
trying to listen to anyone
in particular, somebody
raised a glass and shouted
above the din, "Long live
the revolution!"

All I remember after that
is feeling guilty about not
knowing which revolution
this was about. But I did
not dare ask for fear of
appearing uninformed.

Which I am, about most
revolutions nowadays.

– Iself (© 2011)

Written for NaPoWriMo day 5.

The challenge today was to take another participant's poem and riff off of it. The one I riffed off of was one by Paul Hughes titled subway talk part ii (to be read here).

3.4.11

Freewheeling

For L.

"There are three fields I work in,"
she said, "performance, video
and drawing." (Her father prompted
with proper suggestions to go on.)

"The performances are exhausting;
they all have to do with ropes,
climbing and descent. I'm not sure
whether they are Apollinian or

Dionysian, something else I have
been interested in. In one, I cut
a bowling alley in half, making holes
in the walls left and right at about

half height to hold the rings
for my rope. I went along towards
my audience, it was both strenuous
and exhilarating. Sometimes

I caught myself wanting to laugh:
what were all these people doing,
watching me with serious eyes
as I went along." Her father prompted,

"And one of your videos was..."
"... dancing along an ugly street
in funny yellow pants. I did many
iterations of this, varying my steps,

arm movements and behavior.
A friend of mine did the filming.
Mostly the people seemed per-
plexed, not knowing what to think

of this crazy person doing this,
making way, moving aside. Not
stopping." "Is there any money
in this?" somebody asked.

"In the videos? – I suppose
they could be sold. Or the drawings
I do – that's my third field
of activity." "And how do you

do them?" her father prompted.
"I make myself rules, I restrict
myself. One drawing might be
only boxes, for example, in only

five colors, but with other rules,
to increase complexity." "And
these you would sell, there is
a market for that?" her father said.

"There is a market, and, once
it has found you, it wants you
to repeat yourself. I could become
the colored box lady,

or the rope performer, or
the hip-hop dancer of dreary
streets, both Apollinian and
Dionysian." Thus ended Lou,

to soon perform an acte
morpheusien for a change.

– Iself (© 2011)

A freewheeling act for NaPoWriMo #3, concocted fresh from the lips of Lou herself last night.

2.4.11

Poems and antipoems

I’m surrounded by books,
many of which I haven’t looked at in years.

Not even been aware of.
They stand there not making a peep,
even the Long Talking Bad Conditions Blues.

How funny to note books owned
for decades with renewed surprise.

In the case of Nicanor Parra
I remember a conversation with Paula and Eduardo
from earlier this year about the great Chilean poets,
during which I quoted from Violeta Parra’s
Cueca de los poetas:

    Pero el más gallo se llama
    Pablo Neruda
    Huifa ay ay.

...

    Corre que ya te agarra
    Nicanor Parra.

But the shelves I’m looking at
also carry more pedestrian stuff,
like the Dictionary of Legal,
Commercial and Political Terms
.

Now that one I’ve touched more
often than the antipoems or
condition blues because I need it
for a living. Even though the poor
thing has been mostly superseded
by online sources as many
of its brothers in shelf.

Today I declare the still life
blues day for printed outdated
dictionaries, poems and antipoems
online and shelved.

– Iself (© 2011)

NaPoWriMo 2011 #2

Written upon inspiration by this (at NaPoWriMo):
"Write a poem that incorporates the titles of three books you have in your house."
The books are:
Nicanor Parra, Poems and Antipoems
Ronald Sukenick*, Long Talking Bad Conditions Blues
Dietl/Moss/Lorenz, Dictionary of Legal, Commercial and Political Terms
Singer, song writer, writer and artist Violeta Para (1917-1967) was Nicanor Parra's sister.

*Ron Sukenick (1932-2004) was one of my teachers at the University of Colorado.

19.3.11

The Red Wheelbarrow

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.

– William Carlos Williams

Deutsche Übertragung

17.10.10

City puzzle

Stuttgart, Germany, 21st century

The game appears to be
to create the maximum number
of simultaneous holes in the
ground, marked by white-red
striped accident prevention
contraptions.

                     These holes
form the puzzle. Now to
connect them and get wise
to the great scheme behind
them all...

– Johannes Beilharz (© 2010)

My small tribute to the construction frenzy rampant in this city. Most likely, the authorities are attempting to prepare us for the mother of all constructions – Stuttgart 21 – bound to turn the city into one coherent construction mess for about ten years.