This week's blog is based on chapter 26 of Poem Crazy. Frank created his acrostic poem as a representation of himself, and just like Frank I want you to create your own acrostic poem of yourself. Remember you are dynamic and should represent all sides of yourself just like Frank.
Last week we read and watched some different response poems. This week I would like you to find a poem you like or that inspires you. Post a copy of the poem here in your blog along with the poem that you wrote inspired by the poem you have chosen.
I love WIF poems I think there is something beautiful and magical in examining our pasts, presents and futures. I also have to admit, I love genealogy and a good story and most WIF poems combine the two exquisitely. I also think like we saw in the Poem Crazy chapter 17 sometimes where we truly are from may not be the place we were born. Sometimes there are older stories calling us from the past and that is where we truly come from. They are windows to our souls and they are maps of our journey in life. Open the corridors of your mind and just explore. Remember you are you and this poem is you and let it come and reflect you; of course you are the expert on you and so it should encompass it all. Your blog assignment this week is to create your own WIF poem. You can use the model from Poem Crazy, you can use Georgia Lyon's poem, Willie Perdomo's or Kelly Norman Ellis' poem as templates, or create your own. Pick whatever style you like but truly create something that tells us your story and where you are from.
Where I'm From
George Ella Lyons
I am from clothespins,
from Clorox and carbon-tetrachloride.
I am from the dirt under the back porch.
(Black, glistening,
it tasted like beets.)
I am from the forsythia bush
the Dutch elm
whose long-gone limbs I remember
as if they were my own.
I'm from fudge and eyeglasses,
from Imogene and Alafair.
I'm from the know-it-alls
and the pass-it-ons,
from Perk up! and Pipe down!
I'm from He restoreth my soul
with a cottonball lamb
and ten verses I can say myself.
I'm from Artemus and Billie's Branch,
fried corn and strong coffee.
From the finger my grandfather lost
to the auger,
the eye my father shut to keep his sight.
Under my bed was a dress box
spilling old pictures,
a sift of lost faces
to drift beneath my dreams.
I am from those moments--
snapped before I budded --
leaf-fall from the family tree.
Raised by Women
I was raised by
Chitterling eating
Vegetarian cooking
Cornbread so good you want to lay
down and die baking
"Go on baby, get yo’self a plate"
Kind of Women.
Some thick haired
Angela Davis afro styling
"Girl, lay back
and let me scratch yo head"
Sorta Women.
Some big legged
High yellow, mocha brown
Hip shaking
Miniskirt wearing
Hip huggers hugging
Daring debutantes
Groovin
"I know I look good"
Type of Women.
Some tea sipping
White glove wearing
Got married too soon
Divorced
in just the nick of time
"Better say yes ma’am to me"
Type of sisters.
Some fingerpopping
Boogaloo dancing
Say it loud
I’m black and I’m proud
James Brown listening
"Go on girl shake that thing"
Kind of Sisters.
Some face slapping
Hands on hips
"Don't mess with me,
Pack your bags and
get the hell out of my house"
Sorta women
Some PhD toten
Poetry writing
Portrait painting
"I'll see you in court"
World traveling
Stand back, I'm creating
Type of queens
I was raised by women
Kelly Norman Elllis
Where I’m From
by Willie Perdomo
Because she liked the “kind of music” that I listened to and she liked the way I walked as well as the way I talked, she always wanted to know where I was from.
If I said that I was from 110th Street and Lexington Avenue, right in the heart of a transported Puerto Rican town, where the hodedores live and night turns to day without sleep, do you think then she might know where I was from?
Where I’m from, Puerto Rico stays on our minds when the fresh breeze of café con leche y pan con montequilla comes through our half‐open windows and under our doors while the sun starts to rise.
Where I’m from, babies fall asleep to the bark of a German Shepherd named Tarzan. We hear his wandering footsteps under a midnight sun. Tarzan has learned quickly to ignore the woman who begs her man to stop slapping her with his fist. “Please baby! Por favor! I swear it wasn’t me. I swear to my mother. Mameeee!!” (her dead mother told her this would happen one day.)
Where I’m from, Independence Day is celebrated every day. The final gunshot from last night’s murder is followed by the officious knock of a warrant squad coming to take your bread, coffee, and freedom away.
Where I’m from, the police come into your house without knocking. They throw us off rooftops and say we slipped. They shoot my father and say he was crazy. They put a bullet in my head and say they found me that way.
Where I’m from, you run to the hospital emergency room because some little boy spit a razor out of his mouth and carved a crescent into your face. But you have to understand, where I’m from even the dead have to wait until their number is called.
Where I’m from, you can listen to Big Daddy retelling stories on his corner. He passes a pint of light Bacardi, pouring the dead’s tributary swig unto the street. “I’m God when I put a gun to your head. I’m the judge and you in my courtroom.”
Where I’m from, it’s the late night scratch of rats’ feet that explains what my mother means when she says slowly, “Bueno, mijo, eso es la vida del pobre.” (Well, son, that is the life of the poor.)
Where I’m from, it’s sweet like my grandmother reciting a quick prayer over a pot of hot rice and beans.
Where I’m from, it’s pretty like my niece stopping me in the middle of the street and telling me to notice all the stars in the sky.
“We must not allow the clock and the calendar to blind us to the fact that each moment of life is a miracle and mystery.”
― H.G. Wells
I love this quote from H.G.Wells; it always makes me think of the ordinary magic celebrations in Poem Crazy and all the ideas we have been reading. I love the relation of things in new and unexpected ways, and the idea that if we are open to all of the life that is around us we can live in a constant state of amazement. As I journal and write this I am drawn to thinking of Lewis Carroll and Alice in Wonderland, so much of our life has to do with perspective. We can see things one way, and if we wait a moment and cock our head slightly we can see it in a whole new way. Life is a miracle and a mystery; so much to explore and experience. So many tiny celebrations to create throughout each day! So don't waste a minute...get busy and blog about the celebration you created from practice 12 or the poem you created inspired by your celebration.
This week I would like you to read or listen to a bit of news. Things that are happening in our world, our country, our state, our county, our town etc. Then in response to what you have read or seen, I would like you to write a poem.
On your blog I would like you to post the poem and the event which inspired you to write the particular poem.
Below is an example of a poem written about the Paris bombings by Karuna Ezara Parikh and was shared on Instagram, Twitter and Facebook.
I love art...I am jealous of all who can create it! Some of my greatest memories are of spending time communing with great art. While in the South of France I visited Matisse's studio/gallery...while in Amsterdam I had the pleasure of seeing the Cezanne exhibit, and another time a Van Gogh one...great art speaks to my soul. I loved afternoons at the National...their postcards section is phenomenal and an afternoon with Van Gogh's sunflowers...well they are my favorite flower.☺ The Espace Dali and The Louvre were wonderful...but a dream would be to someday go to the Dali Theatre in Catalonia....for now I dream and collect my postcards and imagine the scenes.... what are the stories? It was a game my grandmother and I would play when I was very young creating the stories for the paintings...what was it that Blue Boy was off to do and I often would set them up with lovers as well, his was the lovely Pinkie, how could they not be a couple I had told her as we meandering and absorbed the beauty.
It was truly kismet that her husband had the same painting as she. I have always collected art postcards they are the next best thing to the original for me.☺ I love that image and imagination come from the Latin word "imago", carrying feeling. I think the images like the poems can put us in touch with our own feelings, and even unexpected feelings."
Your practice assignment from chapter six was to find an image you like. You can polish that poem or try finding another piece of art... there are so many on the internet and create a poem. Post the image and polish the poem for publication this week on your blog.
I loved this chapter! It was wonderful when she discovered the boy she was dating was e.e. cummings' s grandson. It was also extremely tragic. A little more on e.e. cummings if you are interested.
I think what I liked best about this chapter of poem crazy was the idea that, "Some of our most important discoveries are made when we're not looking." This is such an important idea...to notice things and yet not force them, it is when we allow the natural flow to envelope us that we discover the greatest joys.
So most of you have already done the first assignment from this chapter, finding the an e.e. cummings's poems to share, and hopefully begun doing the rest of the practices.
1. Let a poem write itself as your pen writes itself... try breaking up words... lul
la
by
2. Draw your name using colored pencils...have fun with it!
3. Turn over a stone...describe what you see? Anything unexpected?
4. Notice three new things and write them down. They can be about a face or something else that is extremely familiar to you, maybe a stuffed animal or pet.
5. Write a series of images without stopping.
6. Give an idea a color. Example: purple peace.
Have fun and play with words!!!!
Your assignment for this week's blog will be to use e.e. cummings, who is know for playing with syntax, structure and grammar in his poetry, and your practice as inspiration, create a poem that plays with words, structure and syntax. REMEMBER HAVE FUN, be unexpected.
This blog will be due next Tuesday.
Last week we read and watched some different response poems. This week I would like you to find a poem you like or that inspires you. Post a copy of the poem here in your blog along with the poem that you wrote inspired by the poem you have chosen.
I love art...I am jealous of all who can create it! Some of my greatest memories are of spending time communing with great art. While in the South of France I visited Matisse's studio/gallery...while in Amsterdam I had the pleasure of seeing the Cezanne exhibit, and another time a Van Gogh one...great art speaks to my soul. I loved afternoons at the National...their postcards section is phenomenal and an afternoon with Van Gogh's sunflowers...well they are my favorite flower.☺ The Espace Dali and The Louvre were wonderful...but a dream would be to someday go to the Dali Theatre in Catalonia....for now I dream and collect my postcards and imagine the scenes.... what are the stories? It was a game my grandmother and I would play when I was very young creating the stories for the paintings...what was it that Blue Boy was off to do and I often would set them up with lovers as well, his was the lovely Pinkie, how could they not be a couple I had told her as we meandering and absorbed the beauty.
