YAWB – Yet Another Writing Blog

Conflicted
or
Response to a Reading by Joy Harjo
at
The National Museum of the Native American, Wash. D.C.

I know
Native blood flows
through my veins, my arteries
through my bones, my liver
through my lungs, my kidneys
through my heart.
I hear
red hands pound
on the drums of my ears
late in the night.
I hear
voices of sorrow
keen in my mind
on the wind of mountains.
I hear
Mother’s Father’s Mother’s
people cry out dirges
on the marches in the snows.
I hear
Father’s Ancestors
crack fire-sticks
creak leather saddles
as they rise to stand
in their stirrups.
I see
every day in the mirror
the structure of my face
my raven hair
and the blood-red of my beard
that smothers high cheekbones
I cry
to myself:
I am
sorry.

“From now on, ending a sentence with a preposition is something up with which I will not put.”
-Winston Churchill

cricket, cricket

No, seriously, I laughed out loud at this.

what’s wrong with me?

only an english major…

A list of things I bought at Borders today

70$

1- 2006 Moleskine Weekly Planner (they should do these by school year)
2- (3) Moleskine cahiers (journals)
3- Absolution Gap by Alastair Reynolds
4- The November(?) issue of Analog
5- The American Short Story – a collection of American authors, from Irving to Faulkner to Hemingway, and etc. ($8!!!)
6- Sep/Oct issue of Writers’ Journal
7- Fall ’05 issue of Zoetrope All-Story
8- Oct issue of the Writer
9- The Atlantic Fiction Issue 2005
10- (4) uni-ball Roller Grip Pens, .5mm, black

How I am going to spend my time for the next months, while not studying and instead of pining away for love that won’t happen.

Priceless

This is a very rough draft of a poem I’m working on for my workshop. The plan is to allow readers (that’s you) to follow the revision processes I go through. Each new version will be posted, along with comments as to what changed, and why. I hope this will be enlightening and interesting.

Also, it should be pointed out that the assignment was to construct a poem entirely of nouns, with no adverbs/adjectives/verbs in the poem. This is hard to do, and still make the result a workable poem. For published examples, see Inside by Kim Addonizio and Flame by C D Wright. Both are impressive in how much they manage to convey, in imagery and meaning, using only nouns. I hope this one can be nearly as good.

You’ll notice that I’ve already posted two versions. The first is the newer, and most of the changes were made in the original composing of the poem.

Meet, Date, Time, Sex

Rev.1
Meet

hair
eyes
lips
nose
hand
fingernails
skirt
legs
sandles
toes
smile

Date

candle
knife
fork
plate
merlot
chocolate
espresso
hug
lips
cheek
smile

Time

call
day
call
call
date
call
week
date
month
dates
smile

Sex

hair
eyes
lips
neck
lavender
silk
nipple
silk
lips
sweat
smile

—In the second stanza I added some words (knife, fork, plate) and added specific details (merlot vs wine, espresso vs coffee) both to make the poem more consistent, and to try to create those images of specific things. In a poem this spare, details and images are extremely important. Also important is a consistent rhythm, meter is hard to achieve, but the rhythm is going to be something I focus on in this poem.
—The third stanza changed almost completely. Compared to the original, it conveys much better the passage of time, and the amount of interaction. I’m worried that it only implies a month and change has passed, as I’d like it to convey more than that. Also, smile at the end makes it consistent with the other three stanzas.

+++++++++

Original
Meet

hair
eyes
lips
nose
hand
fingernails
skirt
legs
sandles
toes
smile

Date

candle
wine
chocolate
coffee
hug
kiss
cheek
smile

Time

day
call
day
day
date
call
call
day
call
week
date

Sex

hair
eyes
lips
neck
lavender
silk
nipple
silk
lips
sweat
smile

++++++++++++

The reader may also want to know where this came from, I guess. Welllll…. one of the exercises we start the class out with is a wordlist. Not just any word list, though.
We were to come up with 10 words for each of the five senses. Specific words (nouns) that for us applied to that sense. par example: my words for smell are sawdust, neck, baby powder, lavender, blood, pie, iron, contradiction, sweat, electricity. Also, 10 words that brought to mind motion, 7 other words (that we like the sound of, or don’t really fit, etc) and 3 absractions (love, hate, justice, peace, etc). Every word in the fourth stanza is on my list. This gave me a subject (I was a little preoccupied, okay?) and something to write to, which really helps me get going. Basically, it was, “Gee this part is great, but how do you get to there?” That is where this poem came from.

Poetry

I need to sleep, but if I try to now, I won’t wake up at 7:30 like I need to. hmm… My grandfather’s in town. Taking him to breakfast in the morning. He’s a really cool guy. Every time he meets a girl friend of mine he is the greatest gentleman and has a present for her. Even if he doesn’t really like her. (like with J., whom he was right about by the way, bitch!)
I guess I’m going to try to take a nap here. Later.

Your Birthdate: August 17

Your birth on the 17th day of the month suggests that you are very lucky financially, because this date indicates a solid business sense. Although you are probably very honest and ethical, this birthday enables you to be shrewd and successful in the world of business and commercial enterprise. You have excellent organizational, managerial, and administrative capabilities enabling you to handle large projects and significant amounts of money with relative ease. You are ambitious and highly goal-oriented, although you may be better at starting projects than you are at finishing them. A sensitivity in your nature, often repressed below the surface of awareness, makes it hard to give or receive affection.

This is pretty cool.

Oh, what I do with my time when homework (esp. French) is awaiting.

You Are a Fool
or
For Eric Only

you are a fool to consider me beautiful
-Billy Collins, Nightclub

I stood you up.
Flowers and smiles
entered my mind
when you did.
So I stood you up.

You, aspiring poet,
could not neglect
the Laureate’s talk
(how could you?)
so you went alone.

You went alone,
hoped I would show,
late, or call.
When you checked
email, it was there,
patient, the message:

I felt things change between us (at least on my end)

I stood you up,
despite connection
and potential.
Ache was too close,
still, and I had not
told you, and you
could not know.

I called you,
from Paris, to thank
you for the birthday
letter, and I am glad
you did not answer.

I am glad, the ache
is too close, and I
stood you up.

Poetry

Sawdust hovers in atmosphere
moist rich and heavy
flamed by sliced sun rays

A spirit slides through, stirs
the silt of sawdust and dustbunnies
into vortices swirling, following
to a separate room

Cataracted windows black light
the star’s beams from lemon
to mango to deep pomegranate
that clings to swirling dust
like silt at the bottom
of the ocean.

Poetry

I just finished The Time Traveler’s Wife, but I have to be on my way to work right now. So I will make a post later tonight on it.