Week #12--My Response to MacKenzie's Free Write

MacKenzie,

I think the syntax of this draft is concise, but I had to read it three times for clarity, I think, because the speaker seems to be talking to herself through the pronoun "you." I like the detachment of the third person voice in the last sentence and wonder if that might work better throughout. Since the theme speaks to the sacrifices of the mother for the daughter, perhaps you could expand on that by revealing the relationship of the "man in the attic" to the two women and what role Jesus plays/played in his life. Just a thought.

I love the moth imagery for "man" as well as "hands sprung like bows."
Nice work so far, but I'm hungry for more info.

Week #12--My Response to Brandy's Free Write

Wow! This rewrite really packs punch in the rearrangement and contractions of some of the catchier lines. I like the neater look of the stanzas, although on the blog it appears that one or two lines didn't break where they should have, or maybe not. You have really done a nice job in your rewrite. I particularly enjoy "watching the wrong side of the world," "hop scotched crossties" and "lungs losing more than air." Well done, Brandy!

Week #12—Free Entry

       Attributes of a Snake

Bold and beautiful is the black snake

that slithers through my garden

in search of moles down holes under

maple trees. It glides like the birds fly,

straightforward and confident, though

it knows not what lies ahead. Nothing

fazes it, not even the whistle of wind

in the pines or the curious cat who toys

with its tail. It does not fret the rain

or rebuff the heat of midday sun, and

during wintry months, it creeps into

nooks and crannies, up trees and rock

piles to hide or hibernate. Like

a vagabond lover, it is not friendly,

does not stop to talk or tell its story;

it merely skulks from one place to another,

sheds old skin for new, and leaves only

a trace of remembrance in the grass.

Week #12—Improv #2

The Sound of Birds at Noon

                                by Dahlia Ravikovitch

This chirping

is not in the least malicious.

They sing without giving us a thought

and they are as many

as the seed of Abraham.

They have a life of their own,

they fly without thinking.

Some are rare, some common,

but every wing is grace.

Their hearts aren’t heavy

even when they peck at a worm.

Perhaps they’re light-headed.

The heavens were given to them

to rule over day and night

and when they touch a branch,

the branch too is theirs.

This chirping is entirely free of malice.

Over the years

it even seems to have

a note of compassion.

 

The Silence of the Pond Fish at Feeding

Their darting

is not in the least annoying.

They eat without giving me a thought

and they are as hungry

as Moses in the desert.

They own the water like gold,

they swim without strokes.

Some are Koi, some carp,

but every scale is precious.

Their eyes aren’t tearful

even when they lose a friend.

Perhaps they’re heartless.

The water was gifted to them

to swim in day and night

and when they salute the sky,

the sky too is theirs.

Their darting is always full of mischief.

Over the seasons

it seems to have become

a sign of disenchantment.

Week #12—Improv #1

riffed off of Dubrow’s “Bowl, in the Shape of a Bristol Boat”

Soup, in a Spoon for a Dying Mother

She spooned the soup for her, a stew so simple

            it made itself overnight in the crockpot,

wafting aromas of onions, garlic, and greens,

its consistency, gumbo and tomato,

            canned and seasoned, fresh and frozen from

the grocery store and the garden

which she tended herself. The thickening soup

            mushroomed upward, began to boil.

No recipe required, no saucepan or cooktop.

The last taste of her daughter’s cooking or of any

            of earth’s provision fed by human hand—

a sip of water, a pill for pain

from nurse or caregiver, a comfort.

            She spooned the soup for her, as if to say

You are the daughter, I am the mother.

Week #12—Sign Inventory

             BOWL, IN THE SHAPE OF

                  A BRISTOL BOAT

                        by Jehanne Dubrow

He carved the bowl for her, a hull so small

            it floated in the ocean of her palm,

rocked when she breathed, held still when she was still,

its body, purpleheart and maple,

            sanded and polished, sanded and rubbed until

the grain became a topographic map

by which to chart itself. The wooden bowl

            pushed forward, billowed a nonexistent sail.

No rudder guiding it, no mast or wheel.

The world was split between her hand and all

            the latitudes that lay beyond her hand—

a kitchen tabletop, a bookshelf filled

with Kant and Aristotle, a windowsill.

            He built the shell for her, as if to show

she was still water, and then the waterfall.

Narrative in third person voice

five stanzas of triplets with second line indented

seven lines of enjambment, proper punctuation

alliteration of ‘b’ in title, 'h' in "her hand," 'w' in last line

assonance in “hull” and “small,” “shell” and “show,”

like vowel sounds in “small” and “palm”

end rhymes of “still” with “until,” “filled” and “windowsill;”

also, “small” with “all” and “waterfall.”

repetition of “still,” “sanded,” “hand,” “water” and “waterfall”

metaphors: “ocean of her palm,” “the grain became a topographic map,”

“the world was split,” and “she was still water and…waterfall.”

Reference to modern philosopher “Kant” and old world “Aristotle”

“purpleheart” implies military bravery

use of ship/military language to describe a wooden bowl melds sailor’s world with the woman's world

landlubber language of “bowl,” “kitchen tabletop,” and “bookshelf”

Poem’s theme of love intimated through act of building a wooden bowl

Week #12--Junkyard Quotes

 

“scissoring mandibles”;

 “Females are well known for twisting around and devouring males in the middle of copulation. The male, missing its head and eaten down to the abdomen, will continue insemination unfazed, its nerve trunk still delivering the last message sent by its speck of a brain.”

excerpted from Stanley Tate’s article on the Praying Mantis in the TG on 11/8/11.

“arrow of time”

term used by Brian Green in his documentary on time in The Fabric of the Universe

“Ugandan held for pigsty of posters”

AP headline in Sunday’s newspaper 11/13/11

A murder of crows; An exaltation of doves; A parliament of owls; A congress of baboons.

Collective nouns for animal species.