Starting Fluorescence by Jennifer K. Dick, I tried very hard to have a good attitude about being back in poetry. Once I got into it some more, I noticed it wasn't monotonous poetry, where each poem looks and reads the same, and doesn't have a significant or distinguishable meaning.
From the second poem "What holds the body" (maybe?) starting on page 4, I knew it was going to be a little different. Making "orange" the single word on page 5 is a weird choice, I think. She uses several colors here (blue, white, cobalt, etc.) so what made her choose orange to pull out? It's not even the first one mentioned (which is blue). I think it's a cool technique to use, but I'm not sure if this is exactly the best use of it?
As it goes further, she changes up the way her poems look. This is important. It's hard to read several of the same "look" of poem (what is the word for that…) in a row, so it's nice that she breaks it up. She usually writes paragraphs of 4-6 lines, then breaks them up with shorter paragraphs, 1 or 2 lines each. This is particularly evident in "Anatomy" on page 12. Pages 43-53 are mostly single paragraph short shorts…but then she throws "Sighted" and "I want to take back"on pages 47 and 51 to pull us off balance and thinking about reading again. Don't wanna get stuck in a reading rut, now do we?
Each poem tells a story. They're not necessarily coherent stories, and they all sort of go together better than they stand alone. The poems on pages 43-53 make mention of (the same?) small girl, helping to create a larger picture of who she is.
I like that she included the Notes and Credits section on page 89…writing is all about stealing and giving credit for it.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Fiction Packet 3
"When It Rains It Rains a River" and "The Singing Fish" are two stories from Peter Markus's book The Singing Fish. I thought these were the most excruciatingly annoying stories/poems we've read so far. We've talked about repetition and how it is good, but these stories take repetition to a whole new level. "Us brothers," we got it the first time, you're brothers, it's done. All the mud, we get it, you have a weirdo mud fetish. The Girl, you made a girl out of the mud because your weirdo mud fetish. Okay. Got it. Can we move on? I liked the beginning of "What Our Mother Always Told Us" and was disappointed to find that we never learn what their mother came running at "US BROTHERS" with… aww. Too bad. It was probably mud anyway.
"The Falling Girl" by Dino Buzzati is so full of gorgeous detail. It would have to be - it's 5 pages about falling from a skyscraper, something that can't take more than 15 seconds (my guess…I won't pretend to know anything about…is it physics?) I found it odd that the story says that it is mostly girls who jump from skyscrapers. I've always read that men are the ones who commit dramatic suicides, like jumping from buildings and bridges, shooting themselves, etc., and women commit quiet suicides, like taking pills or hanging themselves. Ugh, this just got depressing. Anyway.
It's not even about falling from a skyscraper. Once the other women, the high class women, joined the free fall, and the man on the 28th floor mentioned that only old women pass those windows, this is life. Or a bad decision that changed the path of life. Or a good decision. Leaning over the railing, that's all it takes.
Because it lost and extensively confused me, I have only one word for "August 25, 1983" by Jorge Luis Borges, and that word is: Inception. I guess I have two word. The other is "What?" It felt somewhat like an exercise given in high school to "Write a letter to yourself, 5 years from now" or 5 years ago. Tell yourself things that you want now and make sure older you achieves them, or tell about will happen to young you and how to deal with them. I would be interested to know when Borges wrote this. Was he the 61-year-old, or the 84-year-old when he wrote this? So I googled it, and it was published in 1983 - and he died from liver cancer in 1986. Hmm. I'm not sure what I just learned.
"The Falling Girl" by Dino Buzzati is so full of gorgeous detail. It would have to be - it's 5 pages about falling from a skyscraper, something that can't take more than 15 seconds (my guess…I won't pretend to know anything about…is it physics?) I found it odd that the story says that it is mostly girls who jump from skyscrapers. I've always read that men are the ones who commit dramatic suicides, like jumping from buildings and bridges, shooting themselves, etc., and women commit quiet suicides, like taking pills or hanging themselves. Ugh, this just got depressing. Anyway.
It's not even about falling from a skyscraper. Once the other women, the high class women, joined the free fall, and the man on the 28th floor mentioned that only old women pass those windows, this is life. Or a bad decision that changed the path of life. Or a good decision. Leaning over the railing, that's all it takes.
Because it lost and extensively confused me, I have only one word for "August 25, 1983" by Jorge Luis Borges, and that word is: Inception. I guess I have two word. The other is "What?" It felt somewhat like an exercise given in high school to "Write a letter to yourself, 5 years from now" or 5 years ago. Tell yourself things that you want now and make sure older you achieves them, or tell about will happen to young you and how to deal with them. I would be interested to know when Borges wrote this. Was he the 61-year-old, or the 84-year-old when he wrote this? So I googled it, and it was published in 1983 - and he died from liver cancer in 1986. Hmm. I'm not sure what I just learned.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Fiction Packet 2 and Wreckage of Reason
I have heard that writers should not use adverbs in their writing. There are reasons given, they seem good at the time. Then, I start writing, and I'm still writing adverbs. Janet Burroway uses this example: "'They stopped very abruptly" is not as abrupt as 'They stopped.'" So. True. I think part of the reason adverbs are so common is because they seem like they show, rather than tell. Really, they just tell.
"Internal" by Brian Evanson reminds me a bit of "The Yellow Wallpaper" by Charlotte Perkins Gilman. They're both, basically, about a person who goes crazy while being confined to a room. There's plenty that can be said in both cases about whether the narrator starts out a bit crazy, or if the story chronicles their path to craziness. "Internal," I think, begins with an already insane narrator. He's in the hospital, and Dr. Rauch is his doctor, later replaced by Dr. Kagen for "unknown reasons" which is probably just, he's nuts. I'm not sure what there is to support this in the writing, but I got a feeling that the men in both rooms are actually the same super crazy man, and that the Rauch half of the story takes place simultaneously with the Kagen half.
"New York/LA Whirlwind Romance" by Karen Ellis was a fun read. Through nothing but dialogue, and one-sided dialogue at that, we can see how you can really like someone, until you actually spend time with them. I'm sure even I could be a real charmer over email or even the phone, but, ha, then you have to meet me and the image I've word-painted of myself could be entirely backwards - not even intentionally. There is more to people than just their words. You can't really sense a person's spirit over the phone. I think spirit is what ultimately makes or breaks a relationship.
It didn't take long to realize there was something fishy going on with "N" by Shelley Jackson. Two lines. "Judas 'N' Things" I can deal with. Okay, we're having a bit of fun. But then she hits me with "Bed Bath and Jesus" and this cannot be a coincidence. Linens N Things, Bed Bath and Beyond, rivals? Yup. Jesus and Judas, rivals? In a weird sort of way, I guess. So I skipped to the end, where the writers share something about the story. Shelley Jackson wrote that this story was ripped from the headlines - taken from the front page of the New York Times and only one single word had been added. It is torturing me not knowing what that word is. It must be an important word, too, or else she wouldn't have added it. One more thing: If "N" came from the newspaper, does that make it a Blackout Poem? They aren't quite the same and she probably reused several words, they're not in order, etc., but it amazes me what can be done with words already written. Writers don't always need to create whole new stories, they can pull from and rearrange others, sort of like what we did with the 25 word poems in class.
"Internal" by Brian Evanson reminds me a bit of "The Yellow Wallpaper" by Charlotte Perkins Gilman. They're both, basically, about a person who goes crazy while being confined to a room. There's plenty that can be said in both cases about whether the narrator starts out a bit crazy, or if the story chronicles their path to craziness. "Internal," I think, begins with an already insane narrator. He's in the hospital, and Dr. Rauch is his doctor, later replaced by Dr. Kagen for "unknown reasons" which is probably just, he's nuts. I'm not sure what there is to support this in the writing, but I got a feeling that the men in both rooms are actually the same super crazy man, and that the Rauch half of the story takes place simultaneously with the Kagen half.
"New York/LA Whirlwind Romance" by Karen Ellis was a fun read. Through nothing but dialogue, and one-sided dialogue at that, we can see how you can really like someone, until you actually spend time with them. I'm sure even I could be a real charmer over email or even the phone, but, ha, then you have to meet me and the image I've word-painted of myself could be entirely backwards - not even intentionally. There is more to people than just their words. You can't really sense a person's spirit over the phone. I think spirit is what ultimately makes or breaks a relationship.
It didn't take long to realize there was something fishy going on with "N" by Shelley Jackson. Two lines. "Judas 'N' Things" I can deal with. Okay, we're having a bit of fun. But then she hits me with "Bed Bath and Jesus" and this cannot be a coincidence. Linens N Things, Bed Bath and Beyond, rivals? Yup. Jesus and Judas, rivals? In a weird sort of way, I guess. So I skipped to the end, where the writers share something about the story. Shelley Jackson wrote that this story was ripped from the headlines - taken from the front page of the New York Times and only one single word had been added. It is torturing me not knowing what that word is. It must be an important word, too, or else she wouldn't have added it. One more thing: If "N" came from the newspaper, does that make it a Blackout Poem? They aren't quite the same and she probably reused several words, they're not in order, etc., but it amazes me what can be done with words already written. Writers don't always need to create whole new stories, they can pull from and rearrange others, sort of like what we did with the 25 word poems in class.
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Short Shorts
I'm so glad to be moving on from poetry. I won't catch all the intricacies of fiction right away, either, but at least there are some pretty sweet stories to look forward to - right? I'm not really sure what I should be commenting on about these, but…here goes.
The first thing I noticed when reading Fiction Packet 1 - Short Stories was that they aren't too different from the Lyn Hejinian poem from Poetry Packet 1. Or maybe that poem is more like a story?
From this packet, my favorite is "Mystery Stories" by Sharon Krinsky. They are short and don't tell too much. I'm left thinking, "Uh, what just happened?" "The Record Store" and "The Red Coats" are like that. Why did she come to the party with two coats to begin with? It seems every year at a Christmas party, somebody in my family loses a coat to the bedroom. (Why is it that the coat room is always the bedroom? I'd rather keep my coat on than leave it on somebody's bed…)
"Morning News" was quite hard to read. This past year has been full of people close to me getting sick and some have passed away. Every time another person gets sick, someone does something crazy, like buy a 60" television. "I feel a failure of imagination." That's always been me. While everyone else is saying their "last words" and stuff, I have nothing left to say, except "I love you." If that's a surprise, I must have done something wrong.
"Wallet" is just so paranoid - I love it. "We are both stupid with smiles and he is shouting, 'Drive fast, drive fast.'" Sometimes, it is so much fun to feel reckless when you haven't done anything wrong.
The first thing I noticed when reading Fiction Packet 1 - Short Stories was that they aren't too different from the Lyn Hejinian poem from Poetry Packet 1. Or maybe that poem is more like a story?
From this packet, my favorite is "Mystery Stories" by Sharon Krinsky. They are short and don't tell too much. I'm left thinking, "Uh, what just happened?" "The Record Store" and "The Red Coats" are like that. Why did she come to the party with two coats to begin with? It seems every year at a Christmas party, somebody in my family loses a coat to the bedroom. (Why is it that the coat room is always the bedroom? I'd rather keep my coat on than leave it on somebody's bed…)
"Morning News" was quite hard to read. This past year has been full of people close to me getting sick and some have passed away. Every time another person gets sick, someone does something crazy, like buy a 60" television. "I feel a failure of imagination." That's always been me. While everyone else is saying their "last words" and stuff, I have nothing left to say, except "I love you." If that's a surprise, I must have done something wrong.
"Wallet" is just so paranoid - I love it. "We are both stupid with smiles and he is shouting, 'Drive fast, drive fast.'" Sometimes, it is so much fun to feel reckless when you haven't done anything wrong.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
After Ed Roberson
Isn't it true that
we move through nature
never taking stock
of our natural state?
Train hop across
the countryside.
Think you've become
one with nature.
Not frolicking bodies
in the prairie
meadows
and open fields.
Isn't it true that
our bodies respond
when we present
them with nature?
Top speed of 10 mph
on a gusty day.
Air slapping skin.
This is natural.
Skip town.
Not by train
but by trail.
Not by trail
but by path.
Not by path.
but by the breeze.
we move through nature
never taking stock
of our natural state?
Train hop across
the countryside.
Think you've become
one with nature.
Not frolicking bodies
in the prairie
meadows
and open fields.
Isn't it true that
our bodies respond
when we present
them with nature?
Top speed of 10 mph
on a gusty day.
Air slapping skin.
This is natural.
Skip town.
Not by train
but by trail.
Not by trail
but by path.
Not by path.
but by the breeze.
Roberson, Part 2
I wish I had something original or insightful to say about City Eclogue, but I honestly just don't get it. In class, hearing from the class is helpful, and I always begin to think that I will start to think in a similar analytical or innovative way that some of my classmates do.
One of the poems that grabbed me was "Simple As One Two" (105-6) because the title suggested that it would be simple. It's not. Of course. I thought that because sections "1" and "i" don't necessarily fit well together, maybe "1" & "2" and "i" & "ii" would fit. Okay, I should say that when I say "fit," I mean "make sense," which means that I can understand exactly what is being said exactly the way it is written. I should know by now not to expect that from poetry.
I thought "ii" was awesome.
"the glass flash and the metal
sharp edge as you is
a paper cut but deeper"
Doesn't that just make you feel something? Pain mostly. Paper cuts are the worst thing that can happen to a person, second only to Memorial Day parade blisters in your cute new shoes.
"ii" used a different positioning technique, too. Rather than basically tabbing each line in one further, like parts "1" and "i" and "Painting From Science for Hui Ka-Kwong" (and all sorts of other poems), "ii" makes that angle come on the right. I prefer this. It looks beautiful. This section is different from the others, so it isn't surprising that is arranged differently too.
The only poem with a period in the title is "Point." That's fitting, right? Put a point at the end of the word point.
One of the poems that grabbed me was "Simple As One Two" (105-6) because the title suggested that it would be simple. It's not. Of course. I thought that because sections "1" and "i" don't necessarily fit well together, maybe "1" & "2" and "i" & "ii" would fit. Okay, I should say that when I say "fit," I mean "make sense," which means that I can understand exactly what is being said exactly the way it is written. I should know by now not to expect that from poetry.
I thought "ii" was awesome.
"the glass flash and the metal
sharp edge as you is
a paper cut but deeper"
Doesn't that just make you feel something? Pain mostly. Paper cuts are the worst thing that can happen to a person, second only to Memorial Day parade blisters in your cute new shoes.
"ii" used a different positioning technique, too. Rather than basically tabbing each line in one further, like parts "1" and "i" and "Painting From Science for Hui Ka-Kwong" (and all sorts of other poems), "ii" makes that angle come on the right. I prefer this. It looks beautiful. This section is different from the others, so it isn't surprising that is arranged differently too.
The only poem with a period in the title is "Point." That's fitting, right? Put a point at the end of the word point.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Roberson and Lamott
My favorite section of Ed Roberson's City Eclogue is "Ornithologies." Ornithology is the study of birds, so I was expecting plenty talk of birds, and that's just what I got. Calling the departures/arrivals board in the Trenton Station in New Jersey the "state bird" was powerful in the poem "Orinthology" (pages 94-5)
I'm sure it's been said many times before, but isn't it true that we move through nature by train or plane, without ever noticing it? The closest we come to birds is in a train station, staring up at the departures board, getting angry that you're being delayed.
Another example of "moving through nature" in "Ornithologies" is in "Open / Back Up (breadth of field)" (page 88) is when Roberson states that the last time he walked through a field, he was basically surrounded by police. An aside regarding this poem - I had to look up "auspice" (but I'm still not sure what it means) and found that it literally means "one who looks at birds" in Latin. Not so different from ornithology!
Moving on to some more birds...this time by Anne Lamott. I first borrowed Bird by Bird from the library in February - I kept renewing the book until I saw it on the required texts for this class and was relieved that I could finally just buy it! I love how Lamott describes writing as just being something a person does. It doesn't have to be terribly profound and it's going to suck the first few times around. And you keep going anyway, because it is what you do.
The idea of "taking it bird by bird" is hard for me, though. (And I know all too well the feeling of having had three months to write something and still writing it the night before it is due...please don't look at the timestamp on this post.) I like to tackle projects, head first, and beat them until I'm finished. This doesn't happen in chunks, shifts, and hardly ever drafts. No matter how many people or books say to never edit while you write, I'm going to edit while I write. (Just kidding, I'm trying really hard to stop editing while I write....) In some cases, it is nearly impossible to NOT go "bird by bird," like research papers. All you can do is take the quotes and fill in around them. Can't start at the top and go straight through to the end, because you can't know how it should begin if you don't know what you said in the middle. But other things, you need to start at the beginning and follow it out, without jumping around, to the end, because that is how that particular piece of writing will come together best.
I'm sure it's been said many times before, but isn't it true that we move through nature by train or plane, without ever noticing it? The closest we come to birds is in a train station, staring up at the departures board, getting angry that you're being delayed.
Another example of "moving through nature" in "Ornithologies" is in "Open / Back Up (breadth of field)" (page 88) is when Roberson states that the last time he walked through a field, he was basically surrounded by police. An aside regarding this poem - I had to look up "auspice" (but I'm still not sure what it means) and found that it literally means "one who looks at birds" in Latin. Not so different from ornithology!
Moving on to some more birds...this time by Anne Lamott. I first borrowed Bird by Bird from the library in February - I kept renewing the book until I saw it on the required texts for this class and was relieved that I could finally just buy it! I love how Lamott describes writing as just being something a person does. It doesn't have to be terribly profound and it's going to suck the first few times around. And you keep going anyway, because it is what you do.
The idea of "taking it bird by bird" is hard for me, though. (And I know all too well the feeling of having had three months to write something and still writing it the night before it is due...please don't look at the timestamp on this post.) I like to tackle projects, head first, and beat them until I'm finished. This doesn't happen in chunks, shifts, and hardly ever drafts. No matter how many people or books say to never edit while you write, I'm going to edit while I write. (Just kidding, I'm trying really hard to stop editing while I write....) In some cases, it is nearly impossible to NOT go "bird by bird," like research papers. All you can do is take the quotes and fill in around them. Can't start at the top and go straight through to the end, because you can't know how it should begin if you don't know what you said in the middle. But other things, you need to start at the beginning and follow it out, without jumping around, to the end, because that is how that particular piece of writing will come together best.
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