Secondly, let's say that we do not start our Perrine Projects next Tuesday--we'll start on Thursday instead. That pushes everyone back at least two days, and for sure we'll probably have to make more changes along the way, too.
But you need to think about them now. That assignment handout made you all responsible for a lot. And us, your audience, while we are watching and interacting with you, don't want to be bored. We want efficient, clear description of the techniques and their effects. We want quick examples using poems from the chapter. We want impressive examples of how we can write about these techniques. And we'll probably want cookies or something.
So today, put some thought into it. And some work, and we'll see what progress we can make. I can't promise many (or any?) more work days between now and their start. Have a great day and see you Friday.
Here is a poem I have been thinking about all day:
"Scarecrow on Fire"
We all think about suddenly disappearing.
The train tracks lead there, into the woods.
Even in the financial district: wooden doors
in alleyways. First I want to put something small
into your hand, a button or river stone or
key I don’t know to what. I don’t
have that house anymore across from the graveyard
and its black angel. What counts as a proper
goodbye? My last winter in Iowa there was always
a ladybug or two in the kitchen for cheer
even when it was ten below. We all feel
suspended over a drop into nothingness.
Once you get close enough, you see what
one is stitching is a human heart. Another
is vomiting wings. Hell, even now I love life.
Whenever you put your feet on the floor
in the morning, whatever the nightmare,
it’s a miracle or fantastic illusion:
the solidity of the boards, the steadiness
coming into the legs. Where did we get
the idea when we were kids to rub dirt
into the wound or was that just in Pennsylvania?
Maybe poems are made of breath, the way water,
cajoled to boil, says, This is my soul, freed.
I love the poem. One of the best ones you've chosen to post. x
ReplyDeleteand thank you for pushing things back. always appreciated.
Glad you like it. Dean Young is really hard to follow for me, but everything he writes contains surprises like "what one is stitching is a human heart" or the last couple of lines there or yes, maybe the entire poem.
ReplyDeleteBut anyway, he's pretty looked up to in the "poetry world" right now. And he almost died recently until he got a heart transplant of all things. Everything he writes now is with a new heart. How strange that must be.