Unit Reflection

I was terrified of poetry when we began the unit. I hated the idea of having to do it and all I could feel was an incredible sensation of pressure. I didn’t want to mess with meter, form, image, special language that sounded fresh. Poems always appeared to be such refined little packets of supreme [...]

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Poetry unit reflection

I was terrified of poetry when we began the unit. I hated the idea of having to do it and all I could feel was an incredible sensation of pressure. I didn’t want to mess with meter, form, image, special language that sounded fresh. Poems always appeared to be such refined little packets of supreme [...]

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Reading as a writer: poetry

Nick Flynn, “Emptying Town,” p. 127 Legitimate Dangers
Flynn plays a lot with line breaks and the aspect of continuity in “Emptying Town.” He begins the poem by speaking about the emptying of Provincetown (a summer colony that literally does close down for the most part in the colder months) all in one stanza. The [...]

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Art-based poem

Separation
the painting i used, by frida kahlo: http://www.mart.trento.it/UploadImgs/1127_11__Kahlo___Il_piccolo_cervo.jpg
Not remote at all, but a short distance from her:
there, all is blue and quiet.
Silent sky could blur so easily
with the passive sea.
But they are separate, split to two
by the earth’s curvature, that sharp horizon.
She dotes on it, that cutting clarity so different
from her confusion. Better to see [...]

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Poem Translation

Danish:
Landskaber
At.
At gå.
At gå baglæns i egne fodspor.
Skridt: Navn.
Gang: Bevægelige navne.
Du spurgte mig, om jeg havde lyst til at gå en tur,
Og spørgsmålet
forgrenede sig ud i landskabet.
Landskabet prøver sin stemme på os,
det prøver at udtale
vores fremmedartede navne,
men vi er heller ikke i stand til
at formulere dét. Hvad vil du vide?
Det siger: ”Vær ikke bange, bliv her.”
Vi [...]

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The Pen, meter exercise

The pen has lost its cap.
The pen rests surely in all hands.
The pen that could have wrote the Bible.
The pen that writes in red.
The pen that bends easily to a will.
The pen waits ready in a pocket.
The pen has always had a broken grip.
The pen survived so many years.
The pen was always a simple tool.

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Snapshot Poem

Upstairs in a cozy attic,
soft games of ball.
He’d slow himself down,
hold himself back
while I rounded
the bases
of pillows.
Plays always ending with hugs.
Arms that felt so big,
a strength and comfort
that I would never ever reach.
Audio

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Prose Snapshots

1.  Upstairs in a cozy attic of soft games of ball. He would always slow his pace and reactions as I ran around the bases of pillows, plays ending in hugs. Arms that felt so big, a strength that I would never ever reach.
2.  His body is turned away from me and he is focused [...]

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response to poem/poetry: Ezra Pound, In a Station of the Metro

How do you do it?
Small, simple words
in bite-size expressions
carrying the weight
of the world.
How do you do it?
Something said in a way
no one else could say.
Unique, fresh, moving.
How do you do it?
Touching my heart
moving it with your pen,
opening my eyes.

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Eavesdropping for education

Second person:
You hear a repeating sound of clicks and taps that are sharp to the ear. They sound like rain drops falling on a tin roof but without any of that rhythm. They overwhelm the mostly silent room though. On the TV screen, various super heroes attack each other and the eyes of the four [...]

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