I so thoroughly convinced myself that I'd hate creative writing (the process, not the final product; the way I write . . . I take forever, it drives me crazy) that I decided not leave it alone in college, until now.
It's making me remember all these funny incidents that I want to write about. Or come up with silly ideas for poems. Our next assignment is to write a sentence but to slice it with creative line breaks like a Stanley Kunitz poem we read today. It made me remember a homework assignment from kindergarten or first grade when we were learning how to count money, and my mom took me to Giant (grocery store) and we picked out a 60c ruler (like 8" or 6"), clear blue, and then took it to the register. I proceeded to count out 60 pennies while people waited in line behind us with actual groceries . . .
Anyhow, I'm loving creative freedom, assignments so different from engineering, and writing on puzzling and fun prompts, mixing up words and trying new forms and different things. It's pretty cathartic, too, which isn't bad.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Sleeping with the dictionary
I like this poem a lot. This is called "Illuminate".
My mind differentiates with
sound. See, never has there been a
light nor dark – my lexicon holds
footsteps, sighs of boredom, zippers
sealing shut in wintertime, cold
doorknobs turning, pages turning,
cam’ra shutters staring, blinking.
My eyes wonder, wander; I de-
sire Truth as much as you, through
auditory fashion brought to
beat on drums and hang on lobes, pre-
ferred to sight, to tricks of light.
Illuminate. Illuminate.
Sounds blur, as do faces when in
crowded places (metro stations),
so I’ve heard before. But yours, your
voice is bold and new, and parses
rhythms like a lisp wound round a
tongue depressor, ice pop gone. If
only I could see that smile – you
say your fav’rite color’s yellow,
like I’m wearing, accidental.
(Prompt: Write a poem in which you revise, revisit, expand, or challenge the definition of a word. See A. Van Jordan, "from".)
My mind differentiates with
sound. See, never has there been a
light nor dark – my lexicon holds
footsteps, sighs of boredom, zippers
sealing shut in wintertime, cold
doorknobs turning, pages turning,
cam’ra shutters staring, blinking.
My eyes wonder, wander; I de-
sire Truth as much as you, through
auditory fashion brought to
beat on drums and hang on lobes, pre-
ferred to sight, to tricks of light.
Illuminate. Illuminate.
Sounds blur, as do faces when in
crowded places (metro stations),
so I’ve heard before. But yours, your
voice is bold and new, and parses
rhythms like a lisp wound round a
tongue depressor, ice pop gone. If
only I could see that smile – you
say your fav’rite color’s yellow,
like I’m wearing, accidental.
(Prompt: Write a poem in which you revise, revisit, expand, or challenge the definition of a word. See A. Van Jordan, "from".)
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Re: And a fun task!
How to sing the song
Bundled up on the side of my head and messy from dancing and unfortunate midnight meeting with my friend’s couch
You, go and get me a sandwich
When I walk beside the road, I imagine sidestepping Converse-clad onto cracked asphalt and feel air like a wall as steel propels into my ribs, forward into femur, bones crumpling faster than the blaring of car horns
If you want home-style tofu, be nice to Mom and she’ll probably oblige
I walk as far to the right-side of the sidewalk, always. I focus on where I’m going.
“You just seem like you’re so organized, so on top of things.”
Obfuscate
Last night, I dreamed my friend gave a speech and started crying at the front of the room, which is so unlike her. Also that Twitter was actually medication for puppy urinary incontinence and had begun running cartoon ads.
Like throwing punches through molasses, no thrust and no recoil, just futile resistance against slumber and then plunging into the sweet, sweet dark
The girl said, Why didn’t you try the escape hatch? And the man said, I would have, but there were too many people in the cell
All I can see of my umbrella is the handle hooked over the side of the table.
January 25, 2010
Bundled up on the side of my head and messy from dancing and unfortunate midnight meeting with my friend’s couch
You, go and get me a sandwich
When I walk beside the road, I imagine sidestepping Converse-clad onto cracked asphalt and feel air like a wall as steel propels into my ribs, forward into femur, bones crumpling faster than the blaring of car horns
If you want home-style tofu, be nice to Mom and she’ll probably oblige
I walk as far to the right-side of the sidewalk, always. I focus on where I’m going.
“You just seem like you’re so organized, so on top of things.”
Obfuscate
Last night, I dreamed my friend gave a speech and started crying at the front of the room, which is so unlike her. Also that Twitter was actually medication for puppy urinary incontinence and had begun running cartoon ads.
Like throwing punches through molasses, no thrust and no recoil, just futile resistance against slumber and then plunging into the sweet, sweet dark
The girl said, Why didn’t you try the escape hatch? And the man said, I would have, but there were too many people in the cell
All I can see of my umbrella is the handle hooked over the side of the table.
January 25, 2010
Friday, January 29, 2010
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
I LOVE HONEST CONVERSATIONS
And I love changing my surroundings, going home, and having MORE honest conversations!
Going from reflecting on true, biblical Christian community and being honest and vulnerable about sin to hearing about what it means to be a black student at university, underachieving, having standards being ostensibly set for you by your race, and what the heck is going on with schools in the U.S. and the education system (the latter with three students who also happen to be earning degrees in the School of Drama). I love it when people care and when people are coherent and open enough to voice their passions. And the conversation continues outside my door between women studying ECE and drama.
God, I love how you're at work here and how you work even when I don't know, even among situations that I don't see or relate to. I love how You're touching everything! You are beyond good.
Going from reflecting on true, biblical Christian community and being honest and vulnerable about sin to hearing about what it means to be a black student at university, underachieving, having standards being ostensibly set for you by your race, and what the heck is going on with schools in the U.S. and the education system (the latter with three students who also happen to be earning degrees in the School of Drama). I love it when people care and when people are coherent and open enough to voice their passions. And the conversation continues outside my door between women studying ECE and drama.
God, I love how you're at work here and how you work even when I don't know, even among situations that I don't see or relate to. I love how You're touching everything! You are beyond good.
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