#1

Elegies and Aubades and Pastorals. Oh my.

I have no idea how to approach these. I'm not used to writing poetry of this sort. I don't know how to be sentimental without feeling overly cheesy and cliche.

So naturally, I went on good old google and searched for tips on how to write one.

www.mahalo.com (which from what I gather is Hawaiian eHow) gives these helpful tips (complete with grammatical errors):

• An elegy poem is a poem written on the occasion of someone's death. How to Write an Elegy Poem explains everything you need to know to create a lasting work of art.

• Writing an Elegy Poem Tips

  1. Fitting subjects includes the death of a loved one or a president.
  2. The poem must be somber in tone.
  3. There is no set form, but a good elegy should include a metrical pattern or rhyme scheme.
  4. Try to create distinctive imagery.
  5. Include some of your own thoughts about death and dying

I'm sure that whoever wrote that had the best intentions, but I feel like it's quite opinionated, considering the tone of tip number three. So I moved on to the normal eHow site and found this:

An elegy is a poem to memorialize someone beloved or respected who is deceased. One of the most famous elegys ever written is Walt Whitman's elegy for Abraham Lincoln entitled "O Captain! My Captain!" In English literature, this type of poem usually contains specific lyric essentials. When writing your own elegy, include the elements in the steps below to craft a moving and personal tribute.

Difficulty: Moderate

Instructions

1. Step 1

   Describe when and why you are writing the poem. Explain where you, the author, are now and why you are looking back. Depict your relationship with the deceased. Pastoral references, like portraying the author and departed one as shepherds, are commonly used in an elegy as metaphors for the relationship.

2. Step 2

   Explain how the person died and express not just grief, but anger and astonishment that the person has passed. Include the cause of the death. Let the means of death inspire the poem's imagery; for example, if the person drowned, incorporate the sea as a character or symbol.

3. Step 3

   Include attempts to deny the reality of the person's death or resurrect the person. Eventually accept of the unavoidability of the loss.

4. Step 4

   Reflect on how the person's death has impacted the world. Ask how the world can go on without this person. Imagine what this person could have contributed that will never be fulfilled.

5. Step 5

   Meditate on the nature and inevitability of death within the cycle of life. Conclude the elegy with a degree of comfort and reassurance in the certainty of how life progresses and a hope of the afterlife.

This description not only has a spelling error, but they invented a word as well! Unavoidability was, I'm almost certain, meant to be inevitability. I don't know if I'm the only one, but seeing a spelling or grammar error in a document that is supposed to be instructional or informative comepletely discredits it. I don't trust people who can't put a sentence together to inform me of what I'm supposed to do. Maybe I'm crazy for that. Maybe not. Who knows? But back to the point.

There are some good points, though. Step five helps out a bit, guiding me in the direction of the poem at least. But I was still not satisfied. So once again, I searched a bit more. This times I googled "How to be sentimental without being cliche." No luck there. I tried various versions of that phrase, but to no avail. Looks like I'm on my own on this one.

#1

I'm having a little trouble with the definition of exactly what a "found poem" is. From the understanding I got from class, I would assume that anything is a "found poem" because the inspiration occurs by something you just happen to see.

Am I alone in wanting a more solid definition? I'm sure we were given one but I can't for the life of me remember it. So here I go on a web search to find more specific parameters as to what a "found poem" is.

Wikipedia (which may or may not be reliable) states: Found poetry is a type of poetry created by taking words, phrases, and sometimes whole passages from other sources and reframing them as poetry by making changes in spacing and/or lines (and consequently meaning), or by altering the text by additions and/or deletions. The resulting poem can be defined as either treated: changed in a profound and systematic manner; or untreated: virtually unchanged from the order, syntax and meaning of the original

So in that definition, very few of us really followed the directions this week.

According to poets.org: Found poems take existing texts and refashion them, reorder them, and present them as poems. The literary equivalent of a collage, found poetry is often made from newspaper articles, street signs, graffiti, speeches, letters, or even other poems.

So it's generally the same idea. I think most of us assumed just because we "found inspiration" in a certain object, that the resulting piece was in fact a "found poem." As illustrated by these examples, that is not the case. I think many of us (including me) might need to do a little more research to ensure that we are following the form laid out for us.

#1

Here's my found poem from Tuesday. I haven't decided if I'm done with it yet but here's a draft for you guys to comment on.

Punctuate this Poem

Apparently its national
Bad Punctuation Week

Punctuate this sentence for Alissa
Is Christmas December 25 2004 I asked

Good luck
Apparently Alissa believes that Christmas is a once in a lifetime event

That kind of naivete more than adequately explains
the confusion over punctuation

Isnt Jesus more important
than question marks and semicolons

If one doesnt know how to eat
it will not matter if he is served steak or tofu

Take note of the important things first
like Christmas and how to eat

But do not forget about the little things
like punctuation and tofu

#2

Ghazals are extremely interesting poems. I can't for the life of me figure out how to write one effectively. I've been trying, and maybe I'll post some of my efforts but I doubt it. They're really bad. I do like the repetition in Ghazals, and the way Shahid rhymes is incredible to me. I've always had trouble with rhyming (as you all well know), so it really sticks out when something flows so nicely into a rhyme.

#1

OK so for my free entry this week I'm posting my sestina since I'm pretty proud of it but unfortunately won't be able to receive workshop comments on it. So feel free to make suggestions if you want!

Sestina for the Birds

I stood, watching the fire
and noticing how quickly the birds
rose from their watery chairs,
the tips of their wings barely brushing
the water's surface. They left only the imprint
of their stout bodies as they performed the fire drill.

It's amazing how well they know the drill.
All their lives they wait for the fire,
and when the flames finally reach high enough to print
their dancing shadows on the birds'
domain, they fly over the brush
and search for a more solid chair.

As the leader of the flock reaches his plush, leafy chair,
the others begin to squawk, and drill
him with questions: Will the brush
ever return? Or will the fire
ruin it forever? The crescendo of the birds'
chorus would take novels to transcribe and print.

The leader steps forward, creating talon prints
one by one as he leaves his judge's chair.
He moves among the flock, among his fellow birds,
explaining the point and purpose of the drill
itself, the reason it is necessary to be conscious of the fire.
He caws that in order to live hear the brush,

one must be aware of the dangers that surround the brush.
One must know of the strange boot prints
left behind after gunshots. One must know of the fire,
of course, and of the way the watery chairs
seem to rock to and fro with the most conviction just before the drill
begins. And oddly enough, one must especially be aware of the other birds.

One must know of the tall, featherless, flightless birds.
These, the leader explains, hide in the brush
and wait for us to begin our drill.
Into us they blow the bullet print,
sending us careening before we reach our chairs.
They delight in the dancing of the fire.

I stared at the fire, trying to tell the birds
that they were safe in their watery chairs, and to brush
off the suggestions of the printed directions to stay safe through the drill.

#12

For my free entry this week, I did the "best overheard line" idea. The line was, "She's like Beethoven. And I'm like Houdini." I heard it in Wal-Mart walking past a group of teens that couldn't have been over sixteen. So I adapted it just a little. Here it is!

I was nothing but good to him.
My actions sang of love--
the sweet symphony of affection.

He never even heard the melody.

So I began to practice the art of escape.
Each night in my mirror I'd rehearse
my lines, tying my words in knots all too easily undone.

I perfected my disappearance, then put on a show.

He's like Beethoven.
And I'm like Houdini.
Masters of opposing crafts

can never share the stage.

#11

This week I've enjoyed getting to know more about different styles of poetry. I've always been more of a free writer, so it's a lot of fun to see what I can do with different forms. While it's extremely challenging, I'm trying my hand at each of them, and turning the one I like the best in for workshop. So far I've completed a Villanelle, and I'm working on a Pantoum. I may post some of my other attempts as my free entry this week.

I love the repetition of lines in both the Villanelle and Pantoum. To me, repetition gives a sense of momentum to the piece, and it moves the poem along to its eventual climax. It is tough, however, to design lines that can be repeated without seeming overdone. I was halfway through with a Pantoum when I realized that it sounded extremely cliche and I ended up trashing the whole thing. Now I've got to start over and see what I can do. I look forward to seeing your adaptations as well!

#10

Sheep Charmer

She writes, and
So many emotions spring to the surface.
She wills
This lamb to save her,
That one to comfort her,
The other to inspire her.
The birds sing to her
When her father comes home,
And each night she cries into
What the Angels Left.

If you didn't know, that was supposed to be a piece about Howe. I used only what I remembered from her writing--only what struck me enough to stick with me. That's probably the reason I used the lamb idea so much. Thoughts? Comments? Ideas for revisions?

#9

While reading through Howe's poetry this week, I found several things I liked, and several that I didn't. I figured a critical post was more than appropriate for examining these aspects of her writing.

One thing I enjoyed throughout her work was, as we talked about in class, she has an ability to say shocking things without shocking the reader. She uses such strong language and imagery that there's no way around what she's saying to you. Sometimes she uses words that would get me a slap across the mouth. But she does it in such a way that you can't be upset because it fits so perfectly.

I must admit that, while I understand having a central theme to your poetry, the repetition throughout her poems was driving me nuts. If I read about a lamb or a bird one more time I was going to shut the book and give up. I feel like a great writer would be able to express their ideas with a multitude of words rather than the same ones over and over.

Another thing I liked about Howe's writing was that some of her work was religious. I've never read religious poetry before so I really enjoyed that new facet. Although her religious poems used the lamb metaphor constantly, I feel like here it was almost okay because the lamb is a religious idea anyway.

Did any of you feel like this about her writing? Or am I completely crazy?

#8

For this week's free entry I decided to post an updated version of my Billiards poem from class. Here it is!

Billiards

The white ball sits atop the green felt
facing the colorful triangle.
Waiting for its cue,
the ball almost vibrates with anticipation.

A sudden crack,
a sharp pain,
the
cue
ball
rolls
at
an
alarming
rate.

The colors
cry out for mercy.
Another moment,
and all Hell breaks loose.
Hectic collisions,
suffering screams...
Over and over the colors crash.
One by one they disappear into the darkness.
Shivering with fear, they await their turn to fall,
Newton freezing them in place with the curse of inertia.

As the white ball chooses its victim,
each color envisions themselves
rolling
spinning
bouncing
out of control,
first off the others,
then off the walls.
The upside of darkness is that
there is no more pain.

The lone ball sits atop the green felt
and thinks
This is what I live for.

#6

My favorite poem in the packet is Read This Poem from the Bottom Up by Ruth Porritt.
Oddly enough, the stanza structure didn't change my opinion. If something is to be in rhythm, four is the usual choice. This poem doesn't have a set meter (especially when you read from the top), but the four lines per stanza did make it pleasing to the eye.

This poem is my favorite because I actually attempted to write a piece like this in high school. I thought it was pretty original back then, but I guess it's all been done before.

Anyway, here's my poem. Instead of reading line by line backwards, you read all the way through, then read backwards by the stanza. Keep in mind this was many years ago and it has not been revised. Suggestions would always be welcome though!

Reverse

I am numb,
Floating through an endless darkness,
Unable to move or think or speak.

Suddenly, my entire body is burning.
I feel the pain of thousands within me.

I cannot move.
These straps bind me,
They tie me down.

The men lead me in.
It is a tiny room
With a single chair.

I've been waiting for seven years now. Waiting for this day
When I can once again see your face
And tell you I'm sorry
For what you did.

The gavel sounds, and I am led out,
Bound for a seven-year wait.

I admit, it's true.
I did indeed commit this terrible act
Of revenge
I am still amazed at my act of vengeance.

In a fit of rage,
I stab with the pencil
Again and again

You try to apologize,
But I am overcome
With anger,
Fear,
Hate,
And envy.

I begin to write a poem
I am numb,
Floating through an endless darkness...

I know exactly where you were.



I know it was terrible, but like I said, I did it many years ago. Seeing someone else that attempted and succeeded with the same idea made me really excited, so I pulled this one out of the vault for your enjoyment.

~LaRue

#5

What if you had to move to a new state each year?

It would be wonderfully exciting
Wouldn't it?
You'd be provided with
New Year's resolutions for certain.
Find a new state.
Find a new home.
Find a new job,
New friends,
New life.
It would be terribly lonely though
Wouldn't it?
There would be so much
You could never do.
Never live in your childhood home.
Never remember your first state.
Never say "born and raised,"
Be considered a local
Or even feel settled.
If your spouse had already lived in a state you hadn't,
You would be apart for at least a year.
And after all that stress,
No one would live past fifty anyway.

#4

My favorite poem, which I also used in my introduction blog, is Invictus by William Ernest Henley:

Invictus

Out of the night that covers me
Black as the Pit from pole to pole
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate
How charged with punishments the scroll
I am the master of my fate.
I am the captain of my soul.

I love this poem because it inspires me to take charge and persevere through anything that comes my way. One thing I can learn from this poem is how to use rhyme effectively. I'm not so good at rhyming in my pieces. I usually end up writing to the rhyme, just like the poem BFF?? did. I think Henley managed to use rhymes to aid his piece rather than make it or hinder it.

#3

What is poetry?



Inspiration or disaster,
The pen is the master.
Faster and faster
The hand works till it fails.

Hastily scrawling
The images sprawling
The mind's voice drawling
Telling every detail.

Laughter and tears,
Courage and fear,
Some will adhere
And others will sail.

Pages print
The draft is sent
So much feeling went
Into telling this tale.





Poetry is written emotion.
~LaRue

#2

I decided to combine several of the free entry ideas since I didn't have enough of a single subject to write an entire blog. Here goes nothing.

Puns:
Edgar Allan Poe always used his manners when writing. He called it "Poetiquette."
I decided last week to write a book. My friends called it a novel idea.
Everyone I'm related to writes poems. Instead of a family tree we have a poetry.

They were supposed to be terrible, right?

Words that do not belong in poetry:
Personally-if you write about something, it's either your view or a character's view. There's no need to write "personally."
Sweater-this word is so overused. We get it. Nerdy is the new cool--glasses and sweaters and all that. Don't talk about a sweater in your poems unless you want to be written off completely in my book. It sounds harsh I know, but it's the truth.

Words I like:
Incognito-probably one of my favorite words because no one says it seriously.
Antidisestablishmentarianism-takes me back to the middle school days when you were cool if you knew this word. And really cool if you knew how to spell it. And even cooler if you knew what it meant.
Spontaneous-it represents such freedom in your actions. I think everyone should be a little more spontaneous.

~LaRue

#1

I'm LaRue, although most people call me Casey. Either one is fine by me.
Don't underestimate me. I may be small but I'm pretty tough.
I have a third degree black belt in American Karate. I've also studied five other forms of martial arts informally.
I perform with an indoor drumline called Pariah, playing fourth bass. The drum is almost as big as me.
I like to sing, but that's not to say I'm any good at it. The same goes for dancing. I love it, but I'm not very talented.
I'm a member of the Iota Delta chapter of Tau Beta Sigma. It's a band service sorority that was founded on March 26, 1946. Our purpose is to help the music department in any way possible.
I've been interested in literature and poetry all my life. I have to say that the poem that best describes my attitude is Invictus by William Ernest Henley:

Invictus

Out of the night that covers me
Black as the Pit from pole to pole
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate
How charged with punishments the scroll
I am the master of my fate.
I am the captain of my soul.