Sign Inventory, Post 10, Week 5

When Death Came
Adam Zagajewski

I wasn't with you when death came.
The municipal hospital was your last home:
white room, cobwebs, chipped
paint, a jar of cherry preserves,
an old issue of a rotogravure, a tin fork
with a tine gone, two glasses.
In the next bed, a tailor with cancer.
You were so old the doctors thought
you'd hardly weight
in the numbers of death.
So old that the children on your street
thought you another century,
an empire slouching on the broken sidewalk.
As death came, though, youth came:
you suddenly spoke the language of childhood,
the white screen between you and the living
was the wing of a glider.
The intravenous drip muttered, a pigeon
impatiently paced on the sill.
You were taking all of yourself
from that dreary place into your death:
the dandy of eighteen, the mature thirty-year-old,
the German teacher with no truck
for indolent students, the pensioner
with his long daily walk
that may at the end have measured
the distance from earth
to heaven.
You'd regenerated yourself
for your death.
In the hall, the muffled laughter
of nurses; at the window,
sparrows fighting for crumbs.


- This piece uses a lot of enjambment.
- The repetition of phrases such as "when death came" and "so old that" emphasize certain points within the piece.
- It's interesting that he chose not to capitalize Heaven. I wonder if it was a personal choice or if he just didn't think about it.
- The idea from the first line of the narrator being absent from the death is reiterated at the end when he mentions only nurses and sparrows.
- The actions of the nurses (laughing) and sparrows (eating) reinforce the previous idea of the old man not weighting in the numbers of death.

Improv 2, Post 9, Week 5

At Daybreak
Adam Zagajewski

From the train window at daybreak,
I saw empty cities sleeping,
sprawled defenselessly on their backs
like great beasts.
Through the vast squares, only my thoughts
and a biting wind wandered;
linen flags fainted on towers,
birds started to wake in the trees,
and in the thick pelts of the parks
stray cats' eyes gleamed.
The shy light of morning, eternal
debutante, was reflected in shop windows.
Carousels, finally possessing themselves, spun
like prayer wheels on their invisible fulcrums;
gardens fumed like Warsaw's smoldering ruins.
The first van hadn't arrived yet
at the brown slaughterhouse wall.
Cities at daybreak are no one's,
and have no names.
And I, too, have no name,
dawn, the stars growing pale,
the train picking up speed.

At Midnight
Casey LaRue

From my bedroom window at midnight,
I saw empty mausoleums starving,
lids stacked crookedly across gaps
like mad hats.
Six feet under, only my soul
and a snaking worm wandered;
dampness crept in the cavities
souls started to awaken from bones,
and in the roots of the trees
water stretched to feed.
The transitive light of the moon, smiling
guardian, reached not to those depths.
Crickets, finally expressing themselves, rubbed
like twigs to create fiery songs;
plants curled like inked paper.
The first moment hadn't arrived yet
of the new and promising day.
Mausoleums at midnight are no ones yet,
but one day will have names.
And I, too, will have a name,
midnight, the stars glowing brightly,
the crickets' chorus rising.

Improv 1, Post 8, Week 5

Betrayal
Adam Zagajewski

The greatest delight, I sense,
is hidden sublimely in the act of betrayal
which can be equal only to fidelity.
To betray a woman, friends, an idea,
to see new light in the eyes
of distant shadows. But choices are
limited: other women, other
ideas, the enemies of our
long-standing friends. If only
we could encounter some quite different
otherness, settle in a country which has
no name, touch a woman before
she is born, lose our memories, meet
a God other than our own.

Stretching
Casey LaRue

The free-est feeling, I believe,
is embraced mainly in the start of the morning
which can be equal only to the night.
To stretch a back, arms, a neck,
to feel new muscles in the length
of familiar arms. But times are
limited: lying in bed, sitting
up, the moment you first
stand. If only
we could maintain some quite stretchy
state of being, lying in beds of
air and water, each limb long and
flexible, mentality malleable
and open, souls
embracing every day.

Peer Response 2, Post 7, Week 5

In response to Kamou's free entry:

This piece is very interesting. As always, I can definitely hear your voice throughout the whole thing. I agree with Pauline as far as this sounding like lyrics, and I like it. The beginning doesn't seem to have as much rhythm as the rest of the piece, but I cheated and read the last few lines first, so maybe I had some expectations already. There are points where I want to tell you to fix the grammar/spelling (this mental compass point straight), but the other half of me thinks that it works here. It wouldn't hurt to check punctuation, though, like its and it's.

Peer response 1, Post 6, Week 5

In response to Brandy's free entry:

I also don't know who Dave Pelzer is, but I searched his name on Google and found that he was a survivor of childhood abuse who is now a self-help author. That small bit of research coupled with your explanation at the end was enough for  me to understand that this was what you wished for Dave rather than the unfortunate childhood he had. I think, regardless of what he had in mind, this works as a piece that we all wish was accurate. That said, there are still errors from a technical standpoint. For example, piñatas shouldn't have an apostrophe.I like the alliteration of "bruised bodied blood," but I'm not sure it makes sense. I think you could use some commas between the "not______" sections, and I'm a little confused as to why you used "her" in the last line of the second stanza. But the basis of the piece is good. I agree with Tim that you could bring in some more detail, but overall good work.

Free Entry, Post 5, Week 5

I do not enjoy walking,
but when I walk,
I enjoy it.
The smell of honeysuckle
and impending rain
come and go with the breeze.
On a nearby building,
a squirrel moves smoothly along the lowest ledge
like a bushy-tailed, landlocked dolphin.
With no trees leading to the building,
no branches reaching toward the roof,
I wonder how he got there.
Looking around, I see other pedestrians,
none of whom have noticed the wandering rodent.
They are all enjoying the image of the ground
or their phones.
I breathe in the fresh summer air
and watch the squirrel turn
the corner of the roof.

Junkyard Quote 4, Post 4, Week 5

"I like the bouncing rhythm of repetition."

I pulled this from Tim O'Brien, a creative nonfiction writer who recently did a reading and several Q and A sessions at the university. I got a ton of quotes from him, and this was one of the ones I felt could be most easily used in a poetic piece.

Junkyard Quote 3, Post 3, Week 5

"We'll play third grade politics."

One of my writing group members was talking about interacting with people in the library and exchanging evil looks with a girl he went to elementary school with.

Junkyard Quote 2, Post 2, Week 5

"You can't be there if there's no there to be."

Yet another gem from my CNF teacher. We were talking about setting the scene for a piece, and she came up with this to inspire us to give more details.

Junkyard Quote 1, Post 1, Week 5

"It's like trans fats. The only people who have them are the people who don't say they don't."

I don't remember where I heard this, but I do remember thinking it was funny. I think it was a standup comedian. Anyway, I liked it so here it is.