Day 24 . . . including today, we have exactly a week left. Seven days, seven poems.
Maureen Thorson’s NaPoWriMo prompt: "Today I challenge you to write a 'mix-and-match' poem in which you mingle fancy vocabulary with distinctly un-fancy words. First, spend five minutes writing a list of overly poetic words – words that you think just sound too high-flown to really be used by anyone in everyday speech. Examples might be vesper, heliotrope, or excelsior. Now spend five minutes writing words that you might use or hear every day, but which seem too boring or quotidian to be in a poem. Examples might be garbage disposal, doggy bag, bathroom. Now mix and match examples from both of your lists into a single poem. Hopefully you’ll end up with a poem that makes the everyday seem poetic, and which keeps your poetic language grounded."
Robert Lee Brewer’s PAD prompt: "For today’s prompt, write a poem in which something is lost and then regained. Maybe a relationship is lost and then regained, or a special keepsake. Maybe it was stolen and won back. Or maybe it was in your possession the whole time, but you just didn’t know it."
Today I mashed up the two prompts but did not make up lists of fancy and un-fancy words, as Maureen recommended. I simply used her example words: vesper, heliotrope, excelsior, and garbage disposal, doggy bag, bathroom.
Paradise Regained
All day, things just got worse and worse.
First, the bathroom sprung a water leak
and then worse yet, the toilet backed up.
At lunch, I discovered that last night's
doggy bag from the new Thai restaurant
had soaked through with Tom Kha Gai soup
and the spill had run all over the fridge.
Shortly after that, the garbage disposal
locked up and the greasy water in the sink
wouldn't drain. Could it get any worse?
Finally, feeling defeated, I made myself
a Vesper cocktail (gin, vodka, Lillet blanc)
and put on Heliotrope's new CD. I lay back
in the recliner, put my feet up, and let
the music wash over me, circling in lovely
ambient waves of purple around the room.
Excelsior, nirvana, bliss — a perfect day.
—Draft by Vince Gotera [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.]
Here is Jed's fancy/un-fancy poem. Maureen used the word "quotidian" in her prompt, and Jed says that since it was the only word in the prompt he had to look up, he had to use it in his poem!
Splendiferous
Aforetimes, I was exuberant
About elaborate language,
Abstruse verbiage.
I reveled in the opportunity
To display my intricate cerebration
And innate superiority.
Then I asked myself if
I would rather use big words
Or be understood?
Would I rather write to be read?
Or to sneer at the world?
Now, with quotidian diligence
I strive to minimize
The indications of
My arrogant pretensions of
Erudition.
“I possess the capacity to
Ring upon each ear
In like plebeian tones
As the common man.”
Is it working?
—Draft by Jedediah Kurth [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.]
Alan's intro today: "There's something to be said about the purity of early rock lyrics, such as those written by Buddy Holly, Chuck Berry, Carole King, and the Beatles. There's also a bad way to say those same things. Here's an example."
She Loves You
(Lennon/McCartney/Doublespeak)
She loves you (yeah, yeah, yeah)!
She loves you (yeah, yeah, yeah)!
She loves you (yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)!
You opine that you have irreversibly damaged your romantic relationship;
However, I encountered the object of your affection yesterday,
And I can evince that your erstwhile paramour dwells on you,
And she persuaded me to enunciate
That she loves you, and you know that can’t be bad.
She loves you, and you know you should be glad.
Having apprised her recent harmful interactions with you,
She has determined that her grasp on sanity became compromised;
Nevertheless, in reflection, she asserts her determination
That, in essence, she finds a contradistinction and has concluded that your character belies any core
maliciousness.
And she loves you, and you know that can’t be bad.
She loves you, and you know you should be glad (whoo)!
She loves you (yeah, yeah, yeah)!
She loves you (yeah, yeah, yeah)!
She loves you (yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)!
I have reached the conclusion, therefore, that you must take the initiative to effect an immediate
reconciliation to eventuate,
Which is, if I may opine, the remaining just and rational action.
One finds in pride a contraindication to happiness.
Accept the consequences and responsibility of your rash actions, and prostrate yourself in hopes of her
mercy.
Because she loves you, and you know that can’t be bad.
She loves you, and you know you should be glad (whoo)!
She loves you (yeah, yeah, yeah)!
She loves you (yeah, yeah, yeah)!
She loves you (yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)!
—Draft by Thomas Alan Holmes [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.]
Alan, what a refreshing and entertaining way to meld the two prompts — fancy/un-fancy over-the-top diction along with the loss and regain within the song's narrative — while also evoking your childhood and mine vis-à-vis the Fab Four.
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| Sleeve of 45-rpm record "She Loves You" by the Beatles |
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It's really fun to compare the "fancy" parts of Alan's poem with the original Beatles lyrics.
"You think you lost your love.
Well, I saw her yesterday.
It's you she's thinking of
And she told me what to say. . . .
"She said you hurt her so,
She almost lost her mind,
But now she says she knows
You're not the hurting kind. . . .
"You know it's up to you.
I think it's only fair.
Pride can hurt you too.
Apologize to her. . . ."
Brilliant! Alan's "translations" of the actual lyrics, I mean.
If you don't know the song, listen to "She Loves You" here. This video really highlights what a great '50s-style lead guitarist George Harrison is. There are sections of the song where they don't sing the "yeah yeah yeah" part as expected and instead George plays it as a chordal melody. Very sweet. You can hear this on the video at 0:28, 0:53, and pretty well at 1:29. You'll see also at 1:36 that the audience is throwing jelly babies onstage at their feet. A few seconds later, you can also see Ringo dodging something thrown on stage, maybe a flower but at pretty high velocity.
Ven's poem is a fib, a poetic form that uses the Fibonacci sequence: 1 1 2 3 5 8 ... (where each number is the sum of the previous two). He "fibs" with regard to numbers of lines in a stanza, numbers of words in a line, and also numbers of syllables in a word or hyphenated phrase, starting from 1 up to 8 and then back down. Hope that made sense. And of course "fancy" and "un-fancy" words.
Φ
My
eyes
open. Inviting:
procrastination; indecipherability; misunderstanding;
suffering; bleeding. All of these—
tepid excuses self-multiplying parthenogenitcally. Ever-expanding simplistic answers. This
shit we swallow. Everything accelerating,
post-phenomenological authenticity. Separate.
Distant from
the
heart.
Feeling
abandoned. Sexualizing.
Vesiculopustular. Vituperative. Schematics
hiding the hive mind’s unity.
Supercilious institutionalization, inexplicable reasoning. Rhyming is for the
losers— beautiful sadomasochists. Para-sympathomimetic ejaculations—
poetry air-born
as tear
gas.
Controlled.
Weaponized
indoctrinated individualization.
Real-time holocaust.
Revile the one thing holding
everything harmoniously: humanitarianism. Mutability didactic, static, numbs us.
God reborn— apathy. Theological interoperability.
Exogenesis. Freudian slippage.
Cry or
don’t.
Choices.
Illusion.
—Draft by Ven Batista [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.]
Friends, won’t you comment, please? Love to know what you’re thinking. To comment, look for a red line below that starts Posted by, then click once on the word comments in that line. If you don’t find the word "comments" in that line, then look for a blue link below that says Post a comment and click it once. Thanks!
Ingat, everyone. ヅ |
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4 comments:
Also no. of syllables per word. Just sayin'. :D
To that end I think I gave you an earlier draft:
it should be "ever-expanding" in line 6.
and "real-time-holocaust" about 3/4 through. Because no. of syllables
Ven, I just realized these comments were here. All fixed, I think. Could you double-check?
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