Day 28 . . . the end of four full weeks. And now just the small tail left of National Poetry Month.
Maureen Thorson’s NaPoWriMo prompt: "Today I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that tells a story. But here’s the twist – the story should be told backwards. The first line should say what happened last, and work its way through the past until you get to the beginning."
Robert Lee Brewer’s PAD prompt: "For today’s prompt, take the phrase 'Important (blank),' replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write the poem. Possible titles could include: 'Important Documents,' 'Important: Read Before Assembling,' 'Important People,' and so on. I hope everyone finds something important to write about today."
Okay, mixing both prompts. Here's a poem about today, an important day all of us — students and faculty alike — have been anticipating.
Important Rewind: Last Day of Class
After holding office hours, where no one came,
I stride backwards an hour and a half ago
| to my last class, never looking back once. | |
| In Poetry |
Workshop, we swallow peals of laughter while
playing Exquisite Corps, and then swallow more
laughter, sharing our imitations of each other’s
| poems. | |
| Then I walk backwards to my office again |
where I wolf down a personal pizza (three meats)
| and a bottle of green tea. | |
| Amble backwards once |
more to my elements of creative writing class where
we swallow laughs again and again. Don’t you love
| the last day of class? | |
| And walk, always backwards, |
to my multicultural literature class to finish discussing
| Barbara Jane Reyes’s poetry. | |
| Then hurry backwards |
to my car parked on 23rd Street and drive in reverse
to my apartment, where I get into bed and read
my eyelids until last night, knowing I have fifteen
more weeks to the start of the semester. Hallelujah.
—Draft by Vince Gotera [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.]
Jed tells me that when he saw the Brewer prompt, he thought, "Well, I already know my title will be Not Important. Now I just have to think of what the poem is about."
Not Important
And then he died. It always ends that way.
What ends?
Old age. Lay down those weary bones.
But how does old age come?
Through middle age. The pillar.
Hard work to hold the whole tent up.
When did he learn to work?
Why, in his youth. That’s always the best time,
For youth contains such boundless energy.
Where did he get that boundless energy?
In childish play, and wonder at the world;
The time to learn adventure’s everywhere
Is childhood, for everything is new.
And children come from . . . ?
Babies. Lumps of flesh
With hungry minds.
Nourish them with patience, mind and flesh both.
That’s the whole story, then?
Of course. Unless.
Who were they?
Before.
That’s not important.
Is it?
—Draft by Jedediah Kurth [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.]
Ven's "Important _____" poem interestingly turns time around but also sets up a diminishing-line structure, reducing by a word per line.
Important but boring backstory to everything else.
Inevitably he wrote many fucking poems about it.
Everything fell apart, there were many tears.
Everyone aged, some better than others.
Obviously some babies were made.
Then there was marriage.
There was love.
They met.
1999.
—Draft by Ven Batista [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.]
Here's Alan's mash-up of the backwards-time/important prompts.
Important Clause
I own an empty church that’s falling down;
its deed requires it always stay a church.
Some people would have changed it to a home.
He lost himself inside his mind. We lost.
Somebody stole the HVAC from the church.
Alzheimer’s escalated. He got lost.
High, rough winds blew the steeple from the roof,
his friends stole all the furniture it held.
He couldn’t keep the building up. He let
his friends hold services for months rent free.
The church’s deed requires it stay a church.
He bought a church for gospel singings. His
dementia started sometime years ago.
He drove some gospel singing friends for free,
from church to church, befriending local groups
of amateurs in hopes of making big.
He bought a bus and had it customized.
He crisscrossed Southern states from week to week;
At last he drove for tour companies.
He crisscrossed Alabama every day.
Installing home improvements, he could drive
to different places, job to job to job.
His service in the Guard taught him his tools.
The football coach insisted he would play
and stay each afternoon throughout the week,
and so he left before his senior year.
He and some friends began a gospel group,
and crossed some county lines to sing in praise.
Only the hymns relieved him from the God
of Judgment preachers shouted to the pews,
and from the farm, he heard the whining wheels
of trucks and buses on the distant road.
—Draft by Thomas Alan Holmes [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.]
Thanks for the poems, guys! Two days to go. Thanks for checking out our poems, everyone!
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Ingat, everyone. ヅ |
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