Day Six ... NaPoWriMo / Poem-a-Day 2023

Robert Lee Brewer’s Poem-a-Day prompt: “write a poem that smells. Or at least, write a poem that involves the act of smelling or a scent of some sort. ” Maureen Thorson’s NaPoWriMo prompt: “Take a look around Poetry International for a poem in a language you don’t know. . . . Now, read the poem to yourself, thinking about the sound and shape of the words, and the degree to which they remind you of words in your own language. Use those correspondences as the basis for a new poem.” The poem I chose from Poetry International is [The sky is a generator] by Norwegian poet Tone Hønebø. My "conversion" (or translitic as it's often called) of the poem into English via spelling and sound and diction is below. Just for fun, you could compare her original text with mine. Smelling your craftwork somewhere heel dog ingredient smelling constructive systems some fang over my Betelgeuse from blades, insects and minks in industrial expansion, descent after descent, copying the self. For example, Hønebø's line "fra blader, insekter og mennesker" I changed to "from blades, insects, and minks," of course with no idea if that means anything remotely like the original. The end of the poem, "kopierer seg selv" became "copying the self," again, just through some kind of similarity in sound and feel. Then I extracted some language to create the poem below. Working both prompts again today, though the "smell" aspect is only the word itself and nothing sensory. Constructive Expansion Dogs smell your craftwork, blades, insects and minks. Systems descend and descend, copying the self’s industry. —Draft by Vince Gotera    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.] I don't know if this exercise was successful. I don't know what the poem says or means. Maybe it will make sense to someone. It's part surreal and part business-y . . . certainly not something I would typically write. Here's what Alan told me about his poem today: "O.K., Vince, I think I got this one worked out. Brewer wanted a poem about smell, an easy enough assignment. However, if I understood Thorson correctly, I needed the sounds of an unfamiliar language to set me off with related sounds, although I was not supposed to attempt to garble the foreign words into English soundalikes (another unfamiliar language, as my writing attests). So, I selected the poem 'Expectations' by a friend of mine, Isabel Gómez Sobrino, who released Whispering Ashes from Valparaíso USA last year. Her poem begins as follows: Lucho, vivo, creo algo bello. Pienso, discuto, leo. Soy madre. Doy y recibo amor. These stanzas translate as follows: I fight, I live, I create something beautiful. I think, I argue, I read. I am a mother. I give and receive love. You can learn more about her work here: http://valparaisoeditions.us/374_gomez-sobrino-isabel. The volume features Isabel’s poems in Spanish, with English translations by Savannah Aigner and Matthew Fehskens." And now, here is Alan's poem today: Expectations To be home is to brew what someone has roasted; as a boy I could smell from the house’s far room sizzling grease and the spice of scorched sausage—my mom always sears it around the edges, and I woke with my mouth watering, sometimes unexpecting bologna aroma, the biscuits burnt a bit, the toast scorched. She’d scramble the eggs in that hot grease and make spicy gravy I remember with tears welling up. Give me dark roast, so dark I will eat some of the beans before I get out of the car to carry them inside, where my morning routine means I brew my coffee, aroma waking one who stirs in our shared room, carry her my too-full cup, get a kiss, let her sip be the only sweetener, and face the routine day. —Draft by Thomas Alan Holmes    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.] Evidently, Alan and I understood Thorson's prompt completely differently. That's all right. Lots of room in the poetry world for different manifestations and understandings! Friends, won’t you comment, please? Love to know what you’re thinking. Thanks! Ingat, everyone.  ヅ

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