A Poetry Post
Because. I love poetry. And you love me. So you have to deal with it.
So. I've been doing a lot of scattered writing while I've been here, snippets during classes or en route to the various places I've travelled, but nothing overly spectacular, save for this one piece I've been working on since Galway. A long time, I know. Most people don't realize what goes in to poetry, they just see the 20 finished lines, and think, "Oh, I could do that in 5 minutes." Yeah, try a couple months of constantly dwelling on those very few lines, trying to make them as perfect as possible. Not so easy. But it finally came together for me while I was in Germany, as did the idea for my undergraduate thesis. It's titled, at least right now, Selected Snapshots of Europe: A Poetry Album, and the idea behind the collection is to collect poetic photographs from the places I go. (And any feedback on this idea, a way to par it down or refine it, is always appreciated. Work is constantly in progress) Once that idea clicked for me, I needed to do something about it. So I emailed my English Honors advisor, got her approval, and then emailed Cecil, who oh so kindly agreed to chair my thesis. I'm on the ball. And I feel really good about this project, and pretty confident on the lead poem, which I'm going to share with you here. Any of my poetically inclined readers, feel free to comment on it constructively, as I'm always looking for good commentary and missing my poetry workshops a lot. Even if you don't know anything about poetry, but like or don't like something, let me know. I think poetry should belong to everyone, and not be locked up in workshops on campus or smoky coffee shops or bars at 3 in the morning. Talk to me, people. If you read this post, you must comment. I'm making it a rule. And if you don't...I won't post any more and you won't have anything to read on breaks between classes or before you go to work or just before you go to bed, whenever you check this. And you won't know what I'm doing. So. Don't post at your own peril. Not that I'm threatening you or anything (Austin, you're exempt, because we've already talked about the poem). So now, a poem.
It’s Worth a Thousand Words
But a picture cannot describe the heat
of a blackberry, plucked
from a bush that pushes
between the cracks of a stacked
stone wall, smashed
against the tongue, seeds
slipping between teeth
and the bitterness of unripe
vermillion juice.
Nor can it echo the honeybee song
soft and easy deep-throat
thrumming as he leaps
daisy aster morning glory
face and wings dusted finely yellow.
It does show off brilliantly
the eye-tightening leaves
of autumn, grainy
red, dirty orange, but if you breathe
deeply just above the glossy
print, you cannot taste
the wet dark weight
of decay and inescapable winter.
That's the lead piece. Hope you enjoyed! And have a good day...I know I will. It's Harry Potter night at Leeson.
So. I've been doing a lot of scattered writing while I've been here, snippets during classes or en route to the various places I've travelled, but nothing overly spectacular, save for this one piece I've been working on since Galway. A long time, I know. Most people don't realize what goes in to poetry, they just see the 20 finished lines, and think, "Oh, I could do that in 5 minutes." Yeah, try a couple months of constantly dwelling on those very few lines, trying to make them as perfect as possible. Not so easy. But it finally came together for me while I was in Germany, as did the idea for my undergraduate thesis. It's titled, at least right now, Selected Snapshots of Europe: A Poetry Album, and the idea behind the collection is to collect poetic photographs from the places I go. (And any feedback on this idea, a way to par it down or refine it, is always appreciated. Work is constantly in progress) Once that idea clicked for me, I needed to do something about it. So I emailed my English Honors advisor, got her approval, and then emailed Cecil, who oh so kindly agreed to chair my thesis. I'm on the ball. And I feel really good about this project, and pretty confident on the lead poem, which I'm going to share with you here. Any of my poetically inclined readers, feel free to comment on it constructively, as I'm always looking for good commentary and missing my poetry workshops a lot. Even if you don't know anything about poetry, but like or don't like something, let me know. I think poetry should belong to everyone, and not be locked up in workshops on campus or smoky coffee shops or bars at 3 in the morning. Talk to me, people. If you read this post, you must comment. I'm making it a rule. And if you don't...I won't post any more and you won't have anything to read on breaks between classes or before you go to work or just before you go to bed, whenever you check this. And you won't know what I'm doing. So. Don't post at your own peril. Not that I'm threatening you or anything (Austin, you're exempt, because we've already talked about the poem). So now, a poem.
It’s Worth a Thousand Words
But a picture cannot describe the heat
of a blackberry, plucked
from a bush that pushes
between the cracks of a stacked
stone wall, smashed
against the tongue, seeds
slipping between teeth
and the bitterness of unripe
vermillion juice.
Nor can it echo the honeybee song
soft and easy deep-throat
thrumming as he leaps
daisy aster morning glory
face and wings dusted finely yellow.
It does show off brilliantly
the eye-tightening leaves
of autumn, grainy
red, dirty orange, but if you breathe
deeply just above the glossy
print, you cannot taste
the wet dark weight
of decay and inescapable winter.
That's the lead piece. Hope you enjoyed! And have a good day...I know I will. It's Harry Potter night at Leeson.
posted by Bookhead at 5:07 PM
4 Comments:
It's is very beautiful... Reminds me a lot of you.. Can't wait to read the rest..
Love Daddy.
You know me. I love anything you do. But that's how grandma's are.
Hmmmm - I think it definitely has possibilities. It shows me there is a LITTLE serious studying going on over there. Good job!!
"Bush that pushes" and "Cracks of a stacked" coming right after one another runs that border between genius and overuse. And I, being as I am, have no idea the difference. I don't know whether I want to love that part or smack it for being what it is. Because I still have no idea as the reader what to feel about it, I'm going to applaud you for genius, and hope not to get the ideas stuck in my head.
lovely. and you know i'm reading. :) however, i feel unfit to critique such poetry. it is beyond my scope. :)
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