Additional Imitation/Self-Analysis-"Not Waving but Drowning" by Stevie Smith

Not Hiding, Only Finding

He stayed far away north somewhere now, my old mentor,
But still I could hear him
"There ain't no use in wastin' a good heart on this cold world"
He is not hiding, only finding.

The old man, always trying to guide me
And now only in whispers
The horns and lights must have finally gotten the better of him
I think.

I read the news today, oh boy
(Still I hear the old man's voice)
I will desert the cold granite and steel
Not hiding, only finding.

I chose to write this extra imitation on a poem instead of a short story, mainly because I had not tried it before. I was interested to see how imitating the two forms might produce varied results. In Stevie Smith's "Not Waving but Drowning" there were several interesting elements to her writing that I chose to emulate. First off, the structure. Since poetry is a much shorter form than short fiction, and the structure is also often more intently crafted by the author, and therefore important to the piece, I chose to follow it here quite closely. Smith used repetition: both with important phrases and sentence structure. She does this to emphasize important parts, as well as to create a rhythm and flow. I did this as well. "Not hiding, only finding" is the phrase I repeat because I wanted to stress that the old one was escaping the city to find things he couldn't while still there. I include a lot of stuttered broken sentences like her too, with good examples being the first two lines of the first stanza, as well as the third and fourth lines of the second stanza. Next, I also attempted to emulate the mood, tone, and content of Smith's work, but in a very general way. Her poem is a consciously understated account of a tragic accident, done in a vague ambiguous way, and with implications of a deeper truth. I wrote mine in a similar vague manner, left it understated, and still wove it into a deeper meaning. The difference between writing imitations for poetry and fiction, is that with poetry, emulating the sonic elements and vague feel are most important.

Questions of Duality

How do we judge fire,
Raging and razing,
Cooking and warming?

How do we judge wind,
Roaring and stripping,
Cooling and lifting?

How do we judge time,
Tricking and weighing,
Unappreciated and precious?

How do we judge ourselves,
Fouling and destroying,
Loving and living?

How do we judge our judgment,
Biased and confused,
Convincing and confident?

And how do we judge
if our judgment
can ever be correct?

Morning Exhaustion

I woke up,
still tired,
saw in my morning reflection,
and the winter afternoon outside,
all the things I should have done and said,
but hadn't,
due to my crippling paralysis,
And promptly went back to sleep,
more tired than before.

Placebo

I am the human placebo
With the same Ralph Lauren, Nike, Levis
Outer shell as the rest
But lacking the drug inside:
The human condition.
One can not tell
That I am a fake
Designed to fool the unknowing
Unless they inhale me
And feel nothing.

I ate a little furry animal

I ate a little furry animal
By accident
Or at least not consciously.
It was an odd thing
Feeling him squirm desperately
Trying in vain to reverse the inevitable.
His fur got caught in my teeth and made me thirsty.
He continued to squirm
Once in my stomach
And it made me feel weak at the knees
With nervous excitement.
This unexpected meal had the unfortunate consequence of ruining my appetite.
I still can not tell
Whether the little furry animal
I ate by accident
Caused my illness or caused my cure.

Advice for All

Settle your debts with the old embittered vultures,
Ironclad, powerful but resentful,
And envious,
Locked away in their tower on the hill.
Do this,
And rise again reborn,
New life in a new world,
Primeval as when the earth was young,
Still wild and impressionable.
Go way back,
Before the vultures had sustenance,
Before the world had definite shape,
And then keep going.

Untitled

Turn the screw,
Flash the smile,
Paint the world,
With brushes of idealism.

Flip the switch,
March with pride,
Sing the song,
Of a moist, living summer night.

Ignore no,
Only yes,
Light the fire,
That keeps us sane.

Limits

When I was ten years old I wanted to be an astronaut because I saw no limits.

When I was sixteen I wanted to be a rock star because I wanted to break the limits.

When I was 23 I joined an advertising firm because the limits dictated it.

When I was 31 I married and started a family because I was used to the limits.

When I was 45 I joined a country club and began living my life according to the limits.

When I was 60 I retired and shook my head at the youth, who reveled in their own disobedience, their stretching of the limits. They do not yet know, I thought.

When I was 73 I wanted to be an astronaut again because I no longer cared about the limits.

The Arizona Shadow Snake

There is a strange species of snake-
The Arizona Shadow Snake, Or
Tutus Unus
Reptilia.

To escape the intense desert sun,
The Arizona Shadow Snake
Burrows deep-
Only faintly aware of the warmth from above,
Too scared to surface-
Only coming out at midnight to eat
And weep.

The Arizona Shadow Snake
is also the longest living animal
on the planet.

Worm Dreams

I once had a dream
In which the world was flooded all over
And my second floor bedroom window
Lay just above the wet.
Everyone looked like me-
Gazing out in awe,
Blinking in the brilliant reflection of sun on waves.
Many were crowded on the rooftops-
Squinting, fanning, hiding from the blazing sun-
And I was suddenly reminded of the unlucky earthworms,
The ones I saw on my walks to school in the morning,
Just after a heavy spring rain,
Forced from their drowned homes,
Trapped, at the mercy of hungry, wheeling birds,
And baking in the sun.

I woke up to sound of lapping waves.

Final Fiction Reading Response-"The Cask of Amontillado" by Edgar Allen Poe

For my final fiction response I decided to write about "The Cask of Amontillado" by Edgar Allen Poe. The thing that most interested me about this piece was Poe's uncanny ability to craft character. Therefore, I will explore what Poe did to create a unique, complex psyche for Montresor.
Poe does a great job of using the first person. Since it is from Montresor's perspective, the reader is never actually told that he is crazy. Nevertheless, Poe is able to make this excessively clear in only a handful of pages. Being directly told that Montresor was insane would have lacked subtlety and simplified the piece. Instead, this undefined, complex, gradually revealed character adds ambiguity and entertainment. The character Poe weaves is unique, and this uniqueness continues to interest people to this day. Also, since everyone's brain works differently, the character's unique psyche increases realism as well. In contrast, a cliche characterization would have been boring and felt fake. That aside, how did Poe actually develop this character so well? I think that he does a great job using details and action, not narration, to craft Montresor. Over the course of the story these little (sometimes unconnected) details begin to add up, revealing Montresor's troubled psyche. The first thing I noticed was his immediate thoughts to draw out the process of the murder, so that he could enjoy it more thoroughly. Also, Montresor sadistically attempts to convince Fortunato to turn around over and over, knowing full well that he would never turn back again. Montresor's choice to chain him alive was so elaborate and tortuous that it clearly expressed his disturbance. As does the instance in which he takes a break from laying mortar in order to more fully enjoy Fortunato's screaming. There are also more subtle details that enhance the character. For example, Montresor keeps mentioning nitre, a seemingly insignificant detail, to the point where he is clearly deranged. He also showers Fortunato with praise just before he murders him, a clearly sick thing to do. In another instance, Montresor mentions the precise measurements of the final cask, indicating a strange attention to detail and that he had been planning the murder for a long time. Lastly, the denial of the real cause of his emotion and sickness, "My heart grew sick-on account of the dampness of the catacombs," adds another layer of complexity to the character. In this way Poe is able to craft such interesting, enduring characters.

2nd Fiction Reading Response-"The Memory Priest of the Creech People" by Paul Theroux

For my second fiction reading response I chose to examine the short selection by Paul Theroux entitled "The Memory Priest of the Creech People". What struck me about this piece, and what I will focus this analysis on, was the amount he could say in such a short piece.
In my first fiction response I explored Hannah Voskuil's "Currents" because of her ability to create such a meaningful work in so few words. Now again I explore how an author can do this, and find that Theroux's similar success derives from the same techniques, but in their most general way. Theroux, like Voskuil, uses style/tone and structure to make his short piece work effectively as a very short piece of literature. In the piece Theroux uses these two elements very closely together. He structures his story from the standpoint of an unbiased, objective outsider, almost like an anthropologist. However, he does this without any of the unneccesary details or assertions, which would be unneccesary and bog down the piece. This also allowed Theroux an excuse to exclude any objectiveness, direct action, or specifics. In this way he was able to include only what was important to his deeper message, as well as generalize Creech society, without sacrificing the integrity of the piece. At the same time the narrator is an outsider, but not specified, so he/she could be anyone. This makes the rest of the world, with its judgements, morals, etc., non-existant or irrelevant. Only the mention of a location in Sumatra connects the Creech people with the world, and even this is vague. The fact that the Creech people do not exist, allowed Theroux to take the story where he wanted with less limits. In short, Theroux deliberately uses his structure to create the world of the Creech seperate and unaffected by the rest of us, inducing an inherent element of mystery and fantasy. Therefore, Theroux naturally crafted a tone that felt like a legend being told. The lack of connection to reality makes the tribal people seem mythic and a product of the past, undisturbed by the modern world. The narrator's lack of response to, as well as generalization of, the Creech people also strengthen this mythic tone. Because legend's usually have little room for debate or variation, Theroux's tone is the sole authority, and includes no subjectivity. By generalizing the Creech, Theroux eliminates their individuality, which makes them even more mythic, and less susceptible to interpretation on the individual, humanistic level. This generaliztion, and lack of possible variations, gives the Creech people symbolic power. It is as if they are the human condition embodied in its purest form. This leads to my final point: the unique tone and structure of the piece allows Theroux to create a form of allegory. The "Ceremony of Purification" and its role players all become representative of the deeper message, and therefore, transform the story from isolation to universalism. What exactly the deep meaning is can be interpreted differently by every reader. Either way he was successful at packing a lot of literature into a hyper-condensed form.

Five Haiku

Cold barren swampland--
An ancient one-eyed vulture
Careens in circles.

Crisp brown sun-baked turf--
A whispering rattlesnake
Sifts like wind through reeds.

A wild June twilight
Electric, pulsing with life--
Cricket symphony

Blinding desert light--
A lone eagle sentinel
Gazes with dull cold eyes

Tempest surging night--
Manic midnight ocean waves
Churn heavy and slow

*For these haiku I tried to use the traditional 5-7-5 syllable per line structure. Also, like traditional haiku, I used nature as my primary topics. Lastly, I followed with the two-component structure: one line is a statement (at beginning or end), and the group of two lines is a phrase. This split is signified by "--".

Tracy Daugherty/Marjorie Sandor Public Fiction Reading

Last Thursday I attended a public reading for the fiction writers Tracy Daugherty and Marjorie Sandor, who are husband and wife. Because of this relationship I thought it would be interesting to focus my response around the comparison of their two styles.
I think that both writers did a great job of using details, images, objects, etc. to move their writing. They used these things to connect, relate, and explore the human psyche and emotions central to the piece. However, their approach to these techniques were different. In class we discussed resonant objects, making a specific thing (e.g. an object) "dense with literature", and Sandor was able to demonstrate this technique well. For example, she used a white cat (from the piece of the same name) as a complex metaphor for the theme of the piece: overlooking what is important in life. She also does this in another work when she uses the intense memory of a breakfast restaurant to explore the trivial things that become inexplicably sublime to us, as well as nostalgia and memory. In contrast, Daugherty's use of details, images, objects, etc. was more fleeting and flowing. Where Sandor used limited major metaphors to explore a complex concept or emotion, Daugherty used a stream of them. For example, he used the image of a "foal trying to stand" in "One Sound". Daugherty's tendency towards employing a host of images and metaphors also illuminates another difference in their styles. Daugherty is more of a storyteller; Sandor builds her pieces around the abstract. Where Daugherty is traditional and tells a narrative, Sandor is more driven by concepts than action. For instance, Sandor included very little dialogue. However, both writers focus their work on a deep concept. The difference is that Daugherty does not use one extended metaphor, but a host of images, metaphors, etc. that connect or explain some element of this complex concept. The two writers also differ in tone and topic choice. Sandor's voice is not intense or bold, but rather subtle and journalistic. At times she lays out necessary information as if for a newspaper, which reminded me of the writing of Mitch Albom. This subtle, straight forward style works surprisingly well with her topics of complex, intangible ideas. Daugherty's voice and topic choices reminded me of John Steinbeck. In general, his metaphors, setting, imagery, etc. is more realistic and concrete than Sandor, at least on the surface. He uses literal descriptions and attention to detail to convey the deeper meanings of his work. For example, nature is prevalent in his fiction. This reflects on his flowing, insistent voice. He relentlessly presents images, descriptions, related ideas, flashbacks, etc. that are all relevant to the overarching theme. Furthermore, his flowing style is enhanced by good use of repetition and varying sentence structure. For instance, in "Valley Winter" he uses rainfall to go from one image to the next (i.e. "The rain fell on...The rain fell on..."). A good metaphor for the difference in the two writer's voices is this: Sandor is an ocean being explored and Daugherty is a swift river.
Overall, I was both impressed and entertained by Daugherty and Sandor, and thought that the public reading was enjoyable.

Reader's Response for "When I Heard the Learn'd Astronomer" by Walt Whitman

I will do my final reader's response of poetry on Walt Whitman's "When I Heard the Learn'd Astronomer" because there were several things I thought he did very well.
The first thing I would like to talk about is his success at using sonic techniques to enhance the tone and topic: boredom with facts, stats, etc. The repetition of "when" at the start of the first four lines signifies this boredom. The narrator sounds intellectually bored, as if things are dragging on. There are also more commas in the first four lines, creating shorter phrases. This adds to the methodical step-by-step feel, which mirrors the poem's tone. By contrast, the last four lines take on the opposite tone. The lines are left primarily unbroken, allowing them to flow along. Also, he uses words that allude to this flow and openness, both contextually and sonically: "rising and gliding," "mystical moist," "wander'd," etc. This shift in tone from broken up, repetitious boredom to flowing, lyrical excitement is well executed by Whitman.
Also, I really like how Whitman sets the first two scenes as opposites, in order to compare the two mindsets and moods. In the first, the narrator listens to an astronomer in a loud, crowded lecture hall. In the second, he is alone, in silence, and stares in awe at the stars. Because astronomer's study space and the stars, Whitman consciously chose the narrator to be listening to him so that the two mindsets would be viewing the same subject. This emphasizes their differences. The poem suggests the superiority of the second (e.g. its freedom, its mysticism, its spiritual connectedness), as is demonstrated by the narrator seeking out the nature in-person in order to cure the sickness he felt in the lecture hall. He is out getting connected with the real thing. He feels the moistness of the air. The tone switch underplays this idea as well.
In conclusion, I think that Whitman does a great job of painting the stark contrast between science, fact, and logic, and Romantic era beliefs in mysticism, the supernatural, etc. He does this by crafting the rhythm, flow, and sound of the poem: repetitious, dull, and ordered vs. flowing, open, and lyrical. He also achieves this by juxtaposing the two scenes.

Reading Response for "Currents" by Hannah Voskuil

I chose to do my 1st fiction reader's response on "Currents" by Hannah Voskuil because it made an immediate impact on me the first time I read it. Therefore, I want to write this response to analyze how she is able to be so engaging, and also how she condenses her story without sacrificing the piece. I have a lot of respect for an author that can do this.

The most obvious technique that Voskuil uses is the plot structure, in which it is reversed and events unfold farther and farther back in time. In the hands of the wrong author this technique might come off as a novelty and not serve any particular purpose in strengthning the work other than perhaps as a corny plot device used for thrills. Voskuil does not do this. She made the reversed form essential to the piece; it is employed to enhance the piece. She uses the reversed form in combination with short concise moment flashes that remind the reader (at least this one) of waves and "currents". The short sections seem to "pull" the reader along, fitting contextually, but also engaging the reader. For instance, the repetition of "before" naturally draws the reader. Also, by revealing the story backward, the narrator's tone is enriched. It is almost as if the narrator is desensitized at the senseless death of the boy, like everyone else, and is slowly working his/her way back to before this traumatic event, when it was still "a simple summer day". This unique tone (discussed more below) naturally works to engage the reader.
Other than the reversed form structure, Voskuil is engaging and able to be so brief without hurting the work because of her short concise style. By this I mean she does a brilliant job of mixing extremely telling and enriched images with a blunt, factual, unemotional and deliberately simplistic tone. This allows her to get necessary information across in an interesting and emotional way. The juxtaposition of the imagery and the blunt tone is very effective in emphasizing this emotional pull, making it bold and attention-grabbing. For example, "Gary drank single malt in the night...he did not protest the dark," tells us underneath that Gary is distressed and apathetic after such a desensitizing event, without describing his emotions. There are many other examples of these simple images that say so much. The dead accuracy and total lack of embellishment in what the little girl saw, "...the drowned boy's hand...and it bounced and dragged and bounced," is vivid and effective because it is easy to imagine and relate with. The insertion of realistic, undramatic details like, "at first he mistook it for seaweed," into such a tragic context makes them heartrending simply because they are so real. The simplicity in "My brother, he said," is much more powerful and concise then an elaborate description would have been because the rest of the piece has already laid out the emotional tension to that one point; almost as if this phrase had to be the most underplayed of all because it was the culmination of all the aftereffects into one point (the reverse climax). It would be unnecessary for him to describe the hysterics of the boy, and would even disturb the tone, but the simple statement is instantly east to relate with and acts as a perfect reverse climax. This unique style commands the attention and emotion of the reader.
Therefore, I think Voskuil succeeded with "Currents" by manipulating a unique story structure form with her style and tone to create an engaging "story snapshot" that exploded with meaning.

Great Line

"They looked at him so long and so closely that Pelayo and Elisenda very soon overcame their surprise and in the end found him familiar." -Gabriel Garcia Marquez, "A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings"

Crystal Williams Reading

On Thursday night I went to the UMMA to see Crystal Williams perform some of her poetry. She is an African American poet from Detroit and Madrid. She has published several collections of her work and currently teaches in Oregon. Her first poem was called "Ritual". In it I noticed several things that were prevalent in the other poems she read. Thematically I noticed that in "Ritual", as well as others like "Nightbloom for Jade" and "At the Water", Williams has the speaker talking to a child subject. It seemed to me that Williams was talking as her adult-self to herself as a child. This format allows for unique reflection and a personalizing quality. Also, I noticed in "Ritual" that she uses a conversational tone that makes her work easier to relate to. However, this authentic quality doesn't prevent the poems from having a universal quality as well. Her poem "This Parable, This Body" exemplified well her sonic techniques and how the performance enhanced her work. First, Williams uses a lot of repetition. This emphasized important ideas, enhanced different moods-defiance, weariness, sarcasm-and helped to establish a rhythm. Along with repetition, Williams used speed variances, pauses and elongated words (especially important ones) to establish a flow and rhythm that made the performance more entertaining. This style reminded me of slam poetry and it helped to draw me into the poems. Also, Williams was very laid back and joking with the audience which fit with her conversational tones.
Most of the poems she read were from one of her published collections called "Troubled Tongues". They dealt a lot with ideas of appearance and identity. There were several references to birds, which made me think of their symbolic link to freedom. There was also a lot of references to her own experiences, mainly dealing with her skin color. This is especially true in my favorite poem of the performance called "How to Become a Black Woman". In it she sarcastically describes how she "became black" after being raised by white parents through adoption. It was in a step-by-step format and exemplified many of the things I have already mentioned: rhythm, repetition, conversational/relatable, etc. The rest of the poems were ones that she is still working on and that were inspired by her return to Detroit. It was interesting to see that these poems were darker and more serious. Overall, I enjoyed the performance and look forward to reading more of her work in the future.

Backward

We started out laughin, ended up cryin
The coming tide is losing momentum
And the ceaseless singing has lost its rhythm.

The trees are all fruitful but the plates remain empty
The blind man sees the world as a dream,
But with regained sight he sees its a nightmare.

The sun won't set cuz it don't want me sleeping
The voice of the thrushes has forgotten the spring
The people are all busy being lost on the street.

You said you got no time cuz you're lookin for answers
But, hey man, you can't find answers without knowing the questions
You can't go forward until you recognize you're backward.

Robert Frost Analysis

acquainted with the night

When looking at Robert Frost I have always been conflicted. Normally, I gravitate towards free verse and risky poets, but with Frost I have always found that he has made his poems interesting within the scheme of rhyme, traditional structure, etc. I find it interesting that within the context of these traditional constraints he usually avoids cliche or melodramatic lines and instead uses more common terminology and imagery to convey his ideas. At the same time they are employed to usually create a strong message or feel. This is true in "Acquainted with the Night".
In this poem I actually initially saw comparisons with the work of Bob Dylan (which I have previously covered). The poem follows a traveler, making his way through the night, in a world that seems less than welcoming. It seems almost that the wanderer in this poem is the boy in Dylan's "Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall" that has gone back out to change the world-and failed. "I have walked out in rain-and back out in rain," (Line 2). I see the rain as being a fairly universal symbol of misfortune and bad times, and in that way seems to be the Dylan traveler returning home again after failing (as if the hard rain had overcome him). The repetition of "I" in the first five lines gives off a sense of weariness, which the sixth line concludes in context, "And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain". In such simple ways Frost has conveyed an intense feeling of weariness and hopelessness; the speaker too distraught to bother to explain. The silence of the street except for his footsteps signifies loneliness, or that he seems to know something that makes him no longer able to relate with others. Then, the call that is neither "to call me back or say good-bye" furthers this point. The "One luminary clock against the sky," (Line 12) appeared to me to be the moon, and the fact that it read the time as neither right or wrong furthers this feeling of indifference, hopelessness, loss of purpose, etc. The idea of being "acquainted with the night" itself signifies loneliness as most people are active during the daytime. For me the rhyming in this poem (although Frost almost always did), the common images/terminology, and the ambiguous setting, time period, location, etc. made this piece archaic and pertaining to folklore. Even the simple rhymes bespoke the every man. This was interesting because it reminded me of how Dylan used similar tactics to accomplish a related feel in his piece. This was not elitist, it was the poetry of the average man.
Frost has accomplished conveying his feel of failure, loss, etc. by depicting images of a lonely traveler of the night, a common man alienated from everyone, indifferent, and in a way that could be applicable to any time or place.

Prose Form Analysis

I figure that I'll write about the similarities and differences between the form of poetry called prose and the other forms. Prose is different from the other forms most obviously in its structure. Whereas most other forms break their poems into stanzas and lines, prose poetry is more like a paragraph. This makes it almost more similar to a vignette or very short story. Also, there is almost never a rhyming scheme or meter, which is common in most other forms of poetry. These differences allow the prose form to tell more of a narrative in a shorter more free style.
There are also similarities between the prose form and other forms. For one, they both often incorporate a lot of images. Also, although there's often not rhyming or meter, I noticed a lot of prose poems still incorporate sound devices like alliteration and repetition. Lastly, prose poems are generally pretty short as are a lot of poems. The shorter form allows for a sketch of a story, such as making one point, or one feel.
I really like the prose form of poetry mainly because I prefer to write short fiction. The short form gives me an ability to convey a short idea I have, a sketch, that might not transfer into a longer short story. Also, I can be less formal in both the sense of poetry rules and in common rules of short fiction.

Termites Gift-Prose Poem

Praise to the termites! Praise to the termites whose scuttling and scratching break the oppressive, thick, stifling silence of this four-walled cubicle of claustrophobia. Of claustrophobia and contamination. The contamination of my own self-pity and despair that barely, just barely, outweigh the sickening anxiety of the claustrophobia. Praise to the termites! Praise to the termites who nibble through my electrical wires. Who blind me from the water-stained, grime-covered, blank-staring walls. Who put out the one pale light bulb dully flickering; swinging from its wire like the pendulum in my father's grandfather clock. He was a university professor. He wanted me to be a lawyer. Fuck that, I hate lawyers. Praise to the termites! Praise to the termites who chased away those who once came concerned. I hated their pity. I hated their condescension. My own self-pity will suffice. They were driven away in disgust, and lost hope. The termites give me company now. The one thing remaining to be conquered, to complete the self-imprisonment, is the window. Right now it is only barely visible. I can faintly see snowflakes lazily drifting to the street below without care or haste. They compel me. They also kill me. They remind me of more innocent times when I had ambition and a curiosity for the world. Hot coffee, a pretty girl's soft sweater, talk of change and love and culture. How naive. I look out the window now. Past the snow I see, a ways away, the cleague lights of some big event downtown. Fuck them and their limousines, their jewelry and fame. I also see, in a break in the clouds, a patch of stars against the velvet black. I see the stars and the cleague lights. I see them, but to be honest, from here they look exactly the same.

supernova's son

i EARNED THIS TITLE FAIR AND SQUARE,
tHE sUPERNOVA'S sON, oh yes
sOMEWHERE pAST NOWHERE, pAST ELSEWHERE
nEVER ASKING FOR MORE OR LESS.

iT'S STRANGE TO GRASP SUCH A DISTANCE,
tO FEEL THIS AGE-OLD NEW-FOUND LINK,
tO REACH FOR THIS ANCIENT ESSENCE,
bUT TO THINK IS TO hAVE ANOTHER DRINK.

i CLAIM NO OTHER HERITAGE,
eXCEPT WITH THIS; cOMMON TO aLL,
oUR BIRTH CONCEIVED FROM the CARNAGE,
cOSMIC DEATH BREEDS AN ENDLESS SPRAWL.

and me, like you, like everything,
bits of dust from that happening.

First Poetry Reading Response

Writer's Response to Bob Dylan's "A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall" (1963)

In this poem Dylan uses a variety of methods and techniques to craft his poem. The most obvious is the onslaught of imagery in every verse. Most interesting to me was the ambiguous symbolism of the imagery and the opposite images that are juxtaposed. The examples are everywhere: "...a highway of diamonds with nobody on it" (Stanza 2, Line 4), "ten thousand talkers whose tongues were all broken" (Stanza 2, Line 8), "Heard one person starve, I heard many people laughin',--Heard the song of a poet who died in the gutter,-- Heard the sound of a clown who cried in the alley," (Stanza 3, Lines 7-9). These juxtaposed opposites are used to create a tone of confusion and backwardness, of gloom and pessimism.
Also, the images are all of metaphorical things, not concrete realities, which gives the piece a mythical and rustic feel. Also, not being direct or obvious gives the poem more weight, and adds ambiguity, which in turn feeds the lost feeling the poem exhibits. There are a few places where the imagery seems more political and current ("I met a white man who walked a black dog" Stanza 4, Line 4) but even these could be read in different ways. That line in particular becomes complex when compared to the other lines depicting white or black colors. Another element I thought was interesting was the use of an answer and call between father and son, which contributes to the mythical feel and made me think of odyssey's.
These techniques (a mythical feel, juxtaposed opposites, ambiguity) all create the tone of confusion, doubt, weariness, etc. but also convey the content of the poem. They tell of a man's journey in which he discovers a world of opposites, illusions, and hypocrisy. This leads me to my final point and what I found to be the most interesting thing about the piece. The man comes back to his father after an apparently long, odyssey-like trip in which it seems he saw the world for the first time. And what does he find? He finds a backwards, unjust, and failed world on the brink of "a hard rain". However, instead of preparing for this black future and, weary from a long journey stay out of the rain, he does the opposite. He battles backwardness with forwardness, inaction with action, confusion with purpose, and hopelessness with hope. He decides to go back out and see what he can change before it is too late. In my favorite metaphor of the piece the traveling man is going, "Where the executioner's face is always well hidden," (Stanza 5, Line 8) apparently to take on those responsible for the injustices but who remain hidden and secure. The tone of the poem then takes a dramatic shift in the final stanza and completes the idea of using opposites. In that way its almost like he is writing in a meter of concepts. In individual lines: contrasting images. In format: father calling to son, and son responding. And finally the entire poem with the shift in tone and content. Even the last stanza is longer, which could be viewed as a substitution from the earlier format, and which would provide emphsize on the change from weariness to ambition (fittingly). All in all, Dylan's "A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall" uses vivid contrasting images to craft the tone, a mythic quality to inhance importance and push it past the confines of a topical song, and a tone/content shift to convey his message of hope and purpose amid despair and disillusion.

I might be lost from sight and sound,
Unbound from time from law from fate,
Too hard to find for owl or hound,
But even now I contemplate,
If I'm asleep or I'm awake
And if it even matters either way.

All That Really by Joe Wenderoth

Check out the audio for this poem. It really grabbed my attention immediately. I thought the sonic choices really enhanced the frightening tone of the poem. These sonic choices were using a child to read the poem (which gave it an eerie feel because of his innocent tone and struggle to read the words) and the echoing reverb. I actually had a little difficulty discerning all the words, but I think it was good nevertheless. You almost didn't need too.

Idealized Memories

A place that will never be dark,
Or cold,
Because time will not allow it.
Time has allowed only the sunshine to reveal itself,
Now and again,
When my mind strays fleetingly its way.

A garden that lay victim to my chubby brown fingers,
Strawberries, tomatoes, parsley,
And a smell,
A smell that I catch faintly,
Many many miles away,
Bringing me instantly back there,
A smell like a bright yellow ray of sun,
Colored clumsily in crayon,
On crinkled white paper,
Held by a magnet on a refrigerator.
Sounds like echoes now,
Only faint whispers of birds or laughter,
Or the inaudible dance of the trees roots,
Beneath the Sierra Nevada.
The feel of the ocean,
Though its breath is far off,
But its presence undeniable in everything.

A place idealized by time and innocence,
A place I never wish to visit again,
For fear of the reality I might find.

The Loudest Silence in Michigan

The loudest silence in Michigan,
Is audible,
Audible as ephemeral echoes,
Reverberations amplified by black and white photos,
Faded and yet lively,
Full of life,
Like a pair of old eyes recalling some golden dream.

Images of incredulity,
Disbelief,
As if from the Black Forest,
With its arboreal characters of Grimm.

But these images deceive the disbelievers,
For they speak truth,
And the relic ruins,
The bittersweet vestiges of that time,
Intermingled with the modern impersonations,
Along with the photos,
And the now-sorrowful stories,
Known only to the gray,
The doddering,
The liver-spots,
Whisper this loudest of silences.

The deafening silence of a wasted city,
A defiled masterpiece,
A forgotten lion rotting alone in desolation,
Under the blazing sun,
Plagued by disease,
Picked at by the vultures,
But too weary to shake them off.