Zumwalt Poems Online

Archive for October, 2011

The Sassoon Collection: i. Everyone sang while I fell asleep

The Sassoon Collection

i. Everyone sang while I fell asleep

voices wailing around the house
thud of feet and slam of doors
everyone singing
only the clocks wind down

around this small room
no sense of the hour
crowded with lemonade breath
high-pitched voices like hounds in pain
as clouds hover over my eyes

fighting sleep with the fork from my dessert plate
not yet ready to go where the dreams are built
where you take reality with you so as not to be alone
dragging it by its rough cotton shirt collar

the sweet faces become sweet voices
despite the liberty with so many of the notes
the lights descend and take colors
whirling into a vortex that kicks out dimensions
like KTEL reissuing fragments from the past

falling asleep
the hounds now cooing like herons drugged by too many Hershey bars
the darkness becoming home (but without any furnishings)
everything fading into peace
except for one small lingering concern
for everything unfinished

— Zumwalt (1998)

Wednesday Poetry Challenge #1

Wednesday Poetry Challenge #1

What is the different between poetry and prose?

I  cannot answer that.

Some might say poetry has evolved so that the only difference is that poetry has stanzas.  However, with the increasing popularity of “prose poetry” (poetry written in prose instead of verse) that really doesn’t hold either.

Is poetry more compact, more formal, more stylized, more imaginative, more emotional, more personal, more abstract, more symbolic?

Does poetry use more imagery?

Does poetry use poetic devices such as rhythm, meter, rhyme, alliteration, emphasis on certain sounds?

I have no idea.

That is something that each individual poet has to come to terms with.

Every poet and every reader has their preferences.  Hopefully these preferences are not static and change as the poet develops, as the reader develops, and, ideally, as the poet and reader, being the same person, develop.

For Challenge #1, pick a passage from a novel, essay or short story that qualifies as prose, but for you is particularly poetic. Then without changing a word or punctuation mark, reformat that so it appears to be poetry.

For example,

From the opening of Theodor Dreiser’s American Tragedy:

Dusk —
of a summer night.
And the tall walls of the commercial heart
of an American city of perhaps 400,000 inhabitants —
such walls as in time may linger as a mere fable.

And up the broad street,
now comparatively hushed,
a little band of six, —
a man of about fifty, short, stout,
with bushy hair protruding
from under a round black felt hat,
a most unimportant-looking person,
who carried a small portable organ
such as is customarily used
by street preachers and singers.

And with him a woman
perhaps five years his junior,
taller, not so broad,
but solid of frame and vigorous,
very plain in face and dress,
and yet not homely,
leading with one hand a small boy of seven
and in the other carrying a Bible and several hymn books.

With these three,
but walking independently
behind,
was a girl of fifteen,
a boy of twelve
and another girl of nine,
all following obediently,
but not too enthusiastically,
in the wake of the others.
It was hot,

yet

with a sweet languor
about it all.
Crossing at right angles
the great thoroughfare
on which they walked,
was a second canyon-like way,
threaded by throngs and vehicles
and various lines of cars
which clanged their bells
and made such progress
as they might amid swiftly moving streams of traffic.

Yet

the little group seemed unconscious
of anything
save
a set purpose
to make its way
between the contending
lines of traffic
and pedestrians
which flowed
by them.

How poetic is the opening to Charles Dickens’s Tale of Two Cities?

It was the best of times,
it was the worst of times,
it was the age of wisdom,
it was the age of foolishness,
it was the epoch of belief,
it was the epoch of incredulity,
it was the season of Light,
it was the season of Darkness,
it was the spring of hope,
it was the winter of despair,
we had everything before us,
we had nothing before us,
we were all going direct to Heaven,
we were all going direct the other way —
in short,
the period
was so far like
the present period,
that some of its noisiest authorities
insisted on its being received,
for good or for evil,
in the superlative degree of comparison only.

There were a king with a large jaw
and a queen with a plain face,
on the throne of England;
there were a king with a large jaw
and a queen with a fair face,
on the throne of France.
In both countries
it was clearer than crystal
to the lords of the State preserves of loaves and fishes,
that things in general were settled for ever.

So simply chose something that you’ve read before and were previously impressed by its poetic nature — or browse from the nearly endless resources of prose on the internet to find an example of poetic prose that works for you.

What and where is the benefit of this first exercise?  Does one benefit more from picking an example or from reading others’ selections?

I am completely clueless.

Enjoy this first challenge.  No selection is considered unpoetic if it is poetry for your heart, ears, soul or mind!

There are many resources for selecting prose works.   A good starting point is Project Gutenberg Australia.

Best to use something in the public domain (no longer under copyright) as Poetry Challenge #2 will also refer to your chosen “prose” text.

For further instructions, please reference the Wednesday Poetry Challenge Introduction.

To add a link to your post

CLICK ON Mr. Linky IMAGE BELOW:

SUMMARY:

1.  Click on green “Mister Linky” link above.

2. Enter the URL (address of response not of your website) of your post or page that has your response to this challenge.

3. For this challenge, take a passage from a novel, short story or essay and reformat it to resemble a poem — or a prose poem if that is your stylistic preference.

4. Anyone that wishes to see anyone’s examples, can click on the Mister Linky link above to view any and all of responses.

Wednesday Poetry Challenge

Not every Wednesday, but some Wednesdays, I will post a Poetry Challenge. 

I was inspired by seeing a few of these in the WordPress blogosphere and was thinking that maybe there was room for one more — one a little less traditional, but still focused on developing writing skills for the poet.

The approach is simple:  A writing exercise (or challenge) is presented.  Anyone wishing to participate may do so at any time — doesn’t matter if it is the day the challenge is posted or months or years later — there is no deadline whatsoever.  One can create a response to the “challenge” as a post or page on their blog — or anywhere they chose — just provide the link  to the “Mr. Linky” pop-up window provided at the bottom of the Wednesday Poetry Challenge Post.

I think it’s just that simple. 

One can participate in all challenges, participate in only those challenges of interest, or  participate in not a single one but just browse others’ responses or ignore these Wednesday posts altogether.

I was originally thinking about starting another WordPress blog just for this purpose, but after noting how difficult it is for a brand new blog like WordPress Blog Showcase to get followers, I thought I would give it a try here where there is already some foot traffic, so to speak.

Look forward to this exercise, any responses and any and all feedback on improving process or content.

Your friendly neighborhood Zumpoems.com administrator,

zumpoems.com Admin.

carried away

carried away

i now cannot say that this
is not what i cannot say

i keep quiet
carefully
counting out
the contrast
of continuous quietness.

— Zumwalt  (06/1991)

Can’t Hide

Can’t Hide

With the last paycheck spent on camouflage,
focusing on a mindset made of mirrors,
I attempt to be an object
or better yet be none.

My clothes mimic the variegated prints of nature,
my face is painted much the same.
I stand in the wilderness far away from the Sheridan Square Stop
teaching my heart to copy the various pulses of the forest.

I once sacrificed:
my future and my past for my role in the now;
I once worshipped
fences and gates and directions pertaining to.

With each breath I inhale the cold message of shelter
holding in the truths and surface deceptions
creating a balance between conception and mirage,
accepting the difference between initiation and isolation.

Without the next paycheck
I worry what it means
to not be nothing,
to not be able to hide,
the actual point of submission to everything
being the same:
no distinction.

— Zumwalt (2011)

Congratulations, Saul Perlmutter, Brian Schmidt and Adam Riess

Three Americans Share 2011 Nobel Prize in Physics

Poems on the runaway universe:

The Runaway Universe by C.W. Johnson

Runaway Universe

The Expanding Universe

Time

And from Zumwalt:

Runiverse

(Due to a few long lines, I was challenged with properly formatting this in the original post. Below is an unformatted version, still different from the original but more aligned with the website layout, perhaps.)

Runiverse

She radiates brilliance based on fine features, good form and skillfully applied cosmetics.
He balances confidence and accessibility with an unerring certainty of success.
The universe is expanding,
Inflation rampant,
Stretching everything more than any yoga instructor would allow.

Our planet is stuck in motion at hundreds of thousands kilometers per second.
I stock up on Dramamine and Ginger Ale.

She worries that she will never see him again.
He is lost in the business of the day.
These galaxies race away from us faster than the speed of light
And are accelerating more each trillionth of a second.

Some Alien out there has calculated that this is the last week to DVR an episode of the Game of Thrones before losing all contact.
Some Star Watcher is now stuck with a static picture of this faraway galaxy from here on out.

She is not simply a set of particles: she is moving very fast.
In relation to her changing position in space, he is moving even faster.

This universe is not stable;
It strays too far from itself
Running away from a past that was too small.

This universe is accelerating
As if it has immunity from moving violations
Or has appropriately mounted a very good radar detector.

One day her particles and his
Will dance tumultuously in the debris encircling some infant sun
Or get pulled into a black hole.

She radiates,
He balances,
The universe inflates,
Stretching everything way beyond belief
And ultimately, slightly out of reach.

— Zumwalt (2011)

seeds

seeds

broken imagery scattering pumpkin seeds upon the ground
rhythm shifting, implicating, wildly gesticulating
thoughts bounce over fading ideas which trample upon speculative reflections

give me a word
a simple single word
not an action
not a person, place or thing
not a conjunction, exclamation, article or
worn down, over-taxed modifier

give me a word that creates its own reality

that establishes an impossible set of events

that engages the energy of thoughtful scholars for ages upon ages
creating a library of discussion
and ignites an endless tangle of wars over interpretation

and with that word once given
give me its counterpart

that word
which, so totally complete
and unrelated to anything else,
will dissolve every other word

and then
without apology
dissolve itself.

— Zumwalt 2011