Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Extra Credit - Week 12 - Junkyard Quote
"The facts are that cars are convenient; they are directly tied to many people's egos."
Extra Credit - Week 9 - Response to Emmanuel's "Improvisation 1, Week 11"
The Silent Victim
by Emmanuel Reddish
They found in her jewelry box a ring
that was slipped on her finger
at one time till death did her
and the husband apart.
Death had now come
and did deal a pretty card.
The dirt now lay around
and under her nails, in her nostrils,
wiped upon her face marks the date.
Her aunt hugged her,
gave her bandaids for the wounds that healed,
but did not provide the gauge
for the unhealable wound that was to come.
When her cousin gave a room
with food and drink, a cover
from the storm that always poured
when it rained, she denied
the benefits it gave.
So, those who still remain,
Thus did the foolish girl die.
We need to know more. I see where LaRue thinks domestic abuse, but I don't think that's incredibly evident in the piece. At least, not as evident as it could easily be.
That opening part is kind of cool and I wonder if you could do more with it. Could you characterize the woman with the things she left behind? It's your choice if you want to connect them all to her husband or not, but it would be a way to give us some of her history and personality and still focus on the death. Be careful--death is not an easy thing to handle.
Right now, it's just a lot of questions. What's up with the aunt? What happened, exactly, that she had to give her bandages? I don't understand the stanza with the cousin--the "storm" and "rain" thing threw me off. How did she die? Who found her? Where was she found? What did she do right before she died? What was she about to do? What did she eat? Not how the husband felt but--what was the last thing of his that she touched? Something like that. Go in an unexpected direction if you're going to do something like death.
LaRue is definitely right about the couplet. Right now it's just weighting your piece down with heavy, proper language. Also, if it's domestic abuse, I understand the reasoning behind the title, but it isn't doing anything special right now. Focus on the silent. Heck, make her a mime. Just do something interesting with it.
by Emmanuel Reddish
They found in her jewelry box a ring
that was slipped on her finger
at one time till death did her
and the husband apart.
Death had now come
and did deal a pretty card.
The dirt now lay around
and under her nails, in her nostrils,
wiped upon her face marks the date.
Her aunt hugged her,
gave her bandaids for the wounds that healed,
but did not provide the gauge
for the unhealable wound that was to come.
When her cousin gave a room
with food and drink, a cover
from the storm that always poured
when it rained, she denied
the benefits it gave.
So, those who still remain,
Thus did the foolish girl die.
We need to know more. I see where LaRue thinks domestic abuse, but I don't think that's incredibly evident in the piece. At least, not as evident as it could easily be.
That opening part is kind of cool and I wonder if you could do more with it. Could you characterize the woman with the things she left behind? It's your choice if you want to connect them all to her husband or not, but it would be a way to give us some of her history and personality and still focus on the death. Be careful--death is not an easy thing to handle.
Right now, it's just a lot of questions. What's up with the aunt? What happened, exactly, that she had to give her bandages? I don't understand the stanza with the cousin--the "storm" and "rain" thing threw me off. How did she die? Who found her? Where was she found? What did she do right before she died? What was she about to do? What did she eat? Not how the husband felt but--what was the last thing of his that she touched? Something like that. Go in an unexpected direction if you're going to do something like death.
LaRue is definitely right about the couplet. Right now it's just weighting your piece down with heavy, proper language. Also, if it's domestic abuse, I understand the reasoning behind the title, but it isn't doing anything special right now. Focus on the silent. Heck, make her a mime. Just do something interesting with it.
Extra Credit - Week 12 - Response to Brandy's "Extra Credit: Week 12 Improv"
Contravene
On a perfect square of travertine
flat and brindle, obscure as a map
of the monotonous Sahara,
lays a limp lizard.
Black-faced and striped like the sun
folding into the sky, her legs
darted under the weight of her
snake silhouette. Eyes uncovered,
she watches her own disintegration
like when I watch the fire
crawl down my Virginia Slim,
she ashed like that.
Yet her face kept its shape
despite the heat, the lack
of moisture.
That smooth pearl without shade
or shell had become prey
to her prey, red periling
over her line, her mouth,
the sun’s beam still perfecting
its aim.
I'm not saying the lizard needs to be the Jesus Christ of amphibeans or the turning point of man kind. She doesn't even need to be wearing a party hat or anything fancy like that. Just--why this lizard? What's the point? Is something else going on in the world that this lizard's actions at this particular moment are potent?
"Eyes uncovered,
she watches her own disintegration
like when I watch the fire
crawl down my Virginia Slim,
she ashed like that."
This is sorta a brilliant move--it brings in the "I" and it's an interesting image. But that last line, which is my favorite of this section, doesn't make sense syntactically, I think.
If you're looking for somewhere to expand, I'd say here:
"Yet her face kept its shape
despite the heat, the lack
of moisture"
The difficult task of staying beautiful as a lizard is...different.
But, overall, I'd disagree with your suggestion that it needs to be expanded. I think, size-wise, it's pretty solid. You just need to do a little bit more within those lines.
Extra Credit - Week 12 - Response to Pauline's "Week #12 - Improv #1"
riffed off of Dubrow’s “Bowl, in the Shape of a Bristol Boat”
Soup, in a Spoon for a Dying Mother
She spooned the soup for her, a stew so simple
it made itself overnight in the crockpot,
wafting aromas of onions, garlic, and greens,
its consistency, gumbo and tomato,
canned and seasoned, fresh and frozen from
the grocery store and the garden
which she tended herself. The thickening soup
mushroomed upward, began to boil.
No recipe required, no saucepan or cooktop.
The last taste of her daughter’s cooking or of any
of earth’s provision fed by human hand—
a sip of water, a pill for pain
from nurse or caregiver, a comfort.
She spooned the soup for her, as if to say
You are the daughter, I am the mother.
A brief point of clarity: the consistency is of gumbo? Or gumbo and tomato? Or neither? And watch for confusing pronouns.
Overall, an intruiging concept. I like that you focus on the soup rather than on the actual relationship. In class we seem to be very prone to always asking for more--until every poem becomes weighted with detail and memory. In this case, I think you did a good job of not needing all of that. It isn't important what the mother is dying of, just that she is.
Given that, I still want to know a little more about the soup. In the areas where it gets a little lofty--"or of any of earth's provisions fed by human hand," "No recipe required, no saucepan, no cooktop"--bring in more of the soup. Rather than saying she needs no recipe, say how often the soup has been cooked previously. You start to mention the smell of the soup, but it's all pretty general, very expected. I don't think the draft needs to be off the wall, the understatedness of it is great, but a little more wouldn't hurt.
Extra Credit - Week 12 - Junkyard Quote
"You've got to make contact with the alien leader. How will you tell when the conversation is finished?"
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)