Improv/Imitation 1, Week 2
[Note: In the original piece at the bottom, I attempt to imitate/play off (primarily) the syntaxes and tones of BOTH Ashbery and Meitner]
John Ashbery's "Glazunoviana":
The man with the red hat
And the polar bear, is he here too?
The window giving on shade,
Is that here too?
And all the little helps,
My initials in the sky,
The hay of an arctic summer night?
The bear
Drops dead in sight of the window.
Lovely tribes have just moved to the north.
In the flickering evening the martins grow denser.
Rivers of wings surround us and vast tribulation.
from Erika Meitner's "Electric Girls":
Translucent letters scatter across the sky
in an air show for tourists: ladies' night
with two-dollar drafts down the beach--
a gluttonous ad for the stutter of summer lust
or a general message from the deities?
Maybe Mithra the god of light, tied
to the sun; maybe Hathor, the Egyptian
protector of everything feminine.
[...]
Newscasters first reported the girls were abducted,
but escaped unhurt. Papers nationwide printed
their names until authorities discovered they were raped
and their identities were immediately erased,
changed to "two teenage girls" or "the victims."
In the nineteenth centry, girls in whose presence
certain phenomena occurred--the movement of objects
without contact, or at a brush from a petticoat:
a compass needle's tremor, the agitation of a cold wind--
were called Electric Girls, could distinguish
between the poles of a magnet at a touch.
[...]
Still a commission appointed by the Academy of Sciences
observed nothing but violent movements of her chair,
probably caused, they decided, by muscular force--
a testament to her strength, these stories
like the skywriter's letters, forgotten,
abstracting into loops and dots around the sun.
"A Decade in the Life"
How could anyone ever possibly forget--
the black, suffocating smoke that choked three thousand ghosts-to-be?
the fire that rose from the pits of Hell to consume the corporate dreamers?
the man who tumbled towards the earth like an Olympic gymnast to an asphalt mat?
the baby boys and baby girls who were oblivious to reality (our reality) itself (whatever that means)?
the blood-curdling wails pixilated and displayed in two dimensions?
the fanatic who gagged Optimism with merely two thumbs, an index finger, and a pinky?
the trepidation and horror shoved down Democracy's throat?
the fingers that will continue to gag the idiot-savants for the rest of their lives?
the rain that gathered in a colorful pond, then flooded the desert?
the mommies and daddies who left their baby monitors next to the bed and crib?
the survival instinct that clicked just before the sky fell upon the American dream?
the cold spirituality that carved itself into a postmodern Pieta?
the flight attendants who briefly became spies--like a blind, confused James Bond?
the insurance salesman who preached to the robins and blue jays, Oh God! Oh...!?
the heroism that invaded like the common cold, and cured with the fire of a mile?
the daredevils who grabbed their souls instead of their parachutes?
the infant and senior who entangled like electrons (momentum, then position)?
the metal coffins that burned one morning and disappeared that night?
the cinque--in action, of course--that lost an arm to unwanted amputation?
the phantom limbs that haunt annually, always before Halloween?
the works of dark romanticism one can only find in mental etches and the id?
the liar who wanted to finish a paperback novel after the call to duty?
the failed Hamlet who chose to be to prevent the children from hysterics and exposure?
-- trick question: a single, swollen heart can't.
John Ashbery's "Glazunoviana":
The man with the red hat
And the polar bear, is he here too?
The window giving on shade,
Is that here too?
And all the little helps,
My initials in the sky,
The hay of an arctic summer night?
The bear
Drops dead in sight of the window.
Lovely tribes have just moved to the north.
In the flickering evening the martins grow denser.
Rivers of wings surround us and vast tribulation.
from Erika Meitner's "Electric Girls":
Translucent letters scatter across the sky
in an air show for tourists: ladies' night
with two-dollar drafts down the beach--
a gluttonous ad for the stutter of summer lust
or a general message from the deities?
Maybe Mithra the god of light, tied
to the sun; maybe Hathor, the Egyptian
protector of everything feminine.
[...]
Newscasters first reported the girls were abducted,
but escaped unhurt. Papers nationwide printed
their names until authorities discovered they were raped
and their identities were immediately erased,
changed to "two teenage girls" or "the victims."
In the nineteenth centry, girls in whose presence
certain phenomena occurred--the movement of objects
without contact, or at a brush from a petticoat:
a compass needle's tremor, the agitation of a cold wind--
were called Electric Girls, could distinguish
between the poles of a magnet at a touch.
[...]
Still a commission appointed by the Academy of Sciences
observed nothing but violent movements of her chair,
probably caused, they decided, by muscular force--
a testament to her strength, these stories
like the skywriter's letters, forgotten,
abstracting into loops and dots around the sun.
"A Decade in the Life"
How could anyone ever possibly forget--
the black, suffocating smoke that choked three thousand ghosts-to-be?
the fire that rose from the pits of Hell to consume the corporate dreamers?
the man who tumbled towards the earth like an Olympic gymnast to an asphalt mat?
the baby boys and baby girls who were oblivious to reality (our reality) itself (whatever that means)?
the blood-curdling wails pixilated and displayed in two dimensions?
the fanatic who gagged Optimism with merely two thumbs, an index finger, and a pinky?
the trepidation and horror shoved down Democracy's throat?
the fingers that will continue to gag the idiot-savants for the rest of their lives?
the rain that gathered in a colorful pond, then flooded the desert?
the mommies and daddies who left their baby monitors next to the bed and crib?
the survival instinct that clicked just before the sky fell upon the American dream?
the cold spirituality that carved itself into a postmodern Pieta?
the flight attendants who briefly became spies--like a blind, confused James Bond?
the insurance salesman who preached to the robins and blue jays, Oh God! Oh...!?
the heroism that invaded like the common cold, and cured with the fire of a mile?
the daredevils who grabbed their souls instead of their parachutes?
the infant and senior who entangled like electrons (momentum, then position)?
the metal coffins that burned one morning and disappeared that night?
the cinque--in action, of course--that lost an arm to unwanted amputation?
the phantom limbs that haunt annually, always before Halloween?
the works of dark romanticism one can only find in mental etches and the id?
the liar who wanted to finish a paperback novel after the call to duty?
the failed Hamlet who chose to be to prevent the children from hysterics and exposure?
-- trick question: a single, swollen heart can't.
posted by Chris Lyons at
8:25 AM
5 Comments:
I admire this draft, because the poem reminds the readers of the important events that has happened in the world, and he reminds us in a unique way; he doesn’t tell us, but he asks us how could we forget and by the end of the poem he makes you want to remember every poem by saying, “a single swollen heart can’t”. I also admire the way he started off with a question and the body of the poem is him asking questions and does not give the readers the answer to the very last line of the poem. This draft can use revision; he ends every sentence with a question mark, which throughout the poem was placed correctly, although, capitalization in the beginning of the sentence is needed.
Each question is a single line, but it appears broken because the margins of these posts are closer than the typical parameters of, say, Wordpad or Windows Word Processor. I apologize for the confusion, and I'm trying to find a way to resolve this pesky little problem.
Is "a decade in the life" a quotation, your recognizing the cliche, or simply punctuating the title? If quotation, always cite, if cliche, interesting, and that whole thing about punctuation, I wouldn't bother.
Title aside, what about the first line? Let's consider it as it is now: "How could anyone ever possibly forget?". Not bad, but can't you hear the clunkiness behind something like that? First of all, "ever" and "possibly" in this relationship, and, I would think, in most that they meet one another, are redundant. Secondly, both of these words feel a bit ancillary. In short, what's wrong with "How could anyone forget?," or, my personal choice: "How could/can we forget?"--depending on personal preference. A lot of your drafts seem to toe the line between the poetic and the colloquial, which is an interesting space to occupy, but really consider word economy, if for no other reason than variety.
I've spent the past week considering different aspects of the poem that I found problematic myself. So several of your points, which are definitely fair observations, have also been floating around in my head; for example: the title, the opening line, and the use of colloquial language.
For the title, I wanted to play around with the Beatles song "A Day in the Life." I always considered the song title as the ultimate understatement. The lyrics, which fluctuate between the dark and the cynical, make the title phrase seem absurd, taking it from flat cliche to a meaningful sentiment that begs analysis. I just love the juxtaposition between the title and the lyrics. However, I am still considering another way of doing this. My title as it stands doesn't satisfy me at all, which I hope to resolve with time.
The opening line never seemed right to me, and I couldn't figure out why. I think the redundant "ever possibly" is the reason, and I'm so glad you pointed that out to me.
The phrases "oblivious to reality" (line 5), "blood-curdling" (6), "trepidation and horror shoved down Democracy's throat" (8), "for the rest of their lives" (9), and "mommies and daddies" (12) are set to change. I find each problematic.
The final line will also change in time; it just seems too choppy and cliche for my taste.
Also:
I've decided to keep the line breaks as they appear on this webpage. I find it less clunky that way.
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