Blackout Poetry

Blackout poetry is not poetry you write when the power goes out. I guess you could, BUT! Blackout poetry is the surprising results you get when you take a piece of text from elsewhere, carefully select a few of the words on the page, and black out everything else, leaving a startling new message. In honor of National Poetry Month, I took a random page from Mary Shelley's Frankenstein (which is in the public domain) and ran it through the Blackout Poetry Maker, here: BLACKOUT POETRY MAKER 

  

 If I were to reformat these words, I might make them look like this: 

night, my retreat

of anguish-- 

wild, broken 

objects ranging 

through cold stars 

and bare trees-- 

voice 

of universal stillness

National Poetry Month: The Clerihew

I have learned something new about poetry, which isn't hard because poetry is such a huge, broad, varied topic. New things keep falling out between the lines, and shimmer, bedazzling.

The Clerihew (who knew?) is "a whimsical, four-line biographical poem of a type invented by Edmund Clerihew Bentley. The first line is the name of the poem's subject, usually a famous person, and the remainder puts the subject in an absurd light or reveals something unknown or spurious about the subject. The rhyme scheme is AABB, and the rhymes are often forced." (Wikipedia)

So I gave this form a go in honor of National Poetry Month, and this is the cute thing I came up with:

Not earth-shattering poetry, but fun. The rhyme scheme is ABBA, too, but it's lucky it ended up rhyming at all, given my lack of a knack for it (nailed that internal rhyme!). But most importantly, I learned something, which is always a win. I do admit, however, I have a crush on that silly ol' bear.

Celebrating Haiku

In honor of National Poetry Month ... the haiku. The poem perfect for today's short attention span.

A definition we probably remember from lit class:

Haiku = "A haiku is an unrhymed Japanese poetic form that consists of 17 syllables arranged in three lines containing five, seven, and five syllables, respectively. A haiku expresses much and suggests more in the fewest possible words."

Some examples:

National Poetry Month: A Poem for Spring

"Springtime Near Vetheuil" by Monet

“LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING”

By William Wordsworth

I heard a thousand blended notes,

While in a grove I sate reclined,

In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts

Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did Nature link

The human soul that through me ran;

And much it grieved my heart to think

What man has made of man.

Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,

The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;

And ’tis my faith that every flower

Enjoys the air it breathes.

The birds around me hopped and played,

Their thoughts I cannot measure:—

But the least motion which they made

It seemed a thrill of pleasure.

The budding twigs spread out their fan,

To catch the breezy air;

And I must think, do all I can,

That there was pleasure there.

If this belief from heaven be sent,

If such be Nature’s holy plan,

Have I not reason to lament

What man has made of man?

Celebrating National Poetry Month, 2020

My favorite literary celebration of the year begins today! Grab your nearest poet and give them a hug to celebrate them and their efforts to express all things humanity.

The best of poems require our full attention, a moment's lingering devotion. They do not give up all their gems at once, but a little at a time. After a little effort from us, the facets are uncovered, and the beauty and value of the jewel before us takes our breath away.

So to kick things off, a stunning, challenging poem by one of my all-time favorite poets:


"Crow Song"
by Margaret Atwood


In the arid sun, over the field
where the corn has rotted and then
dried up, you flock and squabble.
Not much here for you, my people,
but there would be
if
if

In my austere black uniform
I raised the banner
which decreed Hope
and which did not succeed
and which is not allowed.
Now I must confront the angel
who says Win,
who tells me to wave any banner
that you will follow

for you ignore me, my
baffled people, you have been through
too many theories
too many stray bullets
your eyes are gravel, skeptical,

in this hard field
you pay attention only
to the rhetoric of seed
fruit stomach elbow.

You have too many leaders
you have too many wars,
all of them pompous and small,
you resist only when you feel
like dressing up,
you forget the sane corpses...

I know you would like a god
to come down and feed you
and punish you. That overcoat
on sticks is not alive
                                 there are no angels,
but the angels of hunger,
prehensile and soft as gullets
                                 Watching you
my people, I become cynical,
you have defrauded me of hope
and left me alone with politics...


(published in Poetry, February 1974)

The Far Field

Image from my Facebook Author page

Roethke's poem "The Far Field" remains one of my all-time favorite poems. Entire work HERE. You know, there are those few books or poems, out of the millions, that grab onto us so tightly that we just keep returning to them.

And the best of those contribute something and fresh new every time.

Weekly Poem: Autumn, Part 2

No more of springtime hopes, sweet and uncertain,
Here we have largess of summer in fee­
Pile high the logs till the flame be leaping,
At bay the chill of the autumn keeping,
While pilgrim-wise, we may go a-reaping
In the fairest meadow of memory!

from "By An Autumn Fire" by Lucy Maud Montgomery

Weekly Poem: Autumn, Part 1

Autumn Movement


by Carl Sandburg, 1878 - 1967


I cried over beautiful things knowing no beautiful thing lasts.

The field of cornflower yellow is a scarf at the neck of the copper sunburned woman, 
       the mother of the year, the taker of seeds.

The northwest wind comes and the yellow is torn full of holes, new beautiful things 
       come in the first spit of snow on the northwest wind, and the old things go, 
       not one lasts.

National Poetry Month Returns!

I love April because National Poetry Month comes round again. Check out Poets.org for more info on what this celebration is all about, and even find a link to 30 ways to celebrate the art of poetry.

At LegendFire, the moderator of our poetry forum has put together another month's worth of poetry prompts and inspiration. It's a great time to practice.

I wasn't home yesterday, so I missed the grand opening of LF's activities, but I got to dive in this morning. One of the prompts she provides today is: "Write a poem about one or more elements/forces of the weather. For example, rain, sleet, hail, tornadoes, clouds, wind, etc."

Now, I dread the coming of spring. In tornado alley, spring is the season to be watchful. This year might be the year, I say. Our town, our house, might lie in the path this time. And since today we are having our first threat of severe weather I chose to write about tornadoes and my first experience of running to a neighbor's storm shelter, which I blogged about last June.

So here I am, inflicting some really bad poetry on the readers of my blog. But it's for a good cause, right?

Prompt: Tornado
Style: haiku series

black afternoon sky
eyes raised to watch boiling clouds
a wail of sirens

running rabbit-like
a burrow deep underground
hail knocking on doors

morning in the sun
a palace where dreams are stored
strewn trash by nightfall

May 31, 2013. From our iPhone.
Copyright 2013 Court Ellyn

Review: 19 Varieties of Gazelle by Naomi Shihab Nye

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In celebration of National Poetry Month, how could I not write a review of my favorite book of poems?

Blurb:

"Fowzi, who beats everyone at dominoes; Ibtisam, who wanted to be a doctor; Abu Mahmoud, who knows every eggplant and peach in his West Bank garden; mysterious Uncle Mohammed, who moved to the mountain; a girl in a red sweater dangling a book bag; children in velvet dresses who haunt the candy bowl at the party; Baba Kamalyari, age 71; Mr. Dajani and his swans; Sitti Khadra, who never lost her peace inside.

"Maybe they have something to tell us.

"Naomi Shihab Nye has been writing about being Arab-American, about Jerusalem, about the West Bank, about family all her life."

Review: 

19 Varieties of Gazelle, was released in 2002, months after the attack on the World Trade Center. The collection is clearly close to the heart of poet Naomi Shihab Nye, who was born to a Palestinian immigrant and grew up in both San Antonio, Texas, and the Old City in Jerusalem.

I cannot state it more clearly: I love this book of poems. It's the book I keep on my nightstand and read morsel by morsel in stolen moments when I can stand to have my heart broken and seek to have my spirit lifted by the nobility of day-to-day human existence. These sixty poems are simple and profound. They draw tears from me and put my heart in my throat every time I read them. The words, the images bring people of a far-away culture right into the room with me, and they are not alien but familiar, not "those people" on the other side of the planet, but neighbors. Each poem is a snapshot that shows you details that you wouldn't have seen otherwise. And suddenly the barriers are gone.

It's no wonder that this remarkable collection was a National Book Award Finalist. I love poet William Stafford's statement that "reading her work enhances life." Yes, that's it exactly.

I give a blazing five magic wands to Nye's 19 Varieties of Gazelle:

(some of the proceeds from the sale of this book go to Seeds of Peace)

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National Poetry Month - A Found Poem

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Found Poems are so much fun. It's surprising to me that these are actually legal, given copyright laws, but I'm the last person who will claim to be an expert in copyright law. The poet is not claiming to own the original text, just the poem made out of it, and I guess that makes all the difference.

Yesterday, the first day of National Poetry Month, our assignment at LegendFire was to write our own found poem. I chose a book at random off my shelves, and it happened to be a short collection of Plato's writings. I cracked it open and read, "He says he knows how the youth are corrupted and who are their corruptors." Well, if that is not inspiration for a poignant poem, I don't know what is. So I kept gathering lines that I had underlined in college, and here are the results:

APOLOGY*

Someone has been prosecuting you?

He must be a wise man

The charge?

That I am a poet or a maker of gods.

He says he knows how the youth are

corrupted and who are their corruptors.

He must be a wise man.

The youth like to hear the pretenders examined;

they do not like to confess that their

pretense of knowledge has been detected.

He must be a wise man.

Happy the condition of youth if

if

if they had only one corruptor

and all the rest of the world

were their improvers.

He must be a wise man.

The sign he ridicules?

A voice

which comes to me and forbids

but never commands,

and this is what stands in the way.

The truth is that only God is wise;

in this oracle he means to say:

the wisdom of men is little or nothing.

I should have perished long ago,

done no good either to you or myself.

I cared not a straw for death

my only fear was of doing an unrighteous thing.

The difficulty is not avoiding death, but avoiding

unrighteousness.

I would fain prophesy to you:

There is reason to hope that death is

a good. Either

death is a state of nothingness, or

there is a migration of the

soul from this world

to another.

The hour of departure has arrived and we go our ways.

I to die, and you to live.

Which is better,

God only knows.

*taken from Euthyphro and Apology by Plato

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April Is National Poetry Month!

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I'm so excited to devote some time this month to exploring and celebrating the time-honored and universal art of poetry. Is there a culture who has not sung its traditions, histories, and mythologies in rhythmic lines accompanied by a harp, a chorus, a dance? Today, we prize "To be or not to be," odes to nightingales, candles burning at both ends, and Bukowski's lines of drunken bitterness. Powerful, memorable, evocative, expressing our darkest hours, our brightest victories, like little else can.

For months now, I've been so driven to make progress on my novel rewrites that I have neglected all other written forms: short stories, poetry, even blogging. But thanks to LegendFire's poetry forum leader, I have the perfect excuse to pause for a moment each day this month and spend time with a poem or a poet or scratching out a few lines of my own. This innovative forum leader brought National Poetry Month to our attention over the past couple of weeks and has put together a month's worth of activities for our members. I'm sure we will be challenged to read, write, and stretch our skills. Will I be brave enough to post my own attempts at poetry here? Or will I keep them tucked away on the forums? I'll post as the whim hits, shall I?

For more information about the annual celebration of poetry visit POETS.ORG
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Two Pens Better Than One? - Collaborative Writing

It's an interesting and risky concept, two creative (and egotistical?) people tossed together and expected to cooperate and come up with a story that halfway makes sense. At LegendFire we have an interesting contest going on, the first of its kind that we've ever hosted. People registered as either poets or fiction writers, then we were anonymously paired up by the contest hostess. Now my writing partner and I are supposed to invent the opening 200 words of a story and poetry has to be involved. I'm the poet, he's the fiction writer. He's in Australia, I'm in the US. The entry is due on Monday (Tuesday for him), and we have yet to work out a plot. Much less the poem to go with it.

I'm not freaking out yet, but this is going to be interesting.

So, I'm curious, what were the oddest or least comfortable circumstances that you had to write under?

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Progress Report, 3-25-11, and Poetry Readings

TODAY'S PROGRESS
Project: Falcons Rising
Pages Rewritten: 6
Pages Cut: 3 (so much disgusting, useless content. Ugh!)
New Scenes: 0
Bad things that happened: a manhunt!
Good things that happened: that harp comes into play again and wins a second chance for Kieryn

Six days until Margaret Atwood speaks at USAO, my alma mater! I heard she was coming, way back last fall, like September or something, and I've been counting the days. When I lived in Indiana, I got to hear Naomi Shihab Nye read, now I get to listen to Ms. Atwood. There's nothing like hearing a poet read their own work and talk about the craft they love.
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