Friday, April 16, 2004
I'm off on a trip in a beautiful blue balloon. Or rather, in a horrible tin fish called an airplane, that will rattle through the sky, probably shaking loose its bolts and threatening to plunge us all to a horribly torn-apart death somewhere in a Virginia cow pasture. No, I'm not afraid of flying. Why do you ask?
NaPoWriMo may or may not be updated over the weekend. I plan to write poems, but I'm supposed to (once I get off the tin fish, that is) be having relaxo-fun-time, not fitfully reloading pages, etc. Anyway, here's
NaPoWriMo #16. I also added a link on the main NaPoWriMo page to the archives. If you're really and truly bored, you can look at all the poems from this month, and even at last year's NaPoWriMo poems, which include a few Calamities. Yes, that's how long I've been working on this silly series.
Anyway, have a good weekend! Toodle-oo!
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Thursday, April 15, 2004
NaPoWriMo #15 is up. I've tried to keep the Calamity project from becoming self-indulgent. Well, no longer. I created a super-hero-esque alter ego of myself who I've become sick of precisely because she's so goddam perfect and now I'm going to torment her using my position as omniscient narrator. That is the essence of self-indulgence. The task now is to make it interesting to watch.
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I think I've kind of made a break-through with Calamity. This thing is gonna work. Oh yes. And I have Miguel de Unamuno to thank. Niebla, people. Read it, love it. Most boring book in the universe...until you get to the last bit. Then, wow.
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So, I just found out that one of the people from my undergrad poetry days has been doing pretty well for himself. (He's got a book coming out and can't be more than 24. Wow!) I'm glad to hear it--I took on some googling a while ago for people who'd been the movers/shakers at my undergrad school, and all the voices that were so loud then are silent now. While I was at my undergrad campus, it seemed like there was so much talent in the air, and afterwards...nothing. But now I know of at least two other people who are still turning out poems. Hooray! It was pretty disheartening to think of all these people being just Poets While in College.
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Which poem are you?
I'm Jabberwocky. So much for being taken seriously. Oh well. I endure. Via
Fishblog.
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Wednesday, April 14, 2004
Dang.
This cover turned out so well I'm actually going to have to write the book.
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NaPoWriMo #14,
Calamity and the Unreliable Narrator, is up. I think this one will appear as the second-to-last in the eventual chapbook.
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Tuesday, April 13, 2004
Beat-esque Poem I Wrote in Approx. Thirty Seconds And Its First Line is the Subject Line of a Spam I Got
So strong so big caterpillar incomparable
Soft feet like velvet hard hairs like bristles
Oozing with graypurplebluebrownblack
And a-move with his fellows updown the
Gum tree what fell moth you'll someday
Become unless with ladders with broomsticks
With black bags we lift you sweep tents off
The trees remove you and shut you down
You rioter you protestor you hooligan
You caterpillar you eating machine you
Biological panzer unit you fascist bug
You moving in unison along with your fellows
You killer you blossom your secret
You're waiting you're ready you're going to blow.
________
If you've got a better title (and dear god I hope you do), please let me know in the comment box.
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If you are both lonely and poetical, check out the New York Review of Books. They will give you a discount on your personal ad if you write it in the form of a clerihew, cinquain, limerick, sonnet, or villanelle. I kid you not.
That terrible poet, Miss Reen
Lives on her excess of spleen.
She loves reading personal ads:
Slatterns vying for cads.
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NaPoWriMo #13.
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Mr. Hall and Mr. Nester both have poems in a new journal called
Pip Lit. One of Shafer's tomatoes appears to have inadvertently wandered into today's Calamity. Moreover, film noir metaphor is always welcome.
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I'm planning on falling off the wagon, but I need an addiction first.
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Monday, April 12, 2004
NaPoWriMo #12 is a cowboy's Orpheus and Eurydice.
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Read
Shafer Hall's poem. And then go pour yourself a drink. With an umbrella!
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Have a free-verse sonnet. The last line is probably the eighty-fifth version. Still not sure this one's properly calibrated...but it's better. I'm also deriving some very odd pleasure from the fact that the two longest lines rhyme with each other. Silly yes, but there it is.
The Anglerfish
On rainy days, when recess was past hope,
The television's high, black cart would be
Brought out, and in the darkness, Jacques Cousteau
Descended. Bobbing first among the waves,
He sank from blue to deepest black until
He flicked some switch, illumining the sea
Outside his bathysphere. We saw it then:
Like floating garbage, mottled skin adrift
With needle teeth the tint of watered milk,
And stranger still: a lighted flag of flesh
Attached. It turned its glowing grin toward
The class, and past the open gate of teeth --
A dark too distant for the searching light,
A backless pain, that ache: to eat. To know.
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I intend to devote the evening to designing covers for chapbooks I haven't even started on yet. Maybe having covers will help ground and guide the projects? Or maybe playing with my new scanner is just too much fun?
Why do I always feel so
tired after writing a poem, like I just took a pleasant yet exhausting hike up Mt McKinley?
Going to try to write a long poem. The long poem has been coming out in aborted fits and starts, defying my desires to confine it to a page or two. It wants to go on, so I'm willing to let it. Beginning to plan the general outline, find things I need to read, take in, work in. I won't really start working on it until after April's thirty straight days of Calamity, but I've already got a name --
Mandamus. Been wanting to call something that for a long time.
The other chapbook, should it ever be completed, will be called "Inhuman." It will involve lobsters. At least the cover will.
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Sunday, April 11, 2004
All hail
NaPoWriMo #11, with title provided by
Shanna.
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A little late, but
NaPoWriMo #10 is up.
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