09 May 2007
Mourning Rituals
Looks like Julie's presentation came right on time. I found out after coming home from Ale Works after class that my dog (who lives w/ my parents in Pennsylvania) has been missing for about a week. :( At least now I know I'm in the denial stage and will hopefully end up at acceptance.
02 May 2007
A dorky dream
I have been really bad about posting dreams and/or thoughts on class. I guess all of my writing lately has been dedicated toward the paper.
I did have a dream last night, however, that was too good not to share:
I was at a piercing salon on the west side of Bozeman considering a nose piercing. I decided I needed more time to think about it and headed home. As I approached the east side of Main, I saw Dr. Amy Thomas in a strange get-up: her hair was done up in a very Jane-Austen-like fashion and she was wearing a dress obviously inspired by Regency clothing. Obviously, this seemed out of the ordinary. A few blocks later, I saw a sign saying that Bozeman was having a festival dedicated to Jane Austen. There was a woman outside doing women's hair and a stand next door where women could pick out Regency-era dresses. I was so excited, I drove straight home and told my roommates. My cousin Emma was intrigued, so we headed down to get our hair done and get our dresses. When I sat down to get my hair done...Nathan woke me up for breakfast.
Alas! Looks as though I'll have to wait a little longer to partake in an Austen-dedicated affair!
I did have a dream last night, however, that was too good not to share:
I was at a piercing salon on the west side of Bozeman considering a nose piercing. I decided I needed more time to think about it and headed home. As I approached the east side of Main, I saw Dr. Amy Thomas in a strange get-up: her hair was done up in a very Jane-Austen-like fashion and she was wearing a dress obviously inspired by Regency clothing. Obviously, this seemed out of the ordinary. A few blocks later, I saw a sign saying that Bozeman was having a festival dedicated to Jane Austen. There was a woman outside doing women's hair and a stand next door where women could pick out Regency-era dresses. I was so excited, I drove straight home and told my roommates. My cousin Emma was intrigued, so we headed down to get our hair done and get our dresses. When I sat down to get my hair done...Nathan woke me up for breakfast.
Alas! Looks as though I'll have to wait a little longer to partake in an Austen-dedicated affair!
01 May 2007
Poem and Response to Lucie Brock-Broido
Ashlyn
I.
As the knife pierced the flesh
She kept on cutting.
It wasn’t until she saw the blood
Mixing with the tomato juice
That she lifted her finger
And stuck it in her mouth.
She felt the blood shoot out,
Warm and wet,
It trickled down her throat,
But the finger remained numb
And unfeeling.
It would be the last time her mom
Would ask her to chop.
II.
They said she might not be allowed
To play with the other kids.
She kept pinching the boy
Until his skin turned red and started
To swell.
Her homeroom teacher had pulled her
Off of him. She didn’t know
What she had done wrong.
She said she liked the boy
And that they were just playing.
His parents had him transferred
To a different class.
III.
“Ashlyn, stop doing that!”
Her mother scolded.
She giggled and jumped
Off the ledge one more time.
“But it’s fun!” she squealed.
Her mom grabbed her by the arm,
Her nails digging into her skin,
And forced her inside.
Maybe a time out
Will force her to learn.
IV.
She never understood why
They gave her parents such a hard time.
It had only been their fourth visit
This month. The men in the white coats
Always had a list of questions for her
When her parents were out of the room.
No matter how much she insisted upon the truth,
They continued to look on her with disbelief.
They would stand outside in a circle and mutter
Peering in once or twice.
When they finally got home, her mom would lock
Herself in her bedroom.
Ashlyn pretended not to hear her cry.
Response to Lucie Brock-Broido
I am indecisive this week, so I decided to expand upon a previous poem and to write a short response to Lucie Brock-Broido
Although Brock-Broido’s poetry is different from my style of writing, I really enjoyed it. When I first read through, I was intrigued about where she got her ideas. I knew there were notes in the back, but I initially refused to read them, thinking it would give me too much information. However, after Melanie, told me that she enjoyed the notes, I read them after finishing the book.
Initially, I enjoyed reading the poems without the notes. For example, my favorite poem was “Elective Mutes.” I was completely intrigued reading about these two twins and wondering what was going on between them. I was able to theorize or wonder about them through the first reading. After reading the notes, I liked the poem even more. Brock-Broido was able to capture the twins and present them in a way that gave the reader enough idea about what was going on but still leaving an element of wonder. In the end, I actually enjoyed knowing the full story about the twins and where Brock-Broido got her information.
I would have to say my favorite thing about Brock-Broido, despite just her writing style, is where she gets the idea for a lot of her poems. Although I usually enjoy confessional poetry more, it was refreshing to read somebody who got their inspiration elsewhere. I started to realize this (without the notes) when reading “Edward VI on the Seventh Day” because of a previous fascination with Henry VIII. After reading the notes on “Jessica, from the Well” and “Elective Mutes,” I truly appreciated what Brock-Broido is doing.
I would also like to note that with Brock-Broido, I liked a lot of her poems as a whole as opposed to liking certain lines. There were not as many lines that captured me, like with Michael Earl Craig and Jim Harrison, but I really enjoyed most of her poems after reading them in their entirety.
I.
As the knife pierced the flesh
She kept on cutting.
It wasn’t until she saw the blood
Mixing with the tomato juice
That she lifted her finger
And stuck it in her mouth.
She felt the blood shoot out,
Warm and wet,
It trickled down her throat,
But the finger remained numb
And unfeeling.
It would be the last time her mom
Would ask her to chop.
II.
They said she might not be allowed
To play with the other kids.
She kept pinching the boy
Until his skin turned red and started
To swell.
Her homeroom teacher had pulled her
Off of him. She didn’t know
What she had done wrong.
She said she liked the boy
And that they were just playing.
His parents had him transferred
To a different class.
III.
“Ashlyn, stop doing that!”
Her mother scolded.
She giggled and jumped
Off the ledge one more time.
“But it’s fun!” she squealed.
Her mom grabbed her by the arm,
Her nails digging into her skin,
And forced her inside.
Maybe a time out
Will force her to learn.
IV.
She never understood why
They gave her parents such a hard time.
It had only been their fourth visit
This month. The men in the white coats
Always had a list of questions for her
When her parents were out of the room.
No matter how much she insisted upon the truth,
They continued to look on her with disbelief.
They would stand outside in a circle and mutter
Peering in once or twice.
When they finally got home, her mom would lock
Herself in her bedroom.
Ashlyn pretended not to hear her cry.
Response to Lucie Brock-Broido
I am indecisive this week, so I decided to expand upon a previous poem and to write a short response to Lucie Brock-Broido
Although Brock-Broido’s poetry is different from my style of writing, I really enjoyed it. When I first read through, I was intrigued about where she got her ideas. I knew there were notes in the back, but I initially refused to read them, thinking it would give me too much information. However, after Melanie, told me that she enjoyed the notes, I read them after finishing the book.
Initially, I enjoyed reading the poems without the notes. For example, my favorite poem was “Elective Mutes.” I was completely intrigued reading about these two twins and wondering what was going on between them. I was able to theorize or wonder about them through the first reading. After reading the notes, I liked the poem even more. Brock-Broido was able to capture the twins and present them in a way that gave the reader enough idea about what was going on but still leaving an element of wonder. In the end, I actually enjoyed knowing the full story about the twins and where Brock-Broido got her information.
I would have to say my favorite thing about Brock-Broido, despite just her writing style, is where she gets the idea for a lot of her poems. Although I usually enjoy confessional poetry more, it was refreshing to read somebody who got their inspiration elsewhere. I started to realize this (without the notes) when reading “Edward VI on the Seventh Day” because of a previous fascination with Henry VIII. After reading the notes on “Jessica, from the Well” and “Elective Mutes,” I truly appreciated what Brock-Broido is doing.
I would also like to note that with Brock-Broido, I liked a lot of her poems as a whole as opposed to liking certain lines. There were not as many lines that captured me, like with Michael Earl Craig and Jim Harrison, but I really enjoyed most of her poems after reading them in their entirety.
24 April 2007
Poetry inspired by Jim Harrison and Lucie Brock-Broido
Ashlyn
As the knife pierced the flesh
She kept on cutting.
It wasn’t until she saw the blood
Mixing with the tomato juice
That she lifted her finger
And stuck it in her mouth.
She felt the blood shoot out,
Warm and wet,
It trickled down her throat,
But the finger remained numb
And unfeeling.
A similar thing had happened
When she broke her arm.
She fell down hard
And fast
But it wasn’t until people gawked
At her arm hanging limply
Off her shoulder
That she decided to give merit
To that snapping sound she had heard.
She knew she had to be careful.
But why live in fear
Of ever cut
And scrape
And bump.
So she went along her usual business
And waited for her anesthetized killer.
The Rules of Feminism
I’m not supposed to want it.
The husband.
The kids.
The white picket fence.
I know what I’m supposed to want.
The high-power career.
The long hours.
Trying to get ahead of men
To make things more equal in the world.
So sometimes when they’re not looking,
I stop and watch the kids on the playground
And iron while watching reruns
Of Desperate Housewives.
But that gets tucked away the next day
As I keep on heading toward that career,
That next degree.
To make things more equal in the world.
As the knife pierced the flesh
She kept on cutting.
It wasn’t until she saw the blood
Mixing with the tomato juice
That she lifted her finger
And stuck it in her mouth.
She felt the blood shoot out,
Warm and wet,
It trickled down her throat,
But the finger remained numb
And unfeeling.
A similar thing had happened
When she broke her arm.
She fell down hard
And fast
But it wasn’t until people gawked
At her arm hanging limply
Off her shoulder
That she decided to give merit
To that snapping sound she had heard.
She knew she had to be careful.
But why live in fear
Of ever cut
And scrape
And bump.
So she went along her usual business
And waited for her anesthetized killer.
The Rules of Feminism
I’m not supposed to want it.
The husband.
The kids.
The white picket fence.
I know what I’m supposed to want.
The high-power career.
The long hours.
Trying to get ahead of men
To make things more equal in the world.
So sometimes when they’re not looking,
I stop and watch the kids on the playground
And iron while watching reruns
Of Desperate Housewives.
But that gets tucked away the next day
As I keep on heading toward that career,
That next degree.
To make things more equal in the world.
17 April 2007
Response to Jim Harrison
When I first started reading Jim Harrison’s The Theory & Practice of Rivers and New Poems, I was not sure how I felt. I think my initial dilemma is the fact that I am resistant to long poems with no plot. It is probably more of a mental block than anything else, but it always seems as though I am supposed to find the one basic meaning that runs throughout and I can’t always seem to find it. (I also do not think that the subject matter of water in the first poem helped since I am writing a paper in the other class on oceans.) So while reading the poem “The Theory & Practice of Rivers,” I focused more on some brilliant wording that stuck me. Here are some lines that I really liked:
I was able to get a more firm grasp on some of Harrison’s shorter poems; however, it was still a few lines in poems that really stuck out to me. Here are some more lines that I enjoyed:
Overall, I am still trying to “figure it all out.” His style seems to be pretty comfortable and accessible but not in the same way as Billy Collins. I am not too sure what it is, but I do think I would have a hard time replicating his style. Either way, I am looking forward to see what my classmates have made of it and hopefully Jimmy will be able to enlighten us since he has been able to study Harrison extensively.
- On page 5, “The inside of the eye, vitreous humor, is the same pulp found inside the squid.” - This was just a neat image/analogy.
- On page 7, “I will never wake up and be able to play the piano.” – I think we have all had thoughts like this about something we want to be able to do but do not want to put all the time in that would be necessary. Secretly, I think we all hope that we would be able to just do something we have always wanted to do.
- On page 11, “My throat a knot of everything I no longer understand.” - This just gave me such a clear image of the feeling when you are just about to cry.
- On page 20, “The river pulls me out, draws me elsewhere an down to blue water, green water, black water.” - Since I have water on the brain, this stuck out to me. It really gets the idea across about water sucking you down, which is usually tied in with rivers opposed to placid lakes.
- On page 21, “One is a carpenter who doesn’t become Jesus, one is a girl who went to heaven sixty years early. Gods die, and not always out of choice, like near-sighted cats jumping between building seven stories up.”
I was able to get a more firm grasp on some of Harrison’s shorter poems; however, it was still a few lines in poems that really stuck out to me. Here are some more lines that I enjoyed:
- In Kobun on page 31, “The head’s a cloud anchor that the feet must follow.” – This is probably my favorite line out of this book. It is just such a neat idea that has never occurred to me before. It quite literally flips the notion of gravity on its head.
- I really enjoyed “The Brand New Statue of Liberty to Lea Iococca (another Michigan boy)” as a whole. The image of the necklace of bones around the statue of liberty was quite striking.
- In “What He Said When I was Eleven” on page 57, “The fly-strip above the table idled in the window’s breeze, a new fly in its death buzz. Grandpa said, ‘We are all flies.’ That’s what he said forty years ago.” – This part just really portrays the idea of being trapped. Grandpa feels like a fly in his old age, but it is obviously not because of his age that he feels this way. He felt trapped forty years ago and apparently continued to do so.
- “My Friend the Bear” on page 61 as a whole but especially the lines: “There’s a tunnel to the outside on the far wall that emerges in the lilac grove in the backyard but she rarely uses it, knowing there’s no room around here for a freewheeling bear.” And “Privately she likes religion – from the bedroom I hear her incantatory moans and howls below me.”
- In “Rich Folks, Poor Folks, and Neither” on page 67, “I shot the copy machine with my rifle. No more copies, I thought, everything original!” – because haven’t we all wanted to cry out against technology at some point in our lives?
Overall, I am still trying to “figure it all out.” His style seems to be pretty comfortable and accessible but not in the same way as Billy Collins. I am not too sure what it is, but I do think I would have a hard time replicating his style. Either way, I am looking forward to see what my classmates have made of it and hopefully Jimmy will be able to enlighten us since he has been able to study Harrison extensively.
10 April 2007
Poetry
I am really not happy with this week's poetry. But here it is:
Assateague
As I lay in my canvas abode
listening to the waves wash up on shore,
I heard the clip-clop footsteps
of the approaching animal.
With one glance I realized
I was the only one;
my sisters were snuggled and sleeping
soundly in their sleeping bags,
finally escaping the itch of the mosquito bites
and sand.
Laying as still as I could,
I watched the silhouette of the beast
near our tent until it stopped outside of my open window.
The horse turned its head
and seemed to look inside.
I could feel its hot breath through
the sheer polyester window.
It seemed to look right at me,
and I stared right back.
With one last breath, it broke
our connection
and turned to leave,
possibly to visit another camp
in hopes of food.
Okinawa
He never does talk about it.
When I was young,
I figured he didn’t think I would
understand. But now that I’m older,
I still haven’t heard the stories
about the base in Okinawa.
He says he did it so he could go to college
and he figured he’d be going either way,
so why not go willingly?
He says Japan is a beautiful country
that he would like to go back and visit.
He says he fixed helicopters and airplanes
but refuses to acknowledge that it cost him
his hearing.
Despite his silence,
every year I give him a Veteran’s Day card.
He says thanks, pretending it is like any other
card, and with one last glance,
tucks it on the bookcase
out of sight.
Assateague
As I lay in my canvas abode
listening to the waves wash up on shore,
I heard the clip-clop footsteps
of the approaching animal.
With one glance I realized
I was the only one;
my sisters were snuggled and sleeping
soundly in their sleeping bags,
finally escaping the itch of the mosquito bites
and sand.
Laying as still as I could,
I watched the silhouette of the beast
near our tent until it stopped outside of my open window.
The horse turned its head
and seemed to look inside.
I could feel its hot breath through
the sheer polyester window.
It seemed to look right at me,
and I stared right back.
With one last breath, it broke
our connection
and turned to leave,
possibly to visit another camp
in hopes of food.
Okinawa
He never does talk about it.
When I was young,
I figured he didn’t think I would
understand. But now that I’m older,
I still haven’t heard the stories
about the base in Okinawa.
He says he did it so he could go to college
and he figured he’d be going either way,
so why not go willingly?
He says Japan is a beautiful country
that he would like to go back and visit.
He says he fixed helicopters and airplanes
but refuses to acknowledge that it cost him
his hearing.
Despite his silence,
every year I give him a Veteran’s Day card.
He says thanks, pretending it is like any other
card, and with one last glance,
tucks it on the bookcase
out of sight.
09 April 2007
England
This is not really related to either of my classes, but it does have to do with my summer class and with me as a person. I just finished booking a flight to London for a week in July. I have been trying to get this trip going for the past 3 years and it is finally happening! :) Now it is time to yank my head out of the clouds and get some actual work done.
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