12-15-11

Just some new outfits. Hope all is well with everyone. :)

Slouchy shirt- Target, Boots- Amazon, Fish necklace- Wal Mart

Coat- Gap, Scarf- knitted by my friend Jessica! It feels like clouds

Knit collar mint green dress- yesstyle.com, Wine-colored lipstain- Meijer

"Intelligence is about pain and unteaching"

This has been the easiest end-of-the-semester I think I've ever had. I've had a few deadlines for things spread out over the past week, but mostly I've had a lot of time to read, write, watch movies, spend time with the other poets in the program, and--most importantly--sleep (which consists of a lot of bizarre dreams, which is good for my dream poem series!).

I'm currently reading/working on writing a review for this book: http://www.fenceportal.org/?page_id=401. And, if they like the review, it will be published here!: http://www.rufouscityreview.com/. I'm pretty excited as this is my first book review and my first publication outside of Kent State (even if it is an independent journal and the editor is one of the girls in the MFA program here). The book is fantastic so far--I hope I do it justice.

Due to my staying home a lot, I haven't really been putting too much effort in making myself up. But I did try out a new lipstain color. And I've been wearing a lot of leggings/big comfy shirts/tall warm socks combos.

The difference between emotional and logical language

A professor of mine said something a few years ago that stuck with me. He said, “You can’t argue against a feeling.” In this case, he was referring to his wife’s urge to adopt another child. No matter what he told her, no matter what logical backing he used to refute her push for another child (e.g., already having two children, lacking money, getting too old to raise another child, etc.), she remained adamant. When he finally asked her why she wouldn’t let it go, she said, “I feel like I need to do this. I won’t feel whole if I don’t have another child.” She attributed it to her maternal instincts and to a distinct, immutable feeling, and despite himself, he couldn’t argue against it.

The language of emotion is, rather obviously, much different than the language of logic. Think of it in terms of your mother (or a close family member). We love our mothers not because of some list of criteria or reasoning, but because we feel bonded to her. It’s a bond that’s been written about and portrayed through a large number of mediums (poetry, prose, film, music, etc.). We can read a poem dedicated to one’s mother or watch a film based on the relationship between a mother and daughter, and see the same words and the same events happening before us. But we all contribute different feelings toward the piece and toward our own mothers. I don’t think any of us could adequately describe the love we hold for them. It’s something that goes beyond traditional language.

The same can be said with romantic partners. We don’t fall in love with someone because of a catalog of positive attributes (we may like to brag about these to friends but in regards to our genuine feeling of love toward him or her, these have little to do with it), nor do we attribute this love to a lack of flaws in the other person. If we did this, we’d be searching for the “perfect match” our entire lives. This kind of romantic love, rather, is the ability to love someone despite their flaws. It’s a matter of achieving a level of intimacy with someone that you understand the way they think and, even if you don’t agree with some of it, you love them anyway.

This is why we can’t apply terms of logical or referential backing to strong emotions. We’re unable to make conclusions such as “I love my son because of a, b and c,” nor can we say things like “Anger is anger (i.e., that the same definition of anger holds for everyone—unlike “a collarbone is a collarbone,” which, more or less, has the same scientific definition for everyone).

It’s this language of emotion that makes poetry so captivating. The poet and the reader are able to speak to each other on a deeper, more psychologically rooted level rather than a level fixed in logic. Even if a poem syntactically or conceptually doesn’t make sense, if the reader feels something poignant after reading it, then the poem succeeds, or makes sense, on an emotional level. We trust the poet’s words, just like we trust the writhing movements or head lashing of an admired musician on stage. No matter how outlandish something seems, if there is a tangible emotional response, we trust it.

Lili Taylor, in a short essay published in Poetry magazine, wrote “A poet told me that the job description of the poet is to say the unsayable. Another poet said no matter which way you cut it poems are about emotion. They are about deep emotion.” Later, when referring to her acting, she said “In a way, I am trying to name things with my emotions.” It is this “naming” that makes emotion a language, not something to be prescribed as purely illogical. When we feel something on an intense level, we name or define things in our world through the lens of this feeling or of multiple feelings. It’s something extremely personal but also very absolute. In the individual’s mind, she’s right in the way she feels. And, in a way, she’s accurate in thinking this way. We take comfort in the fact that everyone’s mind is different. In our heightened emotions lies a more concentrated level of perceptivity, and it would be hasty to disregard them. In their chaos, there is reason.

Overwhelmed by humanity

I could turn this post into a twenty-paragraph rant about animal rights, but I'll keep it short because frankly, I'm exhausted from arguing with people.

Animals are not commodities, and they should not be treated as such. Period. We would be such a more well-fed, healthier, happier world if factory farming (as well as animal testing, over-fishing, whaling, fur farms, leather farms, etc.) didn't exist. We once lived in a way that did not mistreat animals in these ways, and it's possible to live this way again.

This movie is incredibly informative and inspiring: http://www.earthlings.com/ And Temple Grandin is my new favorite role model. Also, I might be going vegan. I'm tired of trying to be middle-of-the-road or unbiased about animal rights. And I'm even more tired of being sympathetic toward those who prefer convenience or the sole well-being of humans over animals. I don't care if I sound like a self-righteous animal lover. This is something I'm whole-heartedly invested in.

Striped pants

Hat- Target, Striped pants- given to me by a friend (thanks Erin!), Fish necklace- Wal Mart

It's a nice, brisk autumn day today. Once I get some graded papers under my belt, I think I'll reward myself with a long walk. Apparently, there's a good trail somewhere in Bowling Green.

Hope all is well with everyone!

My dream self dies upon waking

I had a breakthrough in my first dream poem during my Techniques of Poetry class last night. Larissa Szporluck is the most perceptive reader of poetry I've ever met. I'm fairly certain that she pulls more meaning out of my poetry than I do. I hope one day that I'll be able to tap into whatever realm she's in.

Other than that, the rain continues. The semester is winding down very quickly, then it's time for building snowmen and curling up under blankets with hot cocoa.

(Sorry this is so blurry)

Pleated long-sleeve shirt- yesstyle.com, Elephant necklace- Wal Mart, Rope belt- thrifted, Knit lace shorts- yessstyle.com, Moccasins- Roots

These are what the shorts look like close up.

Let me back in

I've reopened by obsession with Explosion in the Sky's newest album, Take Care, Take Care, Take Care. Good cold/rainy/windy day music.

My go-to autumn/winter outfit (over-sized sweater, leggings, and boots):

Sweater- thrifted, Boots- Amazon?

Coat- Gap, Circle scarf- American Apparel

"How easily bored I am without pain as proof"

Bowling Green's (specifically Mid-American Review's) yearly writing festival, Winter Wheat, was this past weekend and I was asked to participate by helping at the registration table, attending panels, and--leading my own panel! It was really great (albeit hectic and exhausting). It felt to me like a mini version of AWP--same basic structure. I felt closer to everyone in the creative writing programs, met some wonderful new writers, and started a couple poems that I'm pretty excited about. Karissa and I did a panel on Anatomical and Neurological Language in Poetry, and I think it went really well. We got on some great discussions about merging body and mind/science and lyricism, using textbook terms to add dynamism to your poetry, how to write a death or autopsy poem when the mind is detached from the body, and quite a bit more (if anyone is interested in seeing the notes for the panel, I'd be glad to send it to you). It was great getting up in front of a room of writers and talking about something we were passionate about (even though prior to our research, we knew little to nothing about anatomical terms!).

The literary journal, Hobart, that was positioned next to the Wick Poetry Center table at AWP last year was also there! I bought Mary Miller's book Big World from them, which I'm obsessed with. The guy at the table recognized me and we talked for quite a while about their journal and my switch from Kent to BG and this year's upcoming AWP. I also saw a friend of Ted Lyons' whom I talked to for a little bit. There were readings by Kyle Minor, Ann Townsend, and Seth Fried (seriously impressed by all of them!). Overall, great experience. But because I was so busy with Winter Wheat festivities Thursday-Saturday, I left nearly all of my paper grading for Sunday. But I got them all done! 14 essays in one day (phew). I think the festival refreshed me in a way that I very much needed, which helped clear my mind for all that grading.

I'm very much looking forward to Thanksgiving break. I could definitely use the time off (even though I'll be grading a new batch of essays over break). If anyone is around the Kent area this Wednesday through Sunday, I'd love to catch up. :)

Also, a new outfit (I wear these shoes and this dress a lot. I think it's time to get more creative.):

Long-sleeve shirt- Wal-Mart?, Pleated dress- yesstyle.com, Oxfords- thrifted, Heart necklace- Target?

"Consider the rooms that outlast us"

Felt impulsive. Cut my bangs.

Also, I'm currently working on a series of dream poems. I also need to sit down and make some serious revisions to all of my poetry. Perhaps I'll post something soon. Hope all is well with everyone. :)


**Update: Just a new outfit.

Oversized sweater- thrifted, Blue leggings- Target, Boots- Amazon, Necklace- H&M, Watch and ring- Meijer

Some thoughts on prose/narrative poetry

We had an abridged conversation in workshop tonight about prose/narrative poetry (I say "abridged" because it was truncated in that it didn't seem to go anywhere and we had quite a few more poems to critique). It started on a question I had for the class--when is narrative, or prose, form appropriate in poetry? I wasn't looking for a formulaic answer about when to use prose form over lyrical form, but rather, I wanted to hear some insights from the class. As someone who is very drawn to prose poetry (e.g., prose, paragraph blocks, etc.), it's something I'm really interested in discussing and researching (although I can't seem to find any essays on the subject online).

It seems as if many poets, when critiquing a poem, often feel the need to cut out articles, prepositions, "prosey" language, punctuation, etc. in an attempt to make the poem sound more lyrical, more rhythmic, perhaps more mysterious. I admit, these components can appear clunky or discordant in certain parts of poems or in a poem that is otherwise musical in its language. However, I think we are too quick to cut out articles or prepositions or lengthy lines just because it doesn't have the fragmented phraseology that is indicative in so much poetry. Is it so terrible to write a poem in full sentences? To write one in paragraph form?

The beauty of writing as an art form is that it can take on many forms. By way of this, different forms can influence each other. Prose can intermingle with poetry and vice versa. By writing a poem in a narrative form, we are at once telling a story and enlivening it with poetic imagination. Writing in prose does not equate to prosaic language. In other words, writing in a traditional manner does not make the writing dull or unimaginative. It's a way to add dynamism to the poem. Readers can say, Yes, I'm reading a narrative. But is there more? That being said, some poems written in full sentences or block form do not always take on a traditional narrative. For instance, Franz Wright's poem Imago or many poems in Elizabeth Willis' Meteoric Flowers are both very whimsical in their content but are presented on the page in blocks and full clauses. We see fiction writers merge mediums as well--Gabriel Garcia Marquez's fiction is palpable with whimsical, poetic language; the short stories in Mary Miller's Big World combine mundane scenarios with heightened peaks of larger perception. There is something rich and idiosyncratic in the coagulation of styles.

I find myself continually reasserting my hesitance in taking on that which is so indicative of poetry workshops--the impulse to cut. We have to first determine the heart of the poem, what it wants to be, where it wants to go, before we decide to omit anything (even parts as simple as articles or prepositions). Because of the hyper-inclination to revise or "clean up" the poem, I fear that this may be inhibiting the growth of more narrative or prose forms. By appropriating a classic form with our own fresh, strange themes or diction, we may be able to break open something entirely new.


**Update: Really great essay on Russell Edson/prose poetry--> http://www.believermag.com/issues/200403/?read=article_manguso

"I’ve watched words flower sideways across your mouth"

It's always a little strange going into the week after an illuminated weekend, as if the world should take notice, should give me time to seep myself into those three days some more. I feel like I'm in a dream.

Dennis and I made some more delicious food (as we do every weekend), and took a walk in the cemetery near my apartment. It's really beautiful and has some gravestones dating back before 1800. I didn't get any photos of the cemetery, but I did get a couple of la comida. :)

Farfalle, crushed tomatoes, artichoke hearts, garlic, onion, crushed red pepper, sugar, basil, white wine, parmesan cheese, garlic bread

Eggs, avocado, hash browns, toast

Halloween poem

BLOOD-FOLD

he can’t see me in the dim bar light.

he is smiling at someone else.

someone else is hidden.

someone else is meaningless.

are my edges beginning to fade,

with nothing to drape my organs?

I become a platelet, spilled on concrete.

eat me with a fork and swallow.

he is a blur of black-and-white face paint—

a ghoul, a shadow, a sharp-toothed reminder.

why do I always construct myself

from other people’s skeletons?

this trust has run dry.

this marrow contains no water.

the room pulses like a vein

and I am suddenly aware of myself.

I step out into a throng of strangers.

the night tangles its breath on my coat.

this ache     hangs      like a web.

"A plant is said to be dead if it doesn't grow"

I've been feeling unbelievably unmotivated lately. I wish only to curl up under blankets, watch movies, and eat good winter food like chili or stew. But, on goes school. And on goes teaching. I hope you all are being more productive than I am.

An outfit I wore out to dinner with Dennis:

Everything was thrifted except for the necklace (H&M), the watch (Meijer), and the tights (Target)

Also, the sun coming in through the window looked beautiful last week. I think it may be contributing to my dreamy mood.

I am nonsense

This is what this weeks feel like:

New poems

Just a couple of new poems. I'm still revising them (am I ever finished revising anything?) but I thought I'd share anyway. Comments/critiques are appreciated.

HOURS

The hours gather wildly at the end of the day

then calm themselves

and fall asleep in the dim lamp light

It is during these times I often think:

I am wrong about everything

Crack-throated and weary, I collapse—

a heavy mass of bone-waves and weeping skin

Buried in soil, disconnected at the limbs

I want someone to comfort me,

pull me up by the roots and kiss me

The day proceeds like an aging alcoholic

too wet and slow to escape from its own drunkenness

I don’t know how true this is

but I don’t question much these days

YOU WITHOUT BOUNDARIES

Your hands are two moonflowers,
blooming in dark rooms

The hush and push of your petal-fingers

extinguish me like a dying flame

Your teeth click like cracked shells,

the grooves flowing, flowing

Listen:

it is the heart that keeps us grounded, not the legs

Outside, the trees uproot themselves

and fall around us

Your eyes turn to water,

your flower hands turn to water

And the hinges of your mouth

release me like a chorus

Rainy days

It's been super rainy/windy over the past few days. As a result, I've become more of a homebody than I already am. Just thought I'd update with a couple more outfits.

Grey blazer- Sears, Shirt- thrifted, Skirt- thrifted (Wet Seal), Rope belt- thrifted, Pink converse- Journey's

Black blazer- JCPenney, Ring & bracelets- thrifted, Necklace- H&M, Black skinny jeans- thrifted, Mary Jane heels- thrifted

"To float you must float from within"

I feel that in the short amount of time I've been enrolled in the MFA program at Bowling Green, I've learned so much about poetry and about what it is I really want to accomplish in my own writing. I've written more poems that mean something to me over the past eight weeks than I think I ever have. I'm going to spend some time this weekend on revising so, hopefully, I'll post a couple new poems sometime next week (I should probably be posting poetry on a blog that originated as a creative writing blog, right?).

In other news, Karissa and I had a successful afternoon of thrifting today. I found quite a few items of clothing that I've been looking for. I'm sure I'll have photo evidence soon. For now, what I wore yesterday:

Shirt- Target, Spandex skirt- thrifted, Skinny belt- Target, Sweater tights- gift, Oxford shoes- thrifted, Locket necklace- H&M, Orange ring- thrifted, Cropped jacket- thrifted, Scarf- Target, Sunglasses- thrifted

"Let us never be rescued from this mess"

I'd like to preface this with something about the title of this post. It's a line from Aimee Nezhukumatathil's poem "Baked Goods" (she has a crazy name, right?). I was just recently introduced to her by my workshop professor, Jennifer Chang, a couple weeks ago. After reading a few of her poems, I was so arrested by her work, I bought her newest book, Lucky Fish (which has a beautiful cover--you should look it up). While still in my giddiness-in-discovering-a-wonderful-new-poet phase, she came to read at Bowling Green this past Thursday. Her reading was just as captivating as her writing--she has a strange voice in a lot of her poems, her reading was really lively and funny, and I connected with a lot of what she said. Needless to say, I had her sign my book and talked with her for a few minutes (turns out we both have a love for oxford shoes and Naomi Shihab Nye). After the reading, Jennifer had a reception at her house which was equally as illuminating. Lots of good company.

But. On to the rest of the entry: I've found myself obsessing over tattoo ideas lately. So I thought I'd share a few.

The tattoo I plan on getting in the very near future is a couple of lines from a Yehuda Amichai poem (translated by Chana Bloch). I started reading Yehuda last year and fell in love with his work. I identify a lot with these particular lines, mainly the acuteness of everything.

(on my upper ribs)

The second is, yes, a band tattoo. But I think it's obscure enough that I don't think I would regret getting it. I just recently came up with this idea so I may sit on it for a bit. It's the symbol/album cover for Disconnect From Desire by School of Seven Bells. SOSB are easily one of favorite bands--the whimsical, haunting lyrics/vocals/instruments are unlike anything else I've heard. And seeing them play live only solidified my respect and love for them and their deep, dream-like quality of music.

(underneath my armpit, like Rihanna's gun tattoo http://images.eonline.com/eol_images/Entire_Site/20090326/293.rihanna.lc.032609.jpg)

The third is one I've been sitting on for a while and I'm still not sure if I want it. It's a damask design, just because I love how it looks.

(front of thigh)

The fourth is one that if I don't get the damask design, I will get this instead (or perhaps on the other leg?). It would be the same concept as this--a landscape of trees positioned horizontally--except instead of along my side, it would be on the side of my thigh. I've always loved tree tattoos (even if they are done a lot), nature, hiking, the outdoors (all that lofty, liberal poetic stuff). Plus, I love the sideways orientation of this.

Soooo who wants to get a tattoo with me? :D

Sink your teeth in

I'm going to do something I've never done. I'm going to share a really new poem (I mean, REALLY new--I just got done writing it). I've been working on it here and there since last night so it's very rough. But I haven't shared anything in a while. Comments/critiques are appreciated.

CHIROPTERA

Sink your teeth into me

Let the sour skin dangle from your lips

You fly above me in

staggered formation,

steadfast in your romance

with the wind—

black seraph, hairy demon,

necromancer

You speak in a tongue

no one understands,

liminal echoes,

pocked flesh recoiled

in your ribcage

Little flittermouse, little prophet,

the things you could do

if you had hands,

ones, I mean, without claws

The things you could do

if your bones were stronger,

unlike twigs softened by fire

under thin membrane

Yet

your hand, look how large it is

look how it takes everything in,

drinks everything slowly,

(takes me in, drinks me slowly)

look how you are everything I am not

Tangle yourself in my hair

Show me how to see without eyes

Also, another outfit (I kind of feel like a Jedi in this):

Circle scarf- thrifted, Long sweater- I really don't remember (Kohl's?), Rope belt- thrifted, Sweater tights- gift, Wrap boots- Toms

Your teeth click like cracked shells

I update this blog way too often. But, one gets lonely when living alone (therefore, I resort to the internet for interaction with old friends--but, who knows who reads this thing anyway?). Admittedly, I feel like a bit of a narcissist posting photos and random ramblings/poetry on here, but I suppose the concept of a personal blog is pretty vain in nature. So I'm embracing it.

I've been doing quite a bit of writing in small bursts over the past week, so I don't have anything cohesive to share right now. But I will soon, very soon.

I converted some storage space into a reading cubby this weekend. I love it! A good place to cuddle up, nest and read. I just need more blankets and some decorations.

And, another outfit. My hair is finally long enough to braid! (kind of)

Necklace- Target, Collared shirt- thrifted, Spandex skirt- thrifted, Moccasins- Roots

I rarely ever wear lipstick--it felt foreign and heavy on my lips. But it made me feel fancy.

9-22-11

I will be listening to "Rolled Together" by The Antlers on loop today, reading, writing, and making lesson plans (wish I could omit that last one). It has become a fervent desire of mine lately to write a poem that I don't hate two months later. Wish me luck.

The outfit I wore to the "Celebrating Our Own" reading: 

Tunic- thrifted, Elephant necklace- Walmart, Skinny belt- Target, Leggings- Target, Boots- Amazon

Another teaching outfit: 

Collared shirt- thrifted, Skinny jeans- Target, Blue flats- thrifted