Showing posts with label famous poets. Show all posts
Showing posts with label famous poets. Show all posts

Sunday, April 5, 2015

NaPoWriMo 2015: Day 5: Riffin' on Em

December 10, 1830 – May 15, 1886

My teammates are going to hate me--today's a bit of a cheat! Here's the exercise from NaPoWriMo:

Today’s prompt (optional, as always) is a variation on a teaching exercise that the poet Anne Boyer uses with students studying the work of Emily Dickinson. As you may know, although Dickinson is now considered one of the most original and finest poets the United States has produced, she was not recognized in her own time. One reason her poems took a while to gain a favorable reception is their slippery, dash-filled lines. Those dashes baffled her readers so much that the 1924 edition of her complete poems replaced some with commas, and did away with others completely. Today’s exercise asks you to do something similar, but in the interests of creativity, rather than ill-conceived “correction.” Find an Emily Dickinson poem – preferably one you’ve never previously read – and take out all the dashes and line breaks. Make it just one big block of prose. Now, rebreak the lines. Add words where you want. Take out some words. Make your own poem out of it! (Not sure where to find some Dickinson poems? Here’s 59 Dickinson poems to select from).

Here's the original:

After great pain, a formal feeling comes – (372)

BY EMILY DICKINSON

After great pain, a formal feeling comes –
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs –
The stiff Heart questions ‘was it He, that bore,’
And ‘Yesterday, or Centuries before’?

The Feet, mechanical, go round –
A Wooden way
Of Ground, or Air, or Ought –
Regardless grown,
A Quartz contentment, like a stone –

This is the Hour of Lead –
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow –
First – Chill – then Stupor – then the letting go –

Here is my revision:

After great pain, a formal feeling comes – (372)
BY EMILY DICKINSON

After great pain, a formal feeling comes 
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs 
The stiff Heart questions was it He that bore
And Yesterday or Centuries before? 
The Feet mechanical go round 
A Wooden way Of Ground
or Air or Ought Regardless grown
A Quartz contentment like a stone 
This is the Hour of Lead Remembered if outlived 
As Freezing persons recollect the Snow 
First Chill then Stupor then the letting go 

A fun exercise. Still, I feel as if I had a bit of a cheat, being the one to take this prompt. Jessica, for instance, had a much more challenging go of it with her amazing Blitz poem!

~Wanda~



Saturday, April 12, 2014

K is for Keatsian

31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821

While I doubt I can do as well as Keats, I'll give a go at stealing his style!

Once I Believed

Once I believed that I would be adored
And everyone would want to be near me
I wish it hadn't taken so damn long to see
That this delusion which I in my mind stored
Was one that I could not afford
To keep this dream cost my soul too great a fee
But it was too intoxicating to break free
My thoughts without this dream just left me bored
The way it had been for me when I stopped drinking
Quit going out to parties every night
I didn't like the thoughts that I was thinking
I didn't like the truths that came to light
I look to see the stars above me winking
But I don't know what to wish I may or wish I might

~Cie~

A Keatsian poem is quite simply a poem written in the style of John Keats.
The example below uses the form abbaabbacdcdcd.

 On First Looking into Chapman's Homer

Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold, 
And many goodly states and kingdoms seen; 
Round many western islands have I been 
Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. 
Oft of one wide expanse had I been told 
That deep-browed Homer ruled as his demesne; 
Yet did I never breathe its pure serene 
Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: 
Then felt I like some watcher of the skies 
When a new planet swims into his ken; 
Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes 
He star'd at the Pacific — and all his men 
Look'd at each other with a wild surmise — 
Silent, upon a peak in Darien.

The sonnet "On First Looking into Chapman's Homer"
October 1816

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