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Post by Razgat on Apr 27, 2010 20:05:08 GMT -5
I have this poetry project where I have to write seven examples of modernist poetry that emulates poems from The Lost Generation. I also have to create three pieces of modern art, but I will be posting my poems here. I would appreciate feedback (that means do it) since these poems are supposed to actually have meaning in them. If you can find a way to decipher it, than you have an understanding of my mind, good for you.
I have one poem right now, but I'll have more since it's due next week. (I think....I forgot when the due date was). I'll post the poet's poem first then mine so you can see if I...emulated correctly.
Anecdote of the Jar
Wallace Stevens
I placed a jar in Tennessee,
And round it was, upon a hill.
It made the slovenly wilderness
Surround that hill.
The wilderness rose up to it,
And sprawled around, no longer wild.
The jar was round upon the ground
And tall and of a port in air.
It took dominion every where.
The jar was gray and bare.
It did not give of bird or bush,
Like nothing else in Tennessee.
The Glance Of A Spoon
The spoon poked out of the drawer
Silently reflecting the kitchen
I gently picked up this preeminent silver
And held it indifferently and looked
The reflection showed the dawn setting
The dusk rising, the reflection reflected
I saw what I was was what I wasn’t
And the opposite was upside-down
The faucet dripped upward
As I moved to the sink
And cast off the silver
It’s reflection no longer reflected
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Post by Mizagium on Apr 28, 2010 14:14:06 GMT -5
you're a better poet than the rest of us
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Post by Razgat on Apr 28, 2010 18:40:05 GMT -5
Did you understand it at all? Could you catch any meaning?
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Post by TEAM_DERRICK on Apr 28, 2010 19:21:56 GMT -5
I get it the meaning of the second one.
I think.
And the first one has something to do with man leaving his permanent mark in wilderness?
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Post by Razgat on Apr 28, 2010 19:45:04 GMT -5
The first one is about man's impact on nature. The second is about how in society, everything we see is really opposite in real life and what you are is reall what you aren't, but it's ignored.
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Post by Razgat on Apr 28, 2010 19:47:00 GMT -5
This second one is weird. The lines in Williams' poem are supposed to be wheelbarrows, and mine is supoosed to look like a candle. "Supposed." The Red Wheelbarrow William Carlos Williams so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water beside the white chickens. The Candle The
Candle
Is lit
upon
A
Soft metal
Saucer It’s
Wax runs
Down onto
The wooden
Table nearly missing
The lady’s finger If it's not shaped like a candle, you can at least see how the words are broken up. |
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Post by Razgat on Apr 28, 2010 20:01:27 GMT -5
Pear Tree
H.D.
Silver dust
lifted from the earth,
higher than my arms reach,
you have mounted,
O silver,
higher than my arms reach
you front us with great mass;
no flower ever opened
so staunch a white leaf,
no flower ever parted silver
from such rare silver;
O white pear,
your flower-tufts
thick on the branch
bring summer and ripe fruits
in their purple hearts.
Water
Nothing can be matched
To your becalming flow
Nothing can compare
To the swirl of your eddies
I try to grasp you
But I cannot
You swirl and flow away
Beyond my reach
And with you, you carry
Small flowers fresh blooming
Young fish newly breathing
The air running briskly
Oh, why can’t I grasp you
You always escape me
But perhaps it was meant to be
For you to carry on this breath
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Post by TEAM_DERRICK on Apr 29, 2010 15:50:57 GMT -5
huh
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Post by Mizagium on Apr 29, 2010 16:57:41 GMT -5
This second one is weird. The lines in Williams' poem are supposed to be wheelbarrows, and mine is supoosed to look like a candle. "Supposed." The Red Wheelbarrow William Carlos Williams so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water beside the white chickens. The Candle The Candle Is lit upon A Soft metal Saucer It’s Wax runs Down onto The wooden Table nearly missing The lady’s finger If it's not shaped like a candle, you can at least see how the words are broken up. it does look like a candle on a saucer |
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Post by Razgat on Apr 29, 2010 17:30:50 GMT -5
This one I was told to be creative with, so there is no emulating poem. Just mine.
Poetry
A flick of the wrist
The blink of an eye
Is your inspiration
Is your lullaby
Your view of clouds
Your opinion on air
Flows beautifully from your fingertips
In a form so rare
So rare in fact
Compared to others
They write of fantasies
You write of lovers
You tell tales of spirit
They only false truths
You express the real
They the not
You try to comprehend
With many a doubt
Tis Poetry my dear
A Poetry well sought
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Post by Razgat on Apr 29, 2010 17:35:41 GMT -5
since feeling is first
since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;
wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world
my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry
- the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says
we are for each other; then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph
And death i think is no parenthesis
e. e. cummings
Honey
you bat your eyes
and lick your lips but
your heart is full
of temporary lead:
you think you’ve found it
(you’re sure)
but I see you’re a fly
drawn to Honey with others
that have gone your path
and drowned in the stick
you (so heartily) fly to
Silly girl, if only it were laden with salt
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Post by TEAM_DERRICK on Apr 29, 2010 18:03:44 GMT -5
I love e e cummings
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Post by Mizagium on Apr 29, 2010 18:07:17 GMT -5
i think he's stoned
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Post by TEAM_DERRICK on Apr 29, 2010 18:09:23 GMT -5
I think that he gets poetry.
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Post by Razgat on Apr 29, 2010 18:21:51 GMT -5
I like anyone lived in a pretty how town.
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Post by TEAM_DERRICK on Apr 29, 2010 18:29:31 GMT -5
how town?
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Post by Razgat on Apr 29, 2010 18:31:57 GMT -5
anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn't he danced his did
Women and men(both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn't they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain
children guessed(but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more
when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone's any was all to her
someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then)they
said their nevers they slept their dream
stars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)
one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was
all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
wish by spirit and if by yes.
Women and men(both dong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain
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Post by TEAM_DERRICK on Apr 29, 2010 18:37:47 GMT -5
Ah ok
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Post by Razgat on Apr 29, 2010 18:38:28 GMT -5
Oh, I've only got two poems left by the way, then I'm done. I have to write a Robert Frost poem, which I already have an idea for, and a love poem, which I have been avoiding since the project started. So Robert Frost=EASY! Love poem= Not so easy.
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Post by TEAM_DERRICK on Apr 29, 2010 18:41:59 GMT -5
Love is like this poem
it sucks
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