My god was better than your god. Security is a myth Taking time gives time. Running away won’t work for long.
Security is a myth. Busy isn’t better. Running away won’t work for long. You don’t have to win.
Busy isn’t better. You had to hold your breath to get there. You don’t have to win. My mother’s side of the story.
You had to hold your breath to get there. Taking time gives time. My mother’s side of the story. My god was better than your god.
(In an aside, I wanted to tell you that they day I read this assignment was also the day one of my poetry students brought in a poem called a pantoum, which none of us had ever heard of. We looked it up, of course; then I came home to your assignment. Love when synchronicity rules my world!
yes! synchronicity and I are old friends. haha, so cool.
About your poem - now that you're in the water (and it was a great dive by the way) it's time to comb through and find the places within the text where you can switch the language up a bit. One of my favorite things about pantoums is how each repeated line only needs to be similar; sometimes poets choose to repeat just ONE word from the repeated line. I'm going to add some notes and then another example of a pantoum, which is my most favorite pantoum of all time, by the wonderful Maxine Kumin. She turns the repeated lines in such a way that you are dizzy with all of its new content. Very inspiring.
My god IS better than your god. <> Security is a myth Taking time gives time. Running away won’t work for long.
Security is a myth. Busy isn’t better. Running away won’t work for long. You don’t have to win.
Busy isn’t better. You HAVE to hold your breath to get there. You don’t have to win. My mother’s side of the story.
You HAVE to hold your breath to get there. Taking time gives time. My mother’s side of the story. My god IS better than your god.
_ _ _
Now, I'm going to suggest where you "bend" the repeated lines so that new ideas burst through:
My god is better than your god, security is a myth. Taking time gives time. Running away won’t work for long.
Security is a myth<< consider switching the noun here: lie/falsehood/daydream/ Busy isn’t better. Running away won’t work,<< or is useless or unnecessary or pointless or even "you don't have to run" leading into "you don't have to win">> you don’t have to win.
Busy isn’t better. You have to hold your breath to get there. You don’t have to win my mother’s side of the story.
You have to hold your breath. Get there. Taking time gives<< frees? births? breeds?>> time. My mother’s side of the story is a better god than yours.
_ _ _ _
Now check out Kumin's poem (after Yeats' "Leda & The Swan")
- Pantoum, with Swan by MAXINE KUMIN -
Bits of his down under my fingernails a gob of his spit behind one ear and a nasty welt where the nib of his beak bit down as he came. It was our first date.
A gob of his spit behind one ear, his wings still fanning. I should have known better, I should have bitten him off on our first date, and yet for some reason I didn't press charges;
I wiped off the wet. I should have known better. They gave me the morning-after pill and shook their heads when I wouldn't press charges. The yolk that was meant to hatch as Helen
failed to congeal, thanks to the morning-after pill and dropped harmlessly into the toilet so that nothing became of the lost yolk, Helen, Troy, wooden horse, forestalled in one swallow
flushed harmlessly away down the toilet. The swan had by then stuffed Euripides, Sophocles --leaving out Helen, Troy, Agamemnon-- the whole house of Atreus, the rest of Greek tragedy,
stuffed in my head, every strophe of Sophocles. His knowledge forced on me, yet Bird kept the power. What was I to do with ancient Greek history lodged in my cortex to no avail?
I had his knowledge, I had no power the year I taught Yeats in a classroom so pale that a mist enshrouded the ancient religions and bits of his down flew from under my fingernails.
I am so glad to learn about pantoums. How about this revision? (Are we supposed to post our revisions? I am not sure, but this one is short so here goes: My god is better than your god. Security is a myth. Taking time makes time. Running away won't work for long.
Security is a bag lady. Busy isn't better. Running away is work. You don't have to win.
Betting on busy loses. You have to hold your breath to get there. You have to win, don't you? My mother's side of the story.
Hold your breath. You have to get there. Make time take time. My mother's story is inside. My God, your god better bleed.
My god is better than your god. Security is a myth. Taking time makes time. Running away won't work for long.
Security is a bag lady. Busy isn't better. Running away is work. You don't have to win.
Betting on busy loses. < NICE CHANGE UP You have to hold your breath to get there. You have to win, don't you? My mother's side of the story.
Hold your breath. You have to get there. Make time take time. My mother's story is inside. My God, your god better bleed. < !!!!
- - - - - Ruth! I like your switch-a-roos here. It took me a minute to find the repeated line for some of these. I mis-read the last two lines as "my mother's story is my God" and am wondering how you feel about that?!?!
What i'm going to ask of you know is to add lines where you see fit to flesh this out. BREAK THE FORM. Un-pantoum this (if you want, of course.) I often provide myself a ton of restrictions when I first hammer a poem out because I've found that any limitation actually forces me into using words or cutting words I wouldn't think of while writing free verse. So see what happens!
What I'm going to ask of you now is to go ahead and flesh this out. Add lines and/or images or ideas where you see fit. B
My art is not good enough All the love you’ll ever need flows from your own heart Truth plus peace equal happiness I hold the key to a variety of prisons
All the love you’ll ever need flows from your own heart You can be trusted I hold the key to a variety of prisons Survival times tease out little used talents, and dusky aspects of my psyche
You can be trusted Sometimes I think to dig in the earth for something that I’ve lost, but I don’t want to risk disturbing bravery Survival times tease out little used talents, and dusky aspects of my psyche My art is not good enough
Sometimes I think to dig in the earth for something that I’ve lost, but I don’t want to risk disturbing bravery Truth plus peace equal happiness My art is not good enough My art is not good enough
- - - -
Laura,
Line 8 should be a new/original line so, since it somehow ended up being the same as line one and the last line, I cut another line that felt too long and allowed THAT to be line 8. Now that you have the staple ingredients, let's see what we can do to make this poem have a little more cohesion to it:
(Is) my art <>good enough? all the love you’ll ever need flows from your own heart truth plus peace equals happiness i hold the key to a variety of prisons < such a killer line!
all the love you’ll ever need flows from your own heart This can be trusted, (it) holds the key to (many) prisons, survival times tease out little used talents
I can be trusted <> to dig in the earth for something (missing,) Survival times tease out little used talents (and) I don’t want to risk disturbing braveyry
Sometimes I <>dig in the earth for something I’ve lost, Truth plus peace equals happiness I don’t want to risk disturbing bravery (if) my art is not good enough.
* I think, with the right title, this piece can be given context that will help the reader understand what's happening here. Like I suggested to Ruth above, go ahead and see what happens if you break the form and allow yourself new room to add or subtract. I can feel a lot of language and/or story wanting to push through the lines. Let that happen. Choose your favorite lines from this and write into them. :)
God loves you on your knees. Prayers smudged onto the windshield aren’t enough. Tulip bulbs break from soil despite your waiting. Your mother’s mouth is as sweet and bitter as a plum pit.
Prayers smudged onto the windshield aren’t enough. Her knees frozen on a bed of uncooked rice, bleeding the Lord’s Prayer. Your mother’s mouth is as sweet and bitter as a plum pit. Your broken teeth fail you, stringing them into a rosary.
Her knees frozen on a bed of uncooked rice, bleeding the Lord’s Prayer. Where you won’t go: children inspecting stigmata on both hands. Your broken teeth fail you, stringing them into a rosary. A thief leaves you stinging and penniless.
Where you won’t go: children inspecting stigmata on both hands. Tulip bulbs break from soil despite your waiting. A thief leaves you stinging and penniless. God loves you on your knees.
Something inside knows it can have whatever it wants knows the rules don’t apply the world is here for its taking
it can have whatever it wants without payment. without regard the world is here for the taking so take. and take. and take into the belly.
without payment. without regard a malice that desires blood, draws it to the surface to take and take and take into the belly iron salted hunger makes the meanest laughter
a malice that desires blood, draws it to the surface wants to slap just to see what will happen iron salted hunger makes the meanest laughter swollen bruising blossoming under skin,
want to slap just to see what will happen knows the rules do not apply swollen bruising blossoming under skin something inside knows.
Pantoum—Week 3 Poetry Class Writing--Ruth
ReplyDeleteMy god was better than your god.
Security is a myth
Taking time gives time.
Running away won’t work for long.
Security is a myth.
Busy isn’t better.
Running away won’t work for long.
You don’t have to win.
Busy isn’t better.
You had to hold your breath to get there.
You don’t have to win.
My mother’s side of the story.
You had to hold your breath to get there.
Taking time gives time.
My mother’s side of the story.
My god was better than your god.
(In an aside, I wanted to tell you that they day I read this assignment was also the day one of my poetry students brought in a poem called a pantoum, which none of us had ever heard of. We looked it up, of course; then I came home to your assignment. Love when synchronicity rules my world!
yes! synchronicity and I are old friends. haha, so cool.
DeleteAbout your poem - now that you're in the water (and it was a great dive by the way) it's time to comb through and find the places within the text where you can switch the language up a bit. One of my favorite things about pantoums is how each repeated line only needs to be similar; sometimes poets choose to repeat just ONE word from the repeated line. I'm going to add some notes and then another example of a pantoum, which is my most favorite pantoum of all time, by the wonderful Maxine Kumin. She turns the repeated lines in such a way that you are dizzy with all of its new content. Very inspiring.
My god IS better than your god. <>
Security is a myth
Taking time gives time.
Running away won’t work for long.
Security is a myth.
Busy isn’t better.
Running away won’t work for long.
You don’t have to win.
Busy isn’t better.
You HAVE to hold your breath to get there.
You don’t have to win.
My mother’s side of the story.
You HAVE to hold your breath to get there.
Taking time gives time.
My mother’s side of the story.
My god IS better than your god.
_ _ _
Now, I'm going to suggest where you "bend" the repeated lines so that new ideas burst through:
My god is better than your god,
security is a myth.
Taking time gives time.
Running away won’t work for long.
Security is a myth<< consider switching the noun here: lie/falsehood/daydream/
Busy isn’t better.
Running away won’t work,<< or is useless or unnecessary or pointless or even "you don't have to run" leading into "you don't have to win">>
you don’t have to win.
Busy isn’t better.
You have to hold your breath to get there.
You don’t have to win
my mother’s side of the story.
You have to hold your breath. Get there.
Taking time gives<< frees? births? breeds?>> time.
My mother’s side of the story
is a better god than yours.
_ _ _ _
Now check out Kumin's poem (after Yeats' "Leda & The Swan")
- Pantoum, with Swan by MAXINE KUMIN -
Bits of his down under my fingernails
a gob of his spit behind one ear
and a nasty welt where the nib of his beak
bit down as he came. It was our first date.
A gob of his spit behind one ear,
his wings still fanning. I should have known better,
I should have bitten him off on our first date,
and yet for some reason I didn't press charges;
I wiped off the wet. I should have known better.
They gave me the morning-after pill
and shook their heads when I wouldn't press charges.
The yolk that was meant to hatch as Helen
failed to congeal, thanks to the morning-after pill
and dropped harmlessly into the toilet
so that nothing became of the lost yolk, Helen,
Troy, wooden horse, forestalled in one swallow
flushed harmlessly away down the toilet.
The swan had by then stuffed Euripides, Sophocles
--leaving out Helen, Troy, Agamemnon--
the whole house of Atreus, the rest of Greek tragedy,
stuffed in my head, every strophe of Sophocles.
His knowledge forced on me, yet Bird kept the power.
What was I to do with ancient Greek history
lodged in my cortex to no avail?
I had his knowledge, I had no power
the year I taught Yeats in a classroom so pale
that a mist enshrouded the ancient religions
and bits of his down flew from under my fingernails.
Weird, one of my notes disappeared. I suggested, in the first example edit, to change the poem completely to present tense.
DeleteI am so glad to learn about pantoums. How about this revision? (Are we supposed to post our revisions? I am not sure, but this one is short so here goes:
DeleteMy god is better than your god.
Security is a myth.
Taking time makes time.
Running away won't work for long.
Security is a bag lady.
Busy isn't better.
Running away is work.
You don't have to win.
Betting on busy loses.
You have to hold your breath to get there.
You have to win, don't you?
My mother's side of the story.
Hold your breath. You have to get there.
Make time take time.
My mother's story is inside.
My God, your god better bleed.
(And you are right! This is fun!)
DeleteMy god is better than your god.
Security is a myth.
Taking time makes time.
Running away won't work for long.
Security is a bag lady.
Busy isn't better.
Running away is work.
You don't have to win.
Betting on busy loses. < NICE CHANGE UP
You have to hold your breath to get there.
You have to win, don't you?
My mother's side of the story.
Hold your breath. You have to get there.
Make time take time.
My mother's story is inside.
My God, your god better bleed. < !!!!
- - - - -
Ruth! I like your switch-a-roos here. It took me a minute to find the repeated line for some of these. I mis-read the last two lines as "my mother's story is my God" and am wondering how you feel about that?!?!
What i'm going to ask of you know is to add lines where you see fit to flesh this out. BREAK THE FORM. Un-pantoum this (if you want, of course.) I often provide myself a ton of restrictions when I first hammer a poem out because I've found that any limitation actually forces me into using words or cutting words I wouldn't think of while writing free verse. So see what happens!
What I'm going to ask of you now is to go ahead and flesh this out. Add lines and/or images or ideas where you see fit. B
Pantoum
ReplyDeleteby LAURA HULL
My art is not good enough
All the love you’ll ever need flows from your own heart
Truth plus peace equal happiness
I hold the key to a variety of prisons
All the love you’ll ever need flows from your own heart
You can be trusted
I hold the key to a variety of prisons
Survival times tease out little used talents, and dusky aspects of my psyche
You can be trusted
Sometimes I think to dig in the earth for something that I’ve lost, but I don’t want to risk disturbing bravery
Survival times tease out little used talents, and dusky aspects of my psyche
My art is not good enough
Sometimes I think to dig in the earth for something that I’ve lost, but I don’t want to risk disturbing bravery
Truth plus peace equal happiness
My art is not good enough
My art is not good enough
- - - -
Laura,
Line 8 should be a new/original line so, since it somehow ended up being the same as line one and the last line, I cut another line that felt too long and allowed THAT to be line 8. Now that you have the staple ingredients, let's see what we can do to make this poem have a little more cohesion to it:
(Is) my art <>good enough?
all the love you’ll ever need flows from your own heart
truth plus peace equals happiness
i hold the key to a variety of prisons < such a killer line!
all the love you’ll ever need flows from your own heart
This can be trusted,
(it) holds the key to (many) prisons,
survival times tease out little used talents
I can be trusted
<> to dig in the earth for something (missing,)
Survival times tease out little used talents
(and) I don’t want to risk disturbing braveyry
Sometimes I <>dig in the earth for something I’ve lost,
Truth plus peace equals happiness
I don’t want to risk disturbing bravery
(if) my art is not good enough.
* I think, with the right title, this piece can be given context that will help the reader understand what's happening here. Like I suggested to Ruth above, go ahead and see what happens if you break the form and allow yourself new room to add or subtract. I can feel a lot of language and/or story wanting to push through the lines. Let that happen. Choose your favorite lines from this and write into them. :)
Pantoum
ReplyDeleteGod loves you on your knees.
Prayers smudged onto the windshield aren’t enough.
Tulip bulbs break from soil despite your waiting.
Your mother’s mouth is as sweet and bitter as a plum pit.
Prayers smudged onto the windshield aren’t enough.
Her knees frozen on a bed of uncooked rice, bleeding the Lord’s Prayer.
Your mother’s mouth is as sweet and bitter as a plum pit.
Your broken teeth fail you, stringing them into a rosary.
Her knees frozen on a bed of uncooked rice, bleeding the Lord’s Prayer.
Where you won’t go: children inspecting stigmata on both hands.
Your broken teeth fail you, stringing them into a rosary.
A thief leaves you stinging and penniless.
Where you won’t go: children inspecting stigmata on both hands.
Tulip bulbs break from soil despite your waiting.
A thief leaves you stinging and penniless.
God loves you on your knees.
Glutton
ReplyDeleteSomething inside knows
it can have whatever it wants
knows the rules don’t apply
the world is here for its taking
it can have whatever it wants
without payment. without regard
the world is here for the taking
so take. and take. and take into the belly.
without payment. without regard
a malice that desires blood, draws it to the surface
to take and take and take into the belly
iron salted hunger makes the meanest laughter
a malice that desires blood, draws it to the surface
wants to slap just to see what will happen
iron salted hunger makes the meanest laughter
swollen bruising blossoming under skin,
want to slap just to see what will happen
knows the rules do not apply
swollen bruising blossoming under skin
something inside knows.