Roar Shack
Ahavati
Tams
Forum Posts: 16688
Tams
Tyrant of Words
122
Joined 11th Apr 2015Forum Posts: 16688
Poetry Contest Description
Classic Corner: Alice Fulton Tribute
Co-Hosts - Ahavati & JohnnyBlaze
Welcome back to the Classic Corner Competitions, Part XXXIII, in an ongoing series introducing serious writers of DUP to the most famous classical and modern poets of our time.
Alice Fulton was born and raised in Troy, New York. She received a BA from Empire State College in 1978 and an MFA from Cornell University in 1982.
Her books of poetry include Barely Composed (W. W. Norton, 2015); Felt (W. W. Norton, 2002), which was awarded the 2002 Rebekah Johnson Bobbitt National Prize for Poetry from the Library of Congress and was a finalist for the Los Angeles Times Book Award; Palladium (University of Illinois Press, 1986), which received the 1985 National Poetry Series and the 1987 Society of Midland Authors Award; and Dance Script with Electric Ballerina (University of Pennsylvania Press, 1983), which received the 1982 Associated Writing Programs Award. She is also the author of a collection of short stories, The Nightingales of Troy (W. W. Norton, 2008), and a collection of prose, Feeling as a Foreign Language: The Good Strangeness of Poetry (Graywolf Press, 1999). Her work has been included in five editions of The Best American Poetry series and in the The Best of the Best American Poetry, 1988-1997.
Fulton’s work has been adapted several times for musical and theatrical productions. Anthony Cornicello’s ...turns and turns into the night, a setting of four poems from Sensual Math, premiered at the Guggenheim Museum in New York City. The 2003 World Premiere of Enid Sutherland’s complete setting of “Give: A Sequence Reimagining Daphne & Apollo” took place at the Lydia Mendelssohn Theater in Ann Arbor, Michigan. William Bolcom’s setting of “How To Swing Those Obbligatos Around” was first performed by Marilyn Horne at Carnegie Hall’s Centennial Celebration. Turbulence: A Romance, a song cycle with music by William Bolcom and words by Alice Fulton, debuted at the Walker Art Center.
Alice Fulton has been the George Elliston Poet at University of Cincinnati, the Roberta C. Holloway Lecturer in the Practice of Poetry at University of California, Berkeley, The Michael M. Rea Visiting Writer at University of Virginia, and a Visiting Professor at University of California, Los Angeles, Ohio State University, and the University of North Carolina. She is currently the Ann S. Bowers Professor of English at Cornell University.
For more information, please visit her website at http://alicefulton.com/
Guidelines
—Write a new ( non-previously posted ) poem honoring Fulton inspired by any one of her poems.
—Do NOT copy paste your poem to the competition, it must be linked to your page with the below information.
—Do your best to make us feel as though we are reading poems by Fulton. The more we feel you "capturing her essence" in "your own words" , the higher you will score. This will involve choice of wording, delivery, subject material, formatting, target audience, ambiguity - a wide range of factors.
The Rules
1. Two entries per DUP persona.
2. No extreme erotica; this is open to all ages and can't be viewed with an ECW ( Extreme Content Warning ).
3. No exact word limit; however, attempt to keep it no more than 250 - 300 ( UNLESS the inspirational poem is longer ).
4. Any form is acceptable ( but studying the poet is advised ). This includes visual and spoken word pieces.
5. You must select #AliceFulton in your themes. The theme page will automatically generate as soon as eight entrants hashtag the theme. Make sure you hashtag her in your themes or you will be disqualified.
6. In your Author's note, provide the poem title ( even if the title of your poem is the same as Fulton's ) as well as a link to the poem ( not website ) by Fulton that inspired yours. Without this, we have no way of determining if you were truly inspired by Fulton, or simply swapped fresh words into her existing poetry and form, which could be considered plagiarism.
7. You may edit your entry up until the moment the competition closes and is locked for judging.
Comp will be judged by Ahavati & JohnnyBlaze. As in the past and in the event there is a tie, we will call in third ( and possibly fourth, as in last month's case ) judge.
You have one month; best of luck to all entrants!
Anonymous
Related submission no longer exists.
https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/395526-these-fractacular-lives-of-yours-and/
non-entry entry
non-entry entry
Ahavati
Tams
Forum Posts: 16688
Tams
Tyrant of Words
122
Joined 11th Apr 2015Forum Posts: 16688
Aviation
( After Alice Fulton )
I once had reason to fear
humans in general—
people are people, individual
as their unpredictable demeanor
regardless of upbringing
I've experienced them
in farmhouse pigsties
to Buckingham Palace—
often unable to tell a difference
aside from clothes or conduct.
I once observed various groups
in a museum:
The elite, social ladies
with diamonds and emeralds
capturing the light from paintings;
shining status symbols, sailing
in an ocean of titanium white teeth—
ornately framed islands of color
drowning in dirty martinis
and stoles of long-dead mink.
The middle-class, parents
their children in tow, controlled
mannerisms dictated by rules—
deep furrows across their brow:
college tuition, savings, glasses, braces—
societal expectations outweighing relaxation.
The elderly, taking their time
sipping beauty as though holy water
offered during a drought
from a golden goblet—
threadbare raiment veiling skin
cracked by elements; their faces
angelic in appreciation: Michelangelo
Matisse, Chagall, Van Gogh.
The lonely, solo navigators
circling some dreamy landscape
of harvested wheat, or starry night
over a provincial café
Forlorn eyes having dissolved
into brush strokes of cobalt blue
yellow ochre, resurrected cadmium hues—
memories of unrequited love
relived over and over in a heart
unwilling to let go.
Then, her—
there, red coat over sensible shoes;
a second-hand bag, draped
across an upright shoulder, simple
updo complimenting high cheekbones
lightly touched with rouge. Her eyes
shimmering greater than emeralds
off-set by diamonds, having survived
loneliness alone, she now eschews
the in-crowd with a polite nod, drifting
chin up—a compassionate zephyr
gliding about the gallery as fresh air
for those who couldn't breathe.
I innately knew, at age eight
she was exactly who I wanted to emulate—
and I, shy and insecure, smiled regardless
when she playfully navigated about me
and winked.
~
I once had reason to fear
humans in general—
people are people, individual
as their unpredictable demeanor
regardless of upbringing
I've experienced them
in farmhouse pigsties
to Buckingham Palace—
often unable to tell a difference
aside from clothes or conduct.
I once observed various groups
in a museum:
The elite, social ladies
with diamonds and emeralds
capturing the light from paintings;
shining status symbols, sailing
in an ocean of titanium white teeth—
ornately framed islands of color
drowning in dirty martinis
and stoles of long-dead mink.
The middle-class, parents
their children in tow, controlled
mannerisms dictated by rules—
deep furrows across their brow:
college tuition, savings, glasses, braces—
societal expectations outweighing relaxation.
The elderly, taking their time
sipping beauty as though holy water
offered during a drought
from a golden goblet—
threadbare raiment veiling skin
cracked by elements; their faces
angelic in appreciation: Michelangelo
Matisse, Chagall, Van Gogh.
The lonely, solo navigators
circling some dreamy landscape
of harvested wheat, or starry night
over a provincial café
Forlorn eyes having dissolved
into brush strokes of cobalt blue
yellow ochre, resurrected cadmium hues—
memories of unrequited love
relived over and over in a heart
unwilling to let go.
Then, her—
there, red coat over sensible shoes;
a second-hand bag, draped
across an upright shoulder, simple
updo complimenting high cheekbones
lightly touched with rouge. Her eyes
shimmering greater than emeralds
off-set by diamonds, having survived
loneliness alone, she now eschews
the in-crowd with a polite nod, drifting
chin up—a compassionate zephyr
gliding about the gallery as fresh air
for those who couldn't breathe.
I innately knew, at age eight
she was exactly who I wanted to emulate—
and I, shy and insecure, smiled regardless
when she playfully navigated about me
and winked.
~
Written by Ahavati
(Tams)
Go To Page
Anonymous
Related submission no longer exists.
nomoth
Forum Posts: 481
Fire of Insight
12
Joined 24th Mar 2019 Forum Posts: 481
slipalong
Forum Posts: 851
Dangerous Mind
41
Joined 1st Jan 2018Forum Posts: 851
Quasimodo dilemma
His hands clasped over his ears
as they called the rich and poor to prayer,
crying for the pain to stop
from the ore when it was cast
in the foundry as molten metal splashed.
Did god condone each single burn
weary hands as they hammered it to pitch,
It will strike just like a torch
the flame of music at its source,
reverberating like dirt upon the coffin's lid.
A liturgy, a clean unsoiled handkerchief
torn with the frequency of pinking shears.
The bell ringer counts the score
in black shroud or bridal white,
the murmur of how beautiful she looks:
confetti or a wilting wreath;
a crown of thorns do we pay heed?
The campanologist locked in the peel
stand in the unbroken ring
spell out as each pull the devil fights.
Did the capper ever lie, fake the hammers strike?
This is life: this is wrong, this is right; its song
town crier, shout Oyez! Oyez!
madness be but a chime away
in towers of suspended isolation.
Grip to weather all the changes
mingled, are tangled ropes of concern's discord;
harbinger of frailty, they flood and spill
in foreign tongue the sentinel ?
Moments unproofed, its message oft misunderstood.
The doorbell chimes, a solemn constable
stands with saddened eyes;
a crook just to herd us sheep,
supplication, joy, or mourning voice from the belfry.
Loud chimes or tinkles of humanity
Nortra-Dame's hunchback is the baggage that we carry;
tinnitus no mind can parry
as they called the rich and poor to prayer,
crying for the pain to stop
from the ore when it was cast
in the foundry as molten metal splashed.
Did god condone each single burn
weary hands as they hammered it to pitch,
It will strike just like a torch
the flame of music at its source,
reverberating like dirt upon the coffin's lid.
A liturgy, a clean unsoiled handkerchief
torn with the frequency of pinking shears.
The bell ringer counts the score
in black shroud or bridal white,
the murmur of how beautiful she looks:
confetti or a wilting wreath;
a crown of thorns do we pay heed?
The campanologist locked in the peel
stand in the unbroken ring
spell out as each pull the devil fights.
Did the capper ever lie, fake the hammers strike?
This is life: this is wrong, this is right; its song
town crier, shout Oyez! Oyez!
madness be but a chime away
in towers of suspended isolation.
Grip to weather all the changes
mingled, are tangled ropes of concern's discord;
harbinger of frailty, they flood and spill
in foreign tongue the sentinel ?
Moments unproofed, its message oft misunderstood.
The doorbell chimes, a solemn constable
stands with saddened eyes;
a crook just to herd us sheep,
supplication, joy, or mourning voice from the belfry.
Loud chimes or tinkles of humanity
Nortra-Dame's hunchback is the baggage that we carry;
tinnitus no mind can parry
Written by slipalong
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Ahavati
Tams
Forum Posts: 16688
Tams
Tyrant of Words
122
Joined 11th Apr 2015Forum Posts: 16688
Thank you, nomoth and slip.
To the rest: I KNOW she's tough. Fulton is in a unique class of her own. As I've tried to explain in messages from those who don't feel they have what it takes to brave her; you're wrong. You DO have what it takes. Push yourself, step out of that box of fear, and try. The honor is in the attempt.
To the rest: I KNOW she's tough. Fulton is in a unique class of her own. As I've tried to explain in messages from those who don't feel they have what it takes to brave her; you're wrong. You DO have what it takes. Push yourself, step out of that box of fear, and try. The honor is in the attempt.
Honoria
Forum Posts: 203
Tyrant of Words
70
Joined 22nd July 2019Forum Posts: 203
Suffocation of Marriage
So desperate to please you,
quantity over quality, fearing loss,
sensual in thought but,
more mechanical in reality
the love is still there
where passion is not.
Your spirit’s essence
creates imagined warmth.
For as much as I long for your company,
I’m relieved when we part.
The mental jenga which
wreaks havoc in mind and body,
leaves anguished sentence fragments
when we attempt to reconcile.
What was once unified,
was singularly envisaged
I felt free together,
you did not
you storaged yourself.
What would you do differently if apart
we went our separate paths?
My most cherished compliment
was I saved you
from being alone.
Self implosion would have
yielded the same result
alas hindsight. Where to go from here?
Successes and failures are manageable,
all is forgiven, all is not tolerated.
Like the Nile River we’ll continue upstream.
Against all odds and all arguments,
until death do us ~ in.
quantity over quality, fearing loss,
sensual in thought but,
more mechanical in reality
the love is still there
where passion is not.
Your spirit’s essence
creates imagined warmth.
For as much as I long for your company,
I’m relieved when we part.
The mental jenga which
wreaks havoc in mind and body,
leaves anguished sentence fragments
when we attempt to reconcile.
What was once unified,
was singularly envisaged
I felt free together,
you did not
you storaged yourself.
What would you do differently if apart
we went our separate paths?
My most cherished compliment
was I saved you
from being alone.
Self implosion would have
yielded the same result
alas hindsight. Where to go from here?
Successes and failures are manageable,
all is forgiven, all is not tolerated.
Like the Nile River we’ll continue upstream.
Against all odds and all arguments,
until death do us ~ in.
Written by Honoria
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Ahavati
Tams
Forum Posts: 16688
Tams
Tyrant of Words
122
Joined 11th Apr 2015Forum Posts: 16688
* Clarification on the Guidelines & Rules *
Yes; you can edit your entry up to the minute the comp closes, and is locked for judging. I'll revise the initial post to reflect such.
Yes; you can edit your entry up to the minute the comp closes, and is locked for judging. I'll revise the initial post to reflect such.
Eerie
Forum Posts: 891
Dangerous Mind
14
Joined 29th July 2018Forum Posts: 891
wallyroo92
Forum Posts: 1858
Tyrant of Words
153
Joined 11th July 2012Forum Posts: 1858
Sting of Consciousness
I have a hard time understanding anti-maskers
when they claim their rights
are being fringed upon,
it’s somewhere along the lines
of anti-vaxxers, it just sounds wrong.
I know everyone is entitled to their own views,
but it seems that lately
we’re an individualistic society,
people will believe the lies
and ignore the truth
simply because it’s easier.
Then again, selfishness, like greed, is a disease,
it slowly tears away
at the fabric of humanity,
it’s manifested in anger
with hatred and ignorance,
devouring the world like a plague.
This pestilence takes lives without judgement,
it's an indiscriminate selection
and unnatural evolution,
hopefully in time,
they too will see the light,
before it gives out in the end.
Written by wallyroo92
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PoetsRevenge
Forum Posts: 749
Dangerous Mind
29
Joined 30th June 2016Forum Posts: 749
Rearview Mirror With Baby Shoes
As if unwilling to sit still
they hung there, swaying;
soles still clean, undented, unperforated.
Peering over the tall, red dashboard
I was a mole in a moving hideaway
carried forward unwittingly,
the past still front and center.
How could he have ever fit
Into those shoes, I thought,
they were doll-sized.
Suddenly he became a life-sized doll
on the horizon as if waiting for us to arrive,
wind-blasted and beyond compliance.
'What took you so long?', his tiny lips muttered,
'I am outgrowing myself as you roll away
from me'. I steered the quandry
Into his plushy babble, his eyes wide and blue.
The only thing that seemed to move
were the shoes, yet not toward or away
but in oscillation.
The odometer read the many hundreds
of miles traveled as we sat and watched them
bobbing along. And where
Had the years gone, they bobbed
gently away in the rearview mirror
of the hulking transport that was
the family car.
The tiny cries became echoes
fading into the clicks of a V8 engine
as the shoes kept running
with the odometer into a marathon
of secrets concealed under the hood
with a slowly corroding radiator
and a cranky carburetor.
We sat cradled in the soft, crinkled
leather seats in suspension,
coasting above the rocky road.
The wrinkled seats were more
worn than the baby shoes
would ever become.
.....
they hung there, swaying;
soles still clean, undented, unperforated.
Peering over the tall, red dashboard
I was a mole in a moving hideaway
carried forward unwittingly,
the past still front and center.
How could he have ever fit
Into those shoes, I thought,
they were doll-sized.
Suddenly he became a life-sized doll
on the horizon as if waiting for us to arrive,
wind-blasted and beyond compliance.
'What took you so long?', his tiny lips muttered,
'I am outgrowing myself as you roll away
from me'. I steered the quandry
Into his plushy babble, his eyes wide and blue.
The only thing that seemed to move
were the shoes, yet not toward or away
but in oscillation.
The odometer read the many hundreds
of miles traveled as we sat and watched them
bobbing along. And where
Had the years gone, they bobbed
gently away in the rearview mirror
of the hulking transport that was
the family car.
The tiny cries became echoes
fading into the clicks of a V8 engine
as the shoes kept running
with the odometer into a marathon
of secrets concealed under the hood
with a slowly corroding radiator
and a cranky carburetor.
We sat cradled in the soft, crinkled
leather seats in suspension,
coasting above the rocky road.
The wrinkled seats were more
worn than the baby shoes
would ever become.
.....
Written by PoetsRevenge
Go To Page
Ahavati
Tams
Forum Posts: 16688
Tams
Tyrant of Words
122
Joined 11th Apr 2015Forum Posts: 16688
DUPeeps, this is your less-than-48 hour reminder to PLEASE double check your entries to ensure there are no errors in spelling, grammar, and puncuation, and that all the competition guidelines are being adhered to.
Who wants to be knocked out of Trophee contention for something simple as a typo? Or be disqualified for failing to add a poem title and link to said poem in your entry's Notes? That's right - YOU don't want to be.
Who wants to be knocked out of Trophee contention for something simple as a typo? Or be disqualified for failing to add a poem title and link to said poem in your entry's Notes? That's right - YOU don't want to be.
Ahavati
Tams
Forum Posts: 16688
Tams
Tyrant of Words
122
Joined 11th Apr 2015Forum Posts: 16688
As always, these competitions can be extreme to judge ( actually, that's an understatement ). That is why it's so important to check and double-check, because sometimes it all comes down to a simple typo between two poems. That being said, we appreciate everyone who braved Fulton this month!
Congratulations to the following winners, and to all who entered. That alone is to be commended.
nomoth: lemon yellow grass - First Place
An excellent emulation in regards to dying, which Fulton's inspirational poem, After the Angelectomy, was inferring via fatique and the loss of a will to live ( or so it seemed ). Visually it's impeccable in presentation.
Technically it was a tad inconsistent in that the title was lower case, as well as the first word, while the remainder sentences were capped. Also, beginning with a lowercase 'but' indicates there's clearly a pre-story that we are not aware of, which adds some abiguity to the content. As this is in bookform visually, the reader immediately ponders what the previous poem was if they had not already read it.
Lastly, there is a tad of inconsistency in your spacing. In L1 between the end stop and That's is not consistent with the spacing in L7 between the end stop and 'I smoke'. It's such a little thing, yet jumped out at me.
These are very minor inconsistencies compared to the content, really, and could also be reflective of your personal style.
Congratulations on your well-deserved win, nomoth. We hope to see you back again this month.
slipalong: Quasimodo dilemma
We were so very impressed with this entry. Your imagery was impeccable and you definitely captured the essence of Fulton's inspirational poem, My Task Now Is To Solve The Bells. Whereas the peel was from her point of view, yours was from Quasimoto's. I thought it was a brilliant emmulation. Technically there were a few things we noted: firstly, not sure why you have nortra-dame hyphenated ( maybe we are missing somethng so feel free to extrapolate ), but the correct spelling is Notre Dame ( without a hyphen ). That stuck out pretty big, as the location is central to your theme. There were a few extraneous words that could've been removed; for example, take the following line:
[ Notre Dame's ] hunchback is [s]the[/s] baggage [s]that[/s] we carry
Combined with the misspelling, this line really stuck out. When writing poetry, read each line aloud. Read it again and ask yourself if there are any words you really don't need in order to carry your meaning across.
Lastly, we believe that without stanzas and spaces for pause, Fulton's inspiration poem was meant to mimic a nonstop bell ringing. You did well to emulate that, accentuating the maddening affect such ringing has on a reader who just wishes the writer would stop for one moment so they could catch their breath. Spaces are an integral part of poetry, and much like punctuation, both guides the reader's pace while allowing them pauses between thoughts. In this instance, however, you were wise to emulate Fulton's style.
Overall you did very well, and this was one of your best classic offerings. The essence was spot on. The deeper you go into poetry, the more you will learn, and you've proven that by your latest posts! You were just edged out of placement by PR's flawless technicalities.
Well done on your Honorable Mention,, slip! We hope to see you back this month. Your progress has been remarkable, and if there had been four trophies, you would've placed. You earned an honorable mention instead.
* continued in next post *
Congratulations to the following winners, and to all who entered. That alone is to be commended.
nomoth: lemon yellow grass - First Place
An excellent emulation in regards to dying, which Fulton's inspirational poem, After the Angelectomy, was inferring via fatique and the loss of a will to live ( or so it seemed ). Visually it's impeccable in presentation.
Technically it was a tad inconsistent in that the title was lower case, as well as the first word, while the remainder sentences were capped. Also, beginning with a lowercase 'but' indicates there's clearly a pre-story that we are not aware of, which adds some abiguity to the content. As this is in bookform visually, the reader immediately ponders what the previous poem was if they had not already read it.
Lastly, there is a tad of inconsistency in your spacing. In L1 between the end stop and That's is not consistent with the spacing in L7 between the end stop and 'I smoke'. It's such a little thing, yet jumped out at me.
These are very minor inconsistencies compared to the content, really, and could also be reflective of your personal style.
Congratulations on your well-deserved win, nomoth. We hope to see you back again this month.
slipalong: Quasimodo dilemma
We were so very impressed with this entry. Your imagery was impeccable and you definitely captured the essence of Fulton's inspirational poem, My Task Now Is To Solve The Bells. Whereas the peel was from her point of view, yours was from Quasimoto's. I thought it was a brilliant emmulation. Technically there were a few things we noted: firstly, not sure why you have nortra-dame hyphenated ( maybe we are missing somethng so feel free to extrapolate ), but the correct spelling is Notre Dame ( without a hyphen ). That stuck out pretty big, as the location is central to your theme. There were a few extraneous words that could've been removed; for example, take the following line:
[ Notre Dame's ] hunchback is [s]the[/s] baggage [s]that[/s] we carry
Combined with the misspelling, this line really stuck out. When writing poetry, read each line aloud. Read it again and ask yourself if there are any words you really don't need in order to carry your meaning across.
Lastly, we believe that without stanzas and spaces for pause, Fulton's inspiration poem was meant to mimic a nonstop bell ringing. You did well to emulate that, accentuating the maddening affect such ringing has on a reader who just wishes the writer would stop for one moment so they could catch their breath. Spaces are an integral part of poetry, and much like punctuation, both guides the reader's pace while allowing them pauses between thoughts. In this instance, however, you were wise to emulate Fulton's style.
Overall you did very well, and this was one of your best classic offerings. The essence was spot on. The deeper you go into poetry, the more you will learn, and you've proven that by your latest posts! You were just edged out of placement by PR's flawless technicalities.
Well done on your Honorable Mention,, slip! We hope to see you back this month. Your progress has been remarkable, and if there had been four trophies, you would've placed. You earned an honorable mention instead.
* continued in next post *
Ahavati
Tams
Forum Posts: 16688
Tams
Tyrant of Words
122
Joined 11th Apr 2015Forum Posts: 16688
Honoria: Suffocation of Marriage
First, Fulton's inspirational poem, Claustrophilia, is one of my favorites of hers. I actually did an essay once, so you can imagine my delight when I saw you had chosen it! Fulton's premise in her poem was to get as close as possible ( metaphor for proximity ) while avoiding the pain of contact, thus, used "moxibustion", the ancient Chinese medical treatment which resembles accupuncture to a point ( mugwort is burned very close to the skin without burning it as a means of relieving pain ). She also relied on diction to create both emotional shade and to shift the tone of a poem; think analgesia! It has a clinical feel to it, doesn't it, like a chilling distance in a hospital or treatement center way ( which rarely evokes positivity ); however, is necessary at times for health and well-being.
With one single word ( Fulton knew the power of ) an entire poem shifts, and doesn't have to say another word.
That being said, yours demonstrates the desired distance Fulton's expresses, and rather than use medical terms, you relate yours to the game of Jenga. When one thinks of that game they thing of wood entwined in such a way that the structure it builds is dependent upon the next piece of woodby the next player, which makes its foundation precariously unstable at best.
Technically, there are a few issues which need to be addressed. The punctuation and capitalization is terribly erratic.
- [ ] where commas and endstops should be
- [ ] around commas that shouldn't be
- [ Cap/lowercase correction]
So desperate to please you,
quantity over quality, fearing loss[,]
sensual in thought[ ] but[,]
more mechanical in reality[ ]
[T]he love is still there
where passion is not.
Your spirit’s essence
creates imagined warmth.
For as much as I long for your company,
I’m relieved when we part.
The mental jenga[ ] which
wreaks havoc in mind and body,
leaves anguished sentence fragments
when we attempt to reconcile.
What was once unified[,]
was singularly envisaged[ ]
I felt free together,
you did not[ ]
[Y]ou storaged yourself.
What would you do differently if [s]apart[/s]
we went our separate paths?
Your most cherished compliment
was[ ] [i][You saved me ]
from being alone.
Self implosion would have
yielded the same result[ ]
[A]las[ ] hindsight[ ; ] [w]here to go from here?
Successes and failures are manageable,
all is forgiven, all is not tolerated[;]
[l]ike the Nile River[ ] we’ll continue upstream[.]
[a]gainst all odds and all arguments,
until death do us ~ in.[/i]
Also, we would recommend a tercet here:
Your most cherished compliment
was[ ] [ You saved me ]
from being alone.
That being said, and in regards to the below section, we weren't quite sure what you were trying to say here. We think you were saying that the greatest compliment he ever paid you was, 'You saved me/from being alone.' Or, were you saying he was telling you that he saved you from being alone? If the latter, it's correct as written, but should emphasize the quote ( either in italics or quotation marks ) and comma indicated below.
Your most cherished compliment
was[ ] I saved you
from being alone.
We realize this may be a lot to take in; however, we earnestly want to help you improve through these classic entries. As far as essence, you truly captured the essence through diction, particularly the single word, jenga, creating a metaphor for a shakey relationship.
If you have any questions or need clarification, please don't hestiate to contact us.
Thank you for participating in the classics, Honoria! With a bit of focus on the forementioned areas, you will definitely place soon enough! We hope to see you back with us this month.
Eerie: A Dark War - Second Place
Just as Vuong's poetry evokes deep emotion within me ( to the point I have to step back and reread multiple times to get a grip ), so did your inspirational poem, Trouble in Mind. I wondered if someone was going to select it, as the Vuong entries surrounding war poetry were fabulous.
It knotted my stomach the first time I read it, particularly in regards to the Vietnam War, as referenced by 'Agent Orange' in Fulton's. As you know, my father served two tours and was sent back to assist with the extraction during the fall of Saigon. I lived that war through him and his stories almost every day of my life.
As I commented on your profile page, you totally captured the essence of the war's affect on not just indigenous habitants of a country, but the very soul of the country itself. The emotional impact equally as powerful as Fulton's.
One thing I want to note in Fultons is her use of abrupt endstops to accentuate the point both beginning and ending her poem:
A murdered body's shallow grave. [ stop. breathe. think. ]
A ditch that shelters sniper's fire. [ stop. breathe. think. ]
[ . . . ]
A jungle of nothing. [ stop. breathe. think. ] A forgetting. [ stop. breathe. grasp the reality. . .we as a nation have forgotten. . .]
Technically, as last month, your enjambments stood out. In all honesty, we were like, " How could she nail Yeats' and miss the mark on this! WTH? " LOL! I was so fucking proud of your Yeats' entry!
Again, pay close attention to Fulton's enjambments on you inspirational poem. I mean really study them, and you will discover that practically all can stand on their own, thus she uses the enjambments to take the line to a new level:
As soldiers dismember weapons to check ( solid )
on their perfection ( wait, what?! Oh! )
You almost get the impression that she's about to follow up with a contrast, i.d. -
As soldiers dismember weapons to check
the jungle rots their toes and feet
But, no, that's not all. She follows up with
on their perfection, I broke the said ( oh! said perfection! )
( aaaaand you would be wrong! ) and done.
Some poets have mastered this method, and I would not keep harping at you if I did not think you could. You have it all, Eerie: form, technicalities, spelling, grammar, essence, this is IT for you: enjambment. You master this aspect of your poetry and you'll move to a new level.
Let's look at two of your stanzas:
swarm, heaved with heavy heart /
to the doorstep of a farmer, a father, a man ( perfect )
with no recourse; nothing but unfathomable
grief and a rake to shake in the [face]
of God. Democracy, a misapplied
ideation rooted in soil ( perfect )
of offshore inhabitants, willing to eat ( perfect )
at tables overflowing /
with stars and stripes, while the rest/
of humanity, mouth agape, wrestles ( perfect )
against blind cries of hate/
and freedom. A broken soldier returned ( perfect )
Now in these two lines:
with no recourse; nothing but [ the ] unfathomable
grief and a rake to shake in the [face]
You could actually insert a determiner and totally take it to a new level with the next line. You will master this, because it's what I'm intuitively led to point out in yours. You've greatly improved this aspect since last month, and it earned you a placement.
Congratulations on your first, well-deserved classic placement! We hope to see you back again this month.
* continued in next post *
First, Fulton's inspirational poem, Claustrophilia, is one of my favorites of hers. I actually did an essay once, so you can imagine my delight when I saw you had chosen it! Fulton's premise in her poem was to get as close as possible ( metaphor for proximity ) while avoiding the pain of contact, thus, used "moxibustion", the ancient Chinese medical treatment which resembles accupuncture to a point ( mugwort is burned very close to the skin without burning it as a means of relieving pain ). She also relied on diction to create both emotional shade and to shift the tone of a poem; think analgesia! It has a clinical feel to it, doesn't it, like a chilling distance in a hospital or treatement center way ( which rarely evokes positivity ); however, is necessary at times for health and well-being.
With one single word ( Fulton knew the power of ) an entire poem shifts, and doesn't have to say another word.
That being said, yours demonstrates the desired distance Fulton's expresses, and rather than use medical terms, you relate yours to the game of Jenga. When one thinks of that game they thing of wood entwined in such a way that the structure it builds is dependent upon the next piece of woodby the next player, which makes its foundation precariously unstable at best.
Technically, there are a few issues which need to be addressed. The punctuation and capitalization is terribly erratic.
- [ ] where commas and endstops should be
- [ ] around commas that shouldn't be
- [ Cap/lowercase correction]
So desperate to please you,
quantity over quality, fearing loss[,]
sensual in thought[ ] but[,]
more mechanical in reality[ ]
[T]he love is still there
where passion is not.
Your spirit’s essence
creates imagined warmth.
For as much as I long for your company,
I’m relieved when we part.
The mental jenga[ ] which
wreaks havoc in mind and body,
leaves anguished sentence fragments
when we attempt to reconcile.
What was once unified[,]
was singularly envisaged[ ]
I felt free together,
you did not[ ]
[Y]ou storaged yourself.
What would you do differently if [s]apart[/s]
we went our separate paths?
Your most cherished compliment
was[ ] [i][You saved me ]
from being alone.
Self implosion would have
yielded the same result[ ]
[A]las[ ] hindsight[ ; ] [w]here to go from here?
Successes and failures are manageable,
all is forgiven, all is not tolerated[;]
[l]ike the Nile River[ ] we’ll continue upstream[.]
[a]gainst all odds and all arguments,
until death do us ~ in.[/i]
Also, we would recommend a tercet here:
Your most cherished compliment
was[ ] [ You saved me ]
from being alone.
That being said, and in regards to the below section, we weren't quite sure what you were trying to say here. We think you were saying that the greatest compliment he ever paid you was, 'You saved me/from being alone.' Or, were you saying he was telling you that he saved you from being alone? If the latter, it's correct as written, but should emphasize the quote ( either in italics or quotation marks ) and comma indicated below.
Your most cherished compliment
was[ ] I saved you
from being alone.
We realize this may be a lot to take in; however, we earnestly want to help you improve through these classic entries. As far as essence, you truly captured the essence through diction, particularly the single word, jenga, creating a metaphor for a shakey relationship.
If you have any questions or need clarification, please don't hestiate to contact us.
Thank you for participating in the classics, Honoria! With a bit of focus on the forementioned areas, you will definitely place soon enough! We hope to see you back with us this month.
Eerie: A Dark War - Second Place
Just as Vuong's poetry evokes deep emotion within me ( to the point I have to step back and reread multiple times to get a grip ), so did your inspirational poem, Trouble in Mind. I wondered if someone was going to select it, as the Vuong entries surrounding war poetry were fabulous.
It knotted my stomach the first time I read it, particularly in regards to the Vietnam War, as referenced by 'Agent Orange' in Fulton's. As you know, my father served two tours and was sent back to assist with the extraction during the fall of Saigon. I lived that war through him and his stories almost every day of my life.
As I commented on your profile page, you totally captured the essence of the war's affect on not just indigenous habitants of a country, but the very soul of the country itself. The emotional impact equally as powerful as Fulton's.
One thing I want to note in Fultons is her use of abrupt endstops to accentuate the point both beginning and ending her poem:
A murdered body's shallow grave. [ stop. breathe. think. ]
A ditch that shelters sniper's fire. [ stop. breathe. think. ]
[ . . . ]
A jungle of nothing. [ stop. breathe. think. ] A forgetting. [ stop. breathe. grasp the reality. . .we as a nation have forgotten. . .]
Technically, as last month, your enjambments stood out. In all honesty, we were like, " How could she nail Yeats' and miss the mark on this! WTH? " LOL! I was so fucking proud of your Yeats' entry!
Again, pay close attention to Fulton's enjambments on you inspirational poem. I mean really study them, and you will discover that practically all can stand on their own, thus she uses the enjambments to take the line to a new level:
As soldiers dismember weapons to check ( solid )
on their perfection ( wait, what?! Oh! )
You almost get the impression that she's about to follow up with a contrast, i.d. -
As soldiers dismember weapons to check
the jungle rots their toes and feet
But, no, that's not all. She follows up with
on their perfection, I broke the said ( oh! said perfection! )
( aaaaand you would be wrong! ) and done.
Some poets have mastered this method, and I would not keep harping at you if I did not think you could. You have it all, Eerie: form, technicalities, spelling, grammar, essence, this is IT for you: enjambment. You master this aspect of your poetry and you'll move to a new level.
Let's look at two of your stanzas:
swarm, heaved with heavy heart /
to the doorstep of a farmer, a father, a man ( perfect )
with no recourse; nothing but unfathomable
grief and a rake to shake in the [face]
of God. Democracy, a misapplied
ideation rooted in soil ( perfect )
of offshore inhabitants, willing to eat ( perfect )
at tables overflowing /
with stars and stripes, while the rest/
of humanity, mouth agape, wrestles ( perfect )
against blind cries of hate/
and freedom. A broken soldier returned ( perfect )
Now in these two lines:
with no recourse; nothing but [ the ] unfathomable
grief and a rake to shake in the [face]
You could actually insert a determiner and totally take it to a new level with the next line. You will master this, because it's what I'm intuitively led to point out in yours. You've greatly improved this aspect since last month, and it earned you a placement.
Congratulations on your first, well-deserved classic placement! We hope to see you back again this month.
* continued in next post *