Birds Twelve through Eighteen: Seven Sevenlings
Oh, how blessedly easy it is to do everything BUT write.
Lest this hopeful effort be forever abandoned in unceremonious shame, painfully echoing the decade's-worth of (at best) half-completed journals I have lugged from underbed to attic to spare room closet shelf in each new house, birds of a sort themselves (mockingbirds, albatrosses, boobies)... Lest I succumb to paralytic fallen-behindedness, let me toss a few tiny, matted, poem-ish things out into the pollen-haze...
My friend Robin, my favorite reader and co-conspirator extraordinaire, sent me an assignment via American Poetry Journal... Sevenlings (a seven-line poem divided 3-3-1 with "sets of three" in the first two stanzas), a lovely, "approachable" form that gives me hopes of vanquishing the procrastinator demon.
My inner geometry freak insists on something square (and my inner penitent insists on copious pressure), thus, I shall offer seven sevenlings in seven days, beginning today (April 19, 2007)...
I. Spider Brains
"Spiders spin spider webs because they have spider brains, which
give them the urge to spin and the competence to succeed."
- Steven Pinker, The Language Instinct
At times I, too, have spider brains, compelling
me to spin, to string, to fling the constellation
of my need across uncertain space...
Tenderly treading each tenuous thread,
inspecting each anchor, securing each end;
Entangled in a never-ending mending.
Work is not always its own reward.
II. Awakening
“The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.”
- Henry David Thoreau
One day, you will wake to find you have
exploded. Do not be alarmed: this is normal.
Brush your teeth, make coffee, put on pants.
Give yourself a moment (no more) to grieve, and then
get on with it: the work, the writing, the washing up.
Don't wait for the truth to set your fragments free.
No one but you will ever even see.
III. Beware Shiny Things
Despite the tornado, the house spun aloft,
an utterly pancaked witch, Dorothy’s
gingham pleats maintained their starch.
The slippers were overkill really, armed
as she was with her pocket-dog, pluckiness,
and complement of misfits.
Often it’s the shiny things that lead us astray.
IV. Take this Advice
When you encounter the wolf (and you will), resist the urge
to flee. Rather, meet his hungry eye; approach him where he stands;
embrace him, or, if that seems awkward, at least shake hands.
Do not beg, bargain or offer any cheek. Lay yourself open
to his fangs. If he insists upon a chase (this is common), indulge
a lap or two. It’s no use crying: Being eaten is your surest hope.
The only living is the kind that swallows you whole.
V. The Way to Swallow a Day
When practicing the art of wallow, take care to intend –
gather an ambitious pile of books, poke into cabinets and closets,
carry the phone as you meander room to room.
Mean to, make starts. Acknowledge only round thoughts.
Avoid angles, arrows, lines – anything to follow. Wait for it.
Soon enough, sundown will swallow what remains:
No more today, not yet tomorrow – the forgiving hollow.
VI. Elegy
As you survey the tragic kitchen of your fallow
American Dream, breathe steady. Bite back panic.
Pluck an apple from the perfect polished heap.
Subjugate your slapstick urge to fling this bitter fruit,
this bruised accuser, this mocking red-ripe prize
of your malaise. Don’t hesitate – simply swallow:
Every longing is digestible in time.
VII. This Will Happen to You
You can’t imagine that the steady, playful,
radiating soul you are mixed-up with will soon
disappear by whispers while you watch;
that witnessing disease take root, sprout silently
and blossom may, by turns, steal something
more from the beholder than the prey;
that one day you will need to walk away.
photo by prettywar-stl
21 comments:
Whoo Hoo! She's back!
At the end of a long night of practicing writing shitty first drafts, I come here and find this glowing poem. Thank you!
What I need to know to really use this poem in my life is this; when we humans have spider brains, do we also have the competence to succeed?
This is GREAT! I love the 7-7-7, being someone with a lot of OCDs. I eargerly await all seven (no pressure, unless that will help you: I will be watching).
Anyway, I love what you did with the rhyme (ell and ell in lines one and two, and ation and space in two and three) as well as the rhymes in the second stanza.
Your repetition bewitches me, sort of in that same way as the repetition - imperfect yet perfectly balanced - of the spider web does.
The rhythm is amazing to: tenderly threading each tenuous thread... I feel like I am on a wave of symmetry.
One wonders how 52 Fledglings cannot be found then BAM! Out comes this amazing piece!!!! More please...
I really love this poem. Here are all the things I love... the "brains" which I read as belonging to multiple spiders in the intro and title, then in the poem it becomes that kid-word, one person's "brains." I love the quote and how it plays off of the poem. And oh, flinging a constellation of need!! across uncertain space!! I know exactly what you mean, or rather, I know exactly what that means to me! I don't know if you will be my friend, mother me, love me, but I've got to try because my need, this hole in my heart, is bigger than the whole universe.
The second stanza is all about the relationship, trying to do the right thing, say the right thing, be honest, but not hurt your feelings. Backpedal when you do hurt the other person. It's just so complicated, at times it feels like you can never just open your mouth and say something without considering the fifteen implications you might make. It begins to feel like nothing but mending hurts.
That last line, I'm not sure how I feel about it. I think I don't like it because I just don't want it to be true.
the awakening. this poem is going into my collection. This is the poem I was looking for to send to you. This is really, really good. Isn't it funny how it's so much easier to be articulate and verbose when the poem hasn't just taken you by the throat and pressed that secret spot that makes you crumple (like in the movies) and then left you dazed in a heap on the floor?
I have no constructive criticism.
oh you tore it up! Awakening rocks! For so many reason I can't even say. I hate it when people say that too, but it is true: sometimes, when a poem just nails it, you don't want to talk about it, you just want to hear it read to you, then turn to the person next to you and say "Dam!"
If you keep pulling them out like this I am going to force you to turn them into a chapbook and mail then to me.
Put on pants!!!!
I just saw that Robin was struck speechless too! Oh yes!
wicked:
Is it just me or does each stanza go in a different direction? Great title, but I don't really see that idea in the poem. Then dorothy as June Cleaver (unmussed).
"Companions, she knew, must number three:" what's that alluding to? It sounds so familiar, but I can't place it. I like that line, and "The purity of misfit loyalty sustained her to the end." but I don't think you followed the idea through. The descriptions are maybe what you call playing with your words--I can check off all the boxes, assonance, consonance, rhyme, originality, cleverness, but it's still somehow unsatisfying.
The ending is interesting, but adrift. I can't tell that the poem has built up to it.
This poem starts to lead me down several lush, secret pathways, but doesn't get me to any destination. I'd love to see any one of the stanzas (or the title) followed through to its culmination.
III. We're All a Little Wicked
Despite the tornado, the house spun aloft,
an utterly pancaked witch, Dorothy’s
gingham pleats maintained their starch.
Companions, she knew, must number three:
galvanized goober, horsefeed half-wit, big fat fraidy cat.
The purity of misfit loyalty sustained her to the end.
Still, it was the slippers she missed most of all.
Robin (RE: Wicked) - I know it's a mess, but at 1:30 AM, it was this or nothing (and nothing was clearly not an option)... I'll come back to it.
I find it pretty amazing that Wicked is your "dash one off" work. I knew it probably was, when I read it, but now that just proves to me how great a poet you are. Keep your nose down, and you are going to make some magic!
Beware Shiny Things
Okay! everything is pointing in the same direction.
The ending is very satisfying in this one. I like the surprise in the idea that going home = being led astray. Maybe she was in the right place after all with her misfit friends and pocket-dog (I've no idea what that is, but I like the sound of it. Where can I get one?)
And maybe, the reader thinks, I'm in the right place, too! Very zen... (zen=unflappable?)
III. Beware Shiny Things (a work-in-questionable-progress - sorry!)
Despite the tornado, the house spun aloft,
an utterly pancaked witch, Dorothy’s
gingham pleats maintained their starch.
The slippers were overkill really, armed
as she was with her pocket-dog, pluckiness,
and complement of misfit companions.
Often it’s the shiny things that lead us astray.
Take this Advice
Wow. Here's another poem that stopped me in my tracks. This poem is very powerful. You've got a great metaphor, and something to say with it.
I think the metaphor could have more layers (like Staying Alive-- this feels like the dehydrated version of Staying Alive-- more to the essence of the idea, but also missing a bit of the complexity). I also want to reconcile the "resist the urge to flee" with "indulge a lap or two." Iknow that's picky, but that's what my brain is doing, trying to take the whole thing in and getting stuck there.
I love that voice! It's the same voice from Awakening, and that voice is giving damn good advice.
When you encounter the wolf (and you will), resist the urge
to flee. Rather, meet his hungry eye; approach him where he stands;
embrace him, or, if that seems awkward, at least shake hands.
Do not beg, bargain or offer any cheek. Lay yourself open
to his fangs. If he insists upon a chase (this is common), indulge
a lap or two. It’s no use crying: Being eaten is your surest hope.
The only living is the kind that swallows you whole.
swallow.
It's quiet-- a round thought-- a poem that goes ow ou ow ... I love the way the sounds and the theme go together. I like "take care to intend" That certainly does make all the difference.
I am really loving how these have come out. Another favorite of mine is the way to swallow a day. Such an amazing poem. When I read it I actually feel the grief it talks about, as if the poem itself is functioning as that vehicle getting you safely to the hollow. I feel the slow pacing, the listlessness. It's beautiful. You and this form seem to be in love!
Although I thought Robin was a little rough on you :-)
you really reworked that Dorothy poem into something magical, so, good going Robin on revision encouragement and to you for pulling it out!
Keep 'em coming!
Oh! Killer last line on Elegy! You've absolutely done it again. You seem to revel in this form. How do you manage to make it look so easy! The internal rhyme and rhytm just knocks my socks off, too. Good going, and will you make it? Of course you will...
Elegy
Here's another one I've not much to say about. I think the challenge of writing every day has sharpened you. It's on your mind now, and your poetry shows that.
Elegy is such a rich poem. Remember what I said about layers and complexity re: take this advice? Elegy has exactly that. You get a little bit more with each reading. You want to linger and ponder "fallow" and "slapstick" and "digestible." This is great.
As you survey the tragic kitchen of your fallow
American Dream, breathe steady. Bite back panic.
Pluck an apple from the perfect polished heap.
Subjugate your slapstick urge to fling this bitter fruit,
this bruised accuser, this mocking red-ripe prize
of your malaise. Don’t hesitate – simply swallow:
Every longing is digestible in time.
Gah! Worth the wait, though...
The voice in this is like the voice in the awakening. That second person really works for you. I do like the sounds in this, but it's all very meaty, too. Nothing is thrown in just to look pretty; all the words are pulling their own weight. And the end is a swift punch. This is an honest, raw poem. You are following your writing to the scary places.
VII. This Will Happen to You (a "one-off " that will be revisited - XO )
You can’t imagine that the steady, playful,
radiating soul you are mixed-up with will soon
disappear by whispers while you watch;
that witnessing disease take root, sprout silently
and blossom may, by turns, steal something
more from the beholder than the prey;
that one day you will need to walk away.
wow! When I read that last line, and landed hard on that final rhyme the very next word that came out of my mouth was "ouch." I even said it out loud. You really really did it with these sevelings. And this last one is amazing. Great work I tell you. Terrific.
My favorite was #2.
I loved number III -- beware shiny things. :)
We humans just love shiny things, we're kinda like fish in that way.
--and so it goes--
...Rob
That is one great idea! I like two. It apeals to me.
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