Day 16: Ae Freislighe

Today Chris’s POETRYisEVERYTHING linked me to another blog, elsewhere in the rain, which in turn introduced me to an Irish form, Ae Freislighe (aye-fresh-lee), which has four lines (perhaps more than one stanza) of seven syllables each and an A, B, A, B rhyme scheme. The blogger, Brendan McBreen, further explains that the end rhyming words have a set syllable count: lines 1 and 3, 3 syllables; lines 2 and 4, 2 syllables. The first word or phrase of the poem repeats at the end of the poem. (I’m cribbing most of this from Brendan; see his blog for more details.)

The original prompt was to write a toast. I immediately thought of the Caim blessing(the Celtic Christians had a practice of drawing a circle around what they wished to bless, with stones, or, I imagine, in mind) that hangs on the bulletin board over my washing machine — and so I did a quick Internet search for more such, and found a Celtic Blessings site, which included this little gem:

May those who love us, love us.
And those who don’t love us,
May God turn their hearts;
And if He doesn’t turn their hearts,
May He turn their ankles,
So we will know them by their limping.

Maybe you have to have spent 6 weeks on crutches or with your foot elevated to appreciate that fully.

And after all that fuss to introduce you to the ae freislighe form, I’m giving up. We’ll consider it a draft to be revisited.

Inside this Circle 

Blessings on her striped-shirts,
the mis-matched socks, polka-dotted
bras, denim jeans, too-short skirts.
Blessings on what her pockets

hold: hair-ties, chapsticks,
the fortune from a Chinese cookie.
My girl, swift and difficult,
inside this circle, bless and bless.

 

Day 15: The Cross-Out

 

from travel.usatoday.com, “Is a Freighter Cruise for You?”

As I didn’t do a great job of writing my ghazal (mine is not syllabic, for instance), I thought I’d direct you to Chris Jarmick’s prompt for today’s poem. I’ve always wanted to try a cross-out. I’m not satisfied with the result, but I am inspired to try more of them. And maybe it’s the sort of thing one has to practice? Anyway, here’s the prompt. My poem appears at the end of this post. 

Tuesday April 15th Prompt

Prompt 15 – Create a Cross-Out aka Erasure FOUND Poem

The cross out or rub out/erasure poem is a type of FOUND poem using existing material. You will be crossing out words you don’t want in your poem from another source. Here’s what I’d like you to try to do.

Take a newspaper, magazine article or piece of text (I’d suggest of several thousand words in length) or an internet version of such. Do not change the order of any of the words when you create your poem. In other words you could look at the previous sentence (Do not change….) and create; DO CHANGE THE WORDS but you should not make this sentence: CREATE THE ORDER OF WORDS (because you’ve changed the order of the words as they originally appear).

In each line your new poem should include two words or three words that have been kept together exactly as they appeared in the original article but do not use more than THREE WORDS in a row as they originally appeared. In my example ‘the words’ appeared in the original text and in the new line of the poem. You may not change the words in any way to ‘make them fit’. Don’t make something plural or past tense. You use what is there and create something different with it. You do not have to keep the same idea or theme as the original (but you can keep it the same if you really want to). The text is simply a bunch of words that you are re-using to create your poem.

Your poem should be at least 6 lines long. And it should be somewhat poetic. (you can add some additional rules if you would like: Have a consistent pattern regarding the number of syllables in your lines – every line is 10 or 12 syllables. Or line 1 is 10 syllables, lines two is 12, line 3 is 10, line 4 is 12 etc. You can rhyme the first and second or first and third lines and the last lines in similar fashion.

Remember you are creating something poetic with your cross-out/erasure found poem.)

I picked up the Feb. 3, 2014 edition of The New Yorker, and used Patricia Marx’s “A Tale of a Tub” (pages 26-28; it’s about a freighter cruise, hence, the picture). Have I created something poetic? I don’t know. Logical? Definitely not. (Playful, yes.)

One Sort of Voyage

Hankering lovely, hurly-burly world
no handful over submarines, everything in short —

prison, electric subsisted, a hundred limes, a shark-

neglected plum varnished into the shape
of a peacock. Precipitately

streaming, jutting, failing what seemed like
guitars (perched, panoramic,

camouflaged, accompanied, flushed),
you did not ever have to stay —

allegedly sweet, last-minute
(Bonne chance!) flesh in a cow’s mouth —

dusk, a box of ginger snaps,
my reverse trip, approximately my disaster.

*

Finally, here’s a link to Chocolate Is a Verb, a blog featuring a variant of this sort of exercise — almost every day!

Oh, dear, Day 14

My Headache Ghazal (and my excuse for not posting last night)

What is a headache made of? Made up in the brain,
of course, what I’ve called “an exquisite pain.”

But why call the pain exquisite? What can that mean?
Delicate, beautiful? An exquisite pain —

from the Latin, sought out, from ex- and to seek.
But  who seeks even an exquisite pain?

Highly wrought another dictionary suggests,
good or bad, an exquisite pain,

torture as well as art. That fits. But carefully selected?
Bethany! Stop choosing this exquisite pain.

*

See Chris Jarmick’s prompt: Day 14 of National Poetry Month, and here’s a link to Agha Shahid Ali’s “Even the Rain” — another fine example of a ghazel (from a master) at poets.org.

Day 13: Emily Dickinson

The Formidable Emily

Today’s poem — or attempt at a poem — is an homage to Emily Dickinson.  Emily as mother…of my fourteen year old?

Here’s her original:

I like a look of Agony,
Because I know it’s true —
Men do not sham Convulsion,
Nor simulate, a Throe —

The Eyes glaze once — and that is Death —
Impossible to feign
The Beads upon the Forehead
By homely Anguish strung.

And mine:

She likes a look of Agony,
It’s the truest look she knows —
The boys that text
My girl, no likelihood to throw —

Her eyes roll up — I guess that’s No —
Cooperation not her fight
And the purple highlights in her hair
So gorgeous in a snit.

*

Smiley face here.  (Remember, it doesn’t have to be good.)