PAD Day 17: Two Artists, Two Friends

 Today's prompts from Write Better Poetry and NaPoWriMo: (1) Write a "City" poem, and "The surrealist painters Remedios Varo and Leonora Carrington moved to Mexico during the height of World War II, where they began a life-long friendship. Today, we’d like to challenge you to write a poem themed around friendship, with imagery or other ideas taken from a painting by Carrington, and a painting by Varo."

Leonora Carrington (1917-2011) and Remedios Varo (1908-1963) were two female surrealist artists who fled Paris together at the outbreak of World War II and emigrated to Mexico City, where they formed a close friendship. They shared a lot of their everyday lives together, yet they worked independently on their art, which reflected different styles and emphases. I was unfamiliar with either of them but intrigued by their works. I took Maureen's prompt quite literally today, so my poem is a fantasia about their friendship. Much as I liked some of Carrington's work, though, I didn't use it as a direct influence on this poem, instead focusing on Varo's striking surrealist portrait La Llamada (The Call).  As far as the Writer's Digest prompt, I refer to both Paris and Mexico City in the poem.

Miss Carrington Remembers Miss Varo
 
We escaped the crucible of the war,
and fled Paris to paint in the city
whose pre-Columbian ancestors
worshipped their gods and their gold.
 
We bonded, despite different styles,
though we shared a love for dreams
and the magical. We talked of astrology
and alchemy, of lead and gold.
 
We concocted delicious recipes,
we two weird sisters, no strangers
to toil and trouble. The real alchemy
was our friendship, transformed into gold.
 
I thought we’d grow old together,
But you left too soon. I still see you
in your painting La Llamada, the lady
with an elixir in hand, passing through
a dark ancestral hall of sculptures,
her flowing hair, her presence bathed in gold.

PAD Day 16: House Cleaner's Soundtrack

 Today's prompts from Wrioter's Digest and NaPoWriMo: (Write a "something fantastic" poem, and write a poem that "invites us to imagine music in the context of a place, but more along the lines of a soundtrack laid on top of the location, rather than just natural sounds. Today, try writing a poem that similarly imposes a particular song on a place. Describe the interaction between the place and the music using references to a plant and, if possible, incorporate a quotation – bonus points for using a piece of everyday, overheard language."

I used Vivaldi's "Spring" Concerto from The Four Seasons as inspiration today, and imagined myself cleaning to that sprightly piece of music. The poem is one of those "wannabe sonnets" that I almost unconsciously tend to write. There's no end rhyme to this one, but I found that with a few changes in line breaks I could get it down to fourteen lines, and it's not far from iambic pentameter, with an extra syllable or two here and there. But I'd rather leave it as is, at least for now, rather than over-tweak it. (Side note: I just learned that there was a set of sonnets written to accompany the four concerti. Their author is unknown but it could have been Vivaldi himself.)  As far as the "fantastic" theme - well, you could say imagining a vacuum cleaner as a cello and shepherds inviting me to clean the kitchen lend a sort of fantasy element to the poem.

Spring Cleaning to Vivaldi
 
“Alexa, play me some spring!” The morning
starts Allegro—I celebrate the birds
with a feather duster, dancing over shelves.
I flick arpeggios, gloss the tabletops
with a misty spray. Violins spur me
into a gentle whirlwind; the vacuum cleaner,
my mobile cello. I take a breath at
the Largo. The cherry tree outside my window
is bursting. Back to Allegro—shepherds' pipes
invite me to cavort in the kitchen,
wiping counters with a cloth soft as wool.
Everything wants to come into my house
this morning—sun, breeze, honeysuckle scent—
Throw open the windows! Open them all!

PAD Day 15: Dark Times

 Today's prompts from Write Better Poetry and NaPoWriMo: (1) Write a "form" and/or "anti-form" poem, and (2) [after citing an introduction to the rock band The MC5 and a short poem by Jane Kenyon as examples] "While Brother J.C.’s warm-up and Kenyon’s poem might seem very different at first, they’re both informed by repetition, simple language, and they express enthusiasm. They have a sermon/prayer-like quality, and then end with a bang. Your challenge is to write a six-line poem that has these same qualities."

I hope you'll pardon me for being a bit more political than usual this month, but the turn our country has taken in the last few months has me truly more worried than I ever have been for the future of our country, and I have lived through the terms of fourteen presidents. For my "form," I used the one allegedly invented by Donald Justice from Day 13 (six lines of twelve syllables preferably in iambic, with repreated words at the end of lines 2 and 4, and lines 5 and 6.)

Manifesto

 

It’s past the time for lying down, for sitting still,

For standing frozen, disbelieving. Time to march,

Time to fill the streets and write your favorite sign

of protest. Don’t allow this vile regime to march

with heavy boots over laws and decent people.

It starts the contract they’ve torn up: WE THE PEOPLE.

PAD Day 14: Attending the Symphony

 Today's prompts from Wrtie Better Poetry and NaPoWriMo: (1) Write a "losing" poem, and (2) write " a poem that describes a place, particularly in terms of the animals, plants or other natural phenomena there. Sink into the sound of your location, and use a conversational tone. Incorporate slant rhymes (near or off-rhymes, like “angle” and “flamenco”) into your poem. And for an extra challenge – don’t reference birds or birdsong!" (Maureen uses a Kay Ryan poem as an example.)

This poem is a sort of take-off or elaboration of a verse from one of my older poems called "Start the Music," which was featured in Tiferet Maagazine several years ago.

Lost in the Chorus
 
A wild wisteria in the woods
droops with grape-like clusters
of flowers. I can sit here for hours
far from the bluster of people
with a book or notepad and pen.
 
I go there again and again
despite my fear of bees,
which hover by the dozens
above me
in the flower-fruit of this tree.
 
They are more concerned
with the blooms, so there is room
for both of us, me and the swarm,
on this warm day in May.
 
I could lose myself in the aroma,
drift into a spring coma,
lulled by the buzz above my head
that says, “You have nothing to dread—
let us serenade you—listen to us
and our monotone chorus,
our winged symphony.”

PAD Day 13: Another "Presidential" Portrait

 Today's prompts from Write Better Poetry and NaPoWriMo: (1) Write a poem with the title, "Full ________," and (2) Write a poem in a form invented by Donald Justice: "His six-line stanzas use lines of twelve syllables, and while they don’t use rhyme, they repeat end words. Specifically, the second and fourth line of each stanza repeat an end-word or syllable; he fifth and sixth lines also repeat their end-word or syllable. Today, we challenge you to write a poem that uses Justice’s invented form." This poem is based on something that just happened at the White House the other day.

Full of Yourself 

You moved Obama’s portrait to make way for yours,

a painting from that photo of you, grazed, bleeding

from a bullet, yet you raised a defiant fist.

You like to act immortal, but you were bleeding.

Everything to you is a chance for the spotlight.

On your last day you will move toward… what kind of light?

 

PAD Day 12: An Old Tale of Kindness and Mercy

 Today's prompts from Write Better Poetry and NaPoWriMo: (1) Write a "risky' poem, and (2) "Try writing a poem that makes reference to one or more myths, legends, or other well-known stories, that features wordplay (including rhyme), mixes formal and informal language, and contains multiple sections that play with a theme. Try also to incorporate at least one abstract concept – for example, desire or sorrow or pride or whimsy."

That sounds like a lot to pack into one poem, and I did what I could with it today. I didn't really work with wordplay or mix formal and informal language, but I at least used the myth or legend reference, a rhyming poetry form (curtal sonnet. once again a nod to my friend Vince Gotera), broke my poem into two sections (with two different POVs), and incorporated the abstract concept of "kindness" and "mercy." That seems to be something that is in short supply in our country these days, which is one reason the subject of my poem, Androcles and the Lion, struck a chord with me. It's a familiar folk tale (rather than a myth) that dates back to Roman or maybe even Greek times. It has been erroneously attributed to Aesop, but in truth no one knows the original author. I read a little on the history of the tale - there are different versions - and also browsed some art on the subject, which tangentially gives it an "ekphrastic" slant. (I'm sharing an image below that appears to have been a print or postcard attributed to "19th Century French School." It depicts one version of the story I liked, where the lion licks Androcles' feet when they are reunited.)  As far as the Write Better Poetry prompt is concerned, walking into a dark cave with bones on the floor, and pulling a thorn from a lion's paw, sounds "risky" enough, doesn't it?

Androcles and the Lion
 
I.
 
I fled my master’s home and found a cave               
for shelter, dark and strewn with bones.  I crept   
with caution, knew the risk was high, and heard 
a roar so deafening, I feared the grave.                       
A lion limped into the light, but wept                           
in pain, a huge thorn in his paw. He purred                
after I pulled it out. Then we were friends.                
He shared the cave with me. At night I slept            
against his fur. He shared his kill—a bird,                 
a deer. I cook in fire, which he tends   
                                                        to think absurd.     
 
II.
 
I heard they caught my friend, the slave who ran,
and soon thereafter, me as well. A cage
was my new home. They took me out and beat
me, led me to a field of blood and sand
where I’d attack men on a deadly stage.
But one man stood out in the sun and heat,
the man I knew. He looked at me and cried.
He dropped his sword. No battle would we wage.
He said, “Hello, old friend.” I licked his feet.
They pardoned him. He walked out by my side,
                                                              too kind to eat.

  

 

PAD Day 11: A Little Early for Earth Day

 Todayh's prompts from Write Better Poetry and NaPoWriMo: (1) Write a "nature" poem, and (2) write a poem that incorporates song lyrics.

I have been engaged for a while with writing a series of poems that are inspired by one of my favorite rock bands, the British band Elbow. I compiled a manuscript, but haven't found the right place to publish it yet. However, about a dozen of them were published on a blog called Poetic Librettos. You can read them there if you are interested. Meanwhile, here's a new one to add to my project, based on a song from their latest album, Audio Vertigo. I actually used three lines of their songs (and a variation of a fourth) but not as a refrain as Maureen of NAPoWriMo suggested. I was inspired by my friend, Iowa Poet Laureate Vince Gotera, to write a curtal sonnet. He is also, as always, involved with the Poem a Day Challenge, and has written a few curtal sonnets this month, plus many more. Check out his blog, The Man with the Blue Guitar.

Here on Earth
 
We live in a troubling age….
                                                Elbow, “Her to the Earth”
 
There is no doubt we’re in a troubled age,
Our deeds extinguished countless many sounds
of birds. We are not the be and end-all,
we are mere actors on this godly stage.
Above the clouds, big sister does her rounds.
She sees us but to her we’re just too small.
 
All that breathes is a chorus of peace tonight—
we’re all caretakers of these earthly grounds,
the fox who lopes through dusk, the heron’s call.
Our legacy must be to make this right
                                                             before we fall.