PAD Day 12: On Stormy Concerts and Handy Grandpas

Today's judge at Poetic Asides is Kim Addonizio, a very well-known and respected poet who also co-wrote one of my favorite books on the craft, The Poet's Companion, with Dorianne Laux (another daily judge this month).  My son the poet has worked with her in a workshop series in New York and really enjoyed the experience.

Today's dual prompts from Poetic Asides and NaPoWriMo:
(1) Write a "damage" poem, and 
(2) Again, I'll let Maureen explain this one:
"Describe in great detail your favorite room, place, meal, day, or person. You can do this in paragraph form.Now cut unnecessary words like articles and determiners (a, the, that) and anything that isn’t really necessary for content; leave mainly nouns, verbs, a few adjectives.Cut the lines where you see fit and, VOILA! A poem! "   

Well, there wasn't a "voila" moment for me because I couldn't quite seem to get it to work.  The good news is that I did produce two poems in my effort to fit both prompts.  The first was about a favorite place (the Kimmel Center in Philadelphia), and the second about a favorite person (my grandaughter). I think with the first poem, at least, I was able to pare down my language a bit. I wasn't able to part completely with all the "articles and determiners" though - without them all my poem sounded like it was written in a bad Russian accent. I inserted them again, but only where I thought they were necessary, as well as cutting out some adjectives and such.  So at least I got a tighter poem out of it.  The second one was just written "as is".

Storm in a Violin

We dart across Broad Street,

shake and collapse our umbrellas,

and enter the music center.

Lightning flashes through walls of glass.

We ascend stairs to third tier seats

where the venue is  inside a violin -

wood curved inward, then outward

the length of the concert hall.

Above and behind the stage,

organ pipes gleam silver.

On stage, Beethoven's Ninth begins,

with full chorus lined up waiting

to burst into German song.

From this  level, we can see the top

of every head - both French horns are balding. 

As Yannick jumps and thrusts his baton,  

I think about the storm outside.

What if it burst through this space?

The roof caves in, scattering  orchestra,

chorus and audience.  A deluge of rain

fills tuba bells, pummels tympani skins.

Wind blows away sheet music,  knocks over

bass violins, and after a lightning bolt,

all that is left of the first violin

is an overturned chair

and a scorched circle on the  floor. 

But at the moment, the "Ode to Joy" crescendo

is the only storm in here,  and nothing else

is going on in the world.

Handyman

In this toddler's  eyes, everything that comes apart

is broken, and she brings it to me -

"Fix it, Pop-pop."  It could be the torn page

from a picture book, or simply two building blocks

pulled apart. Once, a plastic Easter egg.

As far as she is concerned,

I am the world's greatest handyman.

Once on a walk, we saw a sidewalk slab

broken up and roped off for repair.

"Fix it, Pop-pop," she said. I didn't have the heart

to tell her I don't do concrete work.

But I want to tell her this:

anything I can fix for you,  I will.

If I could keep you from all the damages

of this world, I would.