PAD Day 25: Another "Two-fer"

Today's prompt from Poetic Asides is to write a "remix" poem - i.e., take a poem or poems you have written this month and "remix" it/them to create something new - write it in a different form, or change the lines around, or mix lines from different poems, or write a response to a previous poem, etc. It's one Robert Lee Brewer's used several times before, and I usually have some fun with it.

The second prompt from NaPoWriMo is much more daunting, I think: Listen to and/or read the long poem by James Schuyler called "Hymn to Life" and then respond with at least 20 minutes of free writing, using a number of prompts from poet Hoa Nguyen. The audio of the poem is 34 minutes long, and at first I thought, "How will I have time to listen to that, and how boring will it be?" Well, I actually had about an hour drive ahead of me today, so I patched the audio file from Poets.org through my car stereo, and I must say, I really got drawn into it. I was most impressed with how the poet jumps almost seamlessly back and forth from objects in his room, to the new spring growth outside, to childhood memories, the sites of Washington, D.C., various shades of purple, and many other subjects. I was unexpectedly hooked.

I wasn't able to reconcile the prompts today, so here is the first poem, the "remix". I used the last lines (with a few minor changes) from my poems for Days 1, 4, 6-7, 9-10, 12-17, and 19-21. (The title is a line from Day 17.)

Lockdown Rush Hour

"My jigsaw puzzle -

it's perfect."

It's early Sunday -

We have all the time in the world,

and no toilet tissue.

In times like these, we need it most.

It means so much more these days.

Minutes become years in a dream,

just as we are trapped here forever,

and so many are being taken from us

by stopping clocks,

by jets overhead.

For a short while through this cosmic race,

we hope we'll be even more full of life

with poetry,

and repeat as necessary.

And here is the second one - not sure how successful it is, and it didn't incorporate a lot of Nguyen's prompts, but it was rather liberating to write:

Somewhat Cynically after Listening to James Schuyler's "Hymn to Life"

I am putting everything aside for you today, James,

and I hope you appreciate it. The laundry room hums

with the circular motion of washer and dryer drums,

thumping unbalanced from time to time. I am in the basement,

drumming my fingers on black plastic letter-labeled keys,

and looking for my metaphorical Madeleine. I did have some

mocha flavored cake a little while ago, and the coffee aftertaste

is not unpleasant, despite my dislike of coffee. I listened to you

on a one-hour journey up a highway, starting near the Jersey shore,

in a little town on a tidal river where the houses are crumbling,

where roofs are starting to cave in, where a bathroom disaster

has left one porcelain facility nearly in ruins and we are now

gutting it for renovation. I'm leaving that behind for now,

zipping up Route 55 past long stark forests mixed with maple,

birch, and oak, not quite ready to leaf, and I wonder how many

will come back this year, and how many will echo this plague in the air

and remain dead brown wood. Silhouette signs warn of crossing deer.

I have never hit one before, but I am waiting for it to happen.

This is all too bleak for a sunny day sandwiched between two soaking rains,

and the clouds are just starting to insinuate the next ingredient

of that sandwich.  Trees whiz by, and a few cars do as well,

though fewer than in a normal world. Digital sign boards flash

the strong yellow suggestion to stay at home, avoid the spread,

but I defy that, at least for today, yet I am not a complete rebel.

There's a mask at my side. I will stop at the pharmacy

and hand my over-the-counter pills to a young man masked like me -

he doesn't suspect a holdup, and I don't suspect a face deformity.

He is behind Plexiglas. We gingerly pass merchandise, credit card

and receipt back and forth. My perfunctory "thank you" should have

been more sincere. The washer has stopped. It's a newer model

with one of those annoying electronic melodies to indicate

it's done. I haven't been listening to a lot of music these days -

maybe it's depression, maybe distraction. My wife calls, "Honey,

what do you want for dinner? " The dog is pacing again -

she sounds like my mind, tick-tacking her nails on the wood floor

over my head. I am not humming anymore either, running out

of steam, my head drawn to the sun outside, the kids next door

playing street hockey, the guy in the back with a leaf blower,

my fingers running full tilt while my brain watches them and says,

"Are you pounding out more of that nonsense?"

It's not Shakespeare, James - it's not even Bukowski. But

it loosens the senses just a little, relaxes the tension a little more,

and maybe with the most extraordinary stroke of luck,

someone will read it. Does anyone have a little time on their hands?