A Royal Conversation

(Source text: 'The Willow-Wren and the Bear' by The Brother's Grimm)

Fortune Cookie

Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt:

The number 13 is often considered unlucky, so today I’d like to challenge you to beat the bad luck away with a poem inspired by fortune cookies.

In honour of the fortune cookie theme, I broke out a bottle of Chinese Ink. This was my first time using this ink in a comic. And I loved it. I’ve got a thing for using areas of solid black in my comics. But with the Chinese ink, there is quite a different sense of depth to the shaded areas. I have a feeling I will be using it a whole lot more from now on!

The Walk

Adventure, the unknown
Art, the life of the artist becomes the work of; perhaps this day can be my work of
Artist, I am a performance
Back, you are always just on the point of turning; do you need to turn?
Beautiful, isn't this?
Bench, sometimes you may need to sit on a
Ceremony, anything and everything can be a
Coins, spending steps like
Counting, stop all this endless
Down, do you need to sit?
Expressive, there is another way of moving that is wilder and more
Far, from the car park to the beach is too; the sea is too
Feet, today I am wearing my
Have, how many steps do you?
Human, this journey is beautiful because it is
It, I find myself deep in the middle of
Life, it takes me out of; it takes me deeper into
London, in Cornwall I dream of a simple walk through the streets of
Magic, the sand and the sea work a kind of
More, get out
Now, do you need to turn back?
Otherwise, taking me into realms I would not have gone
Performance art, this walk is a work of
Pocket, these few pennies in my
Precious, these few steps become; the walk becomes
Progress, on the one hand I’m making; on the other hand there seems to be no
Purse, look at the contents of my
Rain, while I was singing to the sea I didn’t notice the
Rocks, if you look carefully you might catch a glimpse of me basking on the sunlit
Sand, walking barefoot in the soft, soft
Sea, the artist goes to the; in London I dreamed of walking by the; singing old songs of the
St Ives, today we are going to
Standing, let me watch my own
Steps, I am buying life with my; other people are rich with their; how are your?
Sunlight, my feet bathe in pools of
Toes, sand between my
Walk, I could make a work of art called the; it’s so good to; It's so damn good to just

* * *

Today's NaPoWriMo prompt: Have you ever flipped to the index of a book and found it super interesting? Well, I have (yes, I live an exciting life!) For example, the other day I pulled from my shelf a copy of on old book that excerpts parts of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s journals. I took a look at the index, and found the following entry under “Man”:

fails to attain perfection, 46; can take advantage of any quality within him, 46; his plot of ground, 46; his use, 52, 56; not to be trusted with too much power, 55; should not be too conscientious, 58; occult relationship between animals and, 75; God in, 79, 86; not looked upon as an animal, 80; gains courage by going much alone, 81; the finished, 89; and woman, distinctive marks of, 109; reliance in the moral constitution of, 124; the infinitude of the private, 151; and men, 217; should compare advantageously with a river, 258.

That’s a poem, right there! 

Today, I challenge you to write your own index poem. You could start with found language from an actual index, or you could invent an index, somewhat in the style of this poem by Thomas Brendler. Happy writing!

A trio of book spine poems

Blueprints

Talking to my body –
enormous smallness.
A book of luminous things.

Blind willow, sleeping woman,
black swan, white raven –
are you my mother?

Blueprints for building better girls:
everyone’s just so so special.
Blabber blabber blabber everything.

There

Picture this:
the narrow road to the interior
through the woods.

East of the sun and west of the moon,
everything is illuminated.
They do the same things different there.

The Shaman’s Coat

Meeting the shadow
remember remember
beware of God.

One hundred demons
kiss & tell
the angel of losses.

War and peace
mistakes in the background
the invisible partners.

The power of myth
tangles
beyond the words.

The shaman’s coat
travels with a circus
after dark.

* * *

Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt “comes to us from Lillian Hallberg. She challenges us to write a “book spine” poem. This involves taking a look at your bookshelves, and writing down titles in order (or rearranging the titles) to create a poem. Some fun images of book spine poems can be found here. If you want to take things a step further, Lillian suggests gathering a list of titles from your shelves (every third or fifth book, perhaps, if you have a lot) and using the titles, as close to the originals as possible, to create a poem that is seeded throughout with your own lines, interjections, and thoughts. Happy writing!”

I enjoyed this prompt so much, I ended up writing three different book spine poems!

Kwik Fit

I wasn’t expecting to be able to write a poem today as I was on my way to the forest. However, the journey had a mind of its own, as journeys often do.

The Burning Road

When I place my foot

upon the burning road

I feel the heat of fire.

I feel the cool of fire

when I hold my foot

above the icy road.

But this is my road

and this is my fire

and this is my foot.

My foot longs for the burning road of fire.

This is my second poem of the day and my second tritina, too. Here, I experimented with shorter line lengths and an even simpler structure. You can read my first tritina, ‘The Women’, along with a description of the tritina form, here.

The Women

Though the Borough of Camden has no forest,

when the moon goes dark I hear the call

and my heart feels sad for lack of women.

I unwind myself towards the women.

Like a thread, they pull me to the heart of the forest.

From the elder and hawthorn and birch trees they call.

I shake off the world as they send out their call

and clothe myself in the fire of the women

Together we dance in the deep of the forest.

From the forest they call, the women, the women.

Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt is to “write a tritina. The tritina is a shorter cousin to the sestina, involving three, three-line stanzas, and a final concluding line. Three “end words” are used to conclude the lines of each stanza, in a set pattern of ABC, CAB, BCA, and all three end words appear together in the final line.”

The repetition in this poetic form goes well with a movement towards something simpler, wilder, more primal. The first line locates us in the modern urban world. After that, the tritina takes us into a realm more like ballad and myth.

I wrote a second poem today, also a tritina, which you can read here. I wrote two poems because I don’t know if I will have the chance to write one tomorrow. Because I am going to the forest to join the women!

Bananas

Are they berries?

Are they herbs?

Are they good for you?

Can they kill you?

Yellow is the colour of sun rays.

Yellow is the colour of my true love’s hair.

Yellow is the colour of my energy.

Yellow is the new black.

How many in a pound?

How many in a bunch?

How many a day?

How many can you eat?

We don’t have enough time.

We don’t have enough money.

We don’t have enough house.

We don’t have enough tumblr.

Can they can polish silverware?

Can they can deter aphids?

Can they can attract butterflies and birds?

Can they make you happy?

We all want to help one another.

We all want to change the world.

We all want to be somebody.

We all want to be rock stars.

Will they last longer in the fridge?

Will they make you fat?

Will they help you sleep?

Will they become extinct?

The answers are within you.

The answers are blowing in the wind.

The answers are out there.

The answers are as follows.

Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt: I challenge you to write a poem about food. This could be a poem about a particular food, or about your relationship to food in general. Or it could simply be a poem relating an incident that involves food, like David Ignatow’s “The Bagel”. Still not convinced? Perhaps these thirteen food poems will give you some inspiration. 

While I was making my banana smoothie this morning, a question popped into my mind: Can you eat too many bananas? My first thought was, ‘I’ll google it.’ My second thought was, ‘Today’s poem is going to be about bananas.’

As I was googling on the subject of bananas, I felt like I was in dialogue with the great brain of the world, knower of our desires, fears, and strange factoids. I found myself wanting to ask all sorts of questions, not just about bananas, but about life itself, what we want, what we are searching for.

Inspired by Google Poetics, I typed the first part of a question or statement and let Google complete it, usually offering several options. Apart from a little tweak here and there, this poem was written almost exclusive by google. The biggest editing choice I made was to remove the word ‘banana’ from the body of the poem.

Google is vast. Vast enough to contain the search for information about bananas and the search for the meaning of life, all at the same time.

The Gold Berries

I ate the gold berries 

though the frosted green doctors told me no,

though their eyes flashed 

their eyes flashed

their eyes flashed with green vernissage.

But I knew I’d never get me from the stump of the world

if I listened to their emerald evergreen words.

I’ve got a big rainbow to follow, said I.

I ate the gold berries, the taste sharp as plum lemon.

My limbs turned to banana legs. My eyes became lucid gems.

I floated down 

floated down

floated down the river, down the long milky way.

I drank the waters — crimson sweet they were.

I am living, said I. I’m alive.

I ate the gold berries and it was worth it, say I.

For I saw Egyptian walking onions 

all flat and sideways, pungent and hot as anything.

I danced 

I danced

I danced round the Kentucky wonder pole,

me, a collective farm woman!

I swung the extra long handle dipper gourd

and scooped me a handful of moon and stars.

And the greatest prize of all — Dingwall Scotty.

A country gentleman, a real long keeper,

handsome as a duplex Russian giant, prize of the trials.

Your eyes, he said, are blue of Hungaria, blue hokkaido, blue hubbard.

Your lips, are honey boat delicata.

Love struck 

Love struck

Love struck like a white globe hailstone.

We had a Nebraska wedding, supped on gold berry cake

iced with white wonder, topped with an ivory egg.

Our giant oxhearts beat big enough 

for the whole mammoth sandwich island

to rumble and shake 

rumble and shake

rumble and shake.

Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt:April is a time for planting things (at least where I am, in Washington DC – you may still be waiting for spring, or well into some other season!) At any rate, I’ve recently been paging through seed catalogs, many of which feature “heirloom” seeds with fabulous names. Consider the “Old Ivory Egg” tomato, the “Ozark Razorback” or “Fast Lady” cow-pea, “Neal’s Paymaster” dent corn, or the “Tongues of Fire” bush bean. Today, I challenge you to spend some time looking at the names of heirloom plants, and write a poem that takes its inspiration from, or incorporates the name of, one or more of these garden rarities. To help you out, here are links to the Southern Exposure Seed Exchange and the Baker Creek Seed Company. Also, here’s a hint – tomatoes seem to be prime territory for elaborate names. And who knows, maybe you’ll even find something to plant in your garden! Happy writing!

February in the Forest of Bones

I turn the heating up full whack

and take my vitamin D.

I wear jumpers knitted with wool 

and love. 

I think I’m safe, 

think I’ve made it through. 

But — 

You come. 

You put the sun in a cage.

You fill the sky with elevator music.

You strip skin from bone. 

You blow ice into eye-holes.

You use my lashes to dust your house.

You make a jacket from my fallen hair.

You chew my liver, slowly, slowly.

You play my heart 

’til every last, sad note is out.

When Spring comes, 

I’m sure I’m dead. 

But —

each bone reaches for the sun

and the sun reaches back, 

like a father, home from the long journey.

And the budding of magnolia is a miracle — 

that pink, that white — 

like glorious bowls filled with promise.

I turn towards the newness of the year,

towards this second chance.

I want to forget.

But —

I met you in the forest of bones, I did. 

There, on the floor beneath the world, 

you showed me the face 

beneath the photographic paper of my skin. 

There, beneath the cover of ice,

you showed me my own dark earth.

Today's NaPoWriMo prompt: In his poem “The Wasteland,” T.S. Eliot famously declared that “April is the cruelest month.” But is it? I’d have thought February. Today I challenge you to write a poem in which you explore what you think is the cruelest month, and why. Perhaps it’s September, because kids have to go back to school. Or January, because the holidays are over and now you’re up to your neck in snow. Or maybe it’s a month most people wouldn’t think of (like April), but which you think of because of something that’s happened in your life. Happy (or, if not happy, not-too-cruel) writing!

Sea Change

A Family Portrait

Today's NaPoWriMo prompt: I challenge you to write a poem that takes the form of a family portrait. You could write, for example, a stanza for each member of your family. You could also find an actual snapshot of your family and write a poem about it, spending a little bit of time on each person in the picture. You don’t need to observe any particular form or meter. Happy writing!

I chose to do a blackout poem - one for each member of the family. (Does that count as 4 poems, I wonder?) For my source text, I used Storytelling & the Art of Imagination by Nancy Mellon (Which, by the way, is a fabulous book!)

She has forgotten

It’s the first day of NaPoWriMo and I decided to launch straight in there with a piece of comics poetry. Inspired by tales of the selkies, I used material from a variety of sources: my own notebooks, the beauty section in Vogue magazine, and the folktales themselves.

Once I had gathered my written material, I got to work on the images while things were still chaotic and incomplete. I wanted the images to be an integral part of the poem rather than an accompaniment to something that already stood on its own. As a result, I found that the poem needed far less words than I had intended.

The end result – which still feels very much like a work in progress – was certainly greater than the sum of its parts. I have to agree here with Bianca Stone: ‘It’s not the poem, it’s not the drawing – it’s a new beast altogether!

Comics Poetry

It’s not the poem, it’s not the drawing – it’s a new beast altogether!

– Bianca Stone, The New York Comics Symposium

I love comics. And I love poetry. Recently, I have been concerned I might have to ditch one in favour of the other at the start of NaPoWriMo (National Poetry Writing Month). However, when I look into the realm of comics poetry, I am reminded that these two forms can talk to each other and create something new.

Some time ago, I went to a comics poetry workshop with Chrissy Williams at The Poetry School. It was a wonderful day spent mixing classic poems, internet articles, our own abstract artwork and images from a stack of Iron Man comics. We loosened up our concepts of both poetry and comics and opened the door to the realm of possibility that is “comics poetry”.

The workshop took place at The Poetry Cafe, which at the time housed the exhibition for Over The Line: An Introduction To Poetry Comics. As we worked, we were surrounded by an incredible array of approaches to this exciting new form.

In his comments about Over The Line, Alan Moore describes it as a “breathtaking tango”:

This is that spine-tingling moment when two attractive and sophisticated forms, both admired for their rhythm and sense of timing, eye each other across the cultural dance floor. In Over The Line, at once an insightful introduction and a comprehensive showcase for the emerging phenomenon of Poetry Comics, Chrissy Williams and Tom Humberstone provide the best possible venue for what looks like being a breathtaking tango. I really can’t recommend this venture highly enough, and I’d advise you mark your card immediately.

The morning of the workshop, I got the time wrong and arrived an hour early. I sat in a cafe and made a few notes with a view to using them as material later in the day. When these simple statements were combined with the extraordinary figures and landscapes of the Iron Man comics, they took on deeper, more dramatic meanings.

The visual elements – the format, the images, the panelling or lack of it – transform the words, open them up to different meanings. The words, in turn, transform the images. The result is something greater than the sum of its parts – “a new beast altogether”.

The Symposium of Important Things

Some wonderful online comics poetry resources: Ink Brick is a micro press for comics poetry. They bring out a print journal twice yearly and have a vibrant website. Check out Bianca Stone’s poetry comics site. She also curates comics poetry content for thethepoetry.com. Chrissy Williams has edited 14 issues of Poetry and Comics, the result of collaborations between poets, writers and artists. You can read them all here.

As I read more about comics poetry, I notice that its practitioners are loathe to define it:

Our job as creators is to make work. I don’t really care whether something doesn’t “count” as comics poetry, because it could just be the first push into new territory, and hybrids and liminal things are always more interesting than those that cleave to orthodoxy.

–Alexander Rothman, What is Comics Poetry?

In this spirit, I look forward to pushing into new territory, both within my own work and within the exciting field that is comics poetry. I’ll be writing a poem a day during the month of April and I’ll be experimenting with comics poetry as I go. I hope some of you will join me!

Dancing our way through a month of poetry

April is National Poetry Writing Month, AKA NaPoWriMo. Each April, people from all around the world set out to write a poem a day for 30 days. There is something wonderful about a creative challenge in which so many people from so many countries are involved. All that energy and focus; it’s like being invited to a big party where everyone is celebrating poetry.

Check out the fabulous NaPoWriMo website set up by Maureen Thorson, a poet living in Washington, DC. Each day, Maureen posts an optional prompt and poetry-related links (this year, the focus is on poetry in translation). A different participant is also featured every day. Hundreds of people register their sites so you can check out how other adventuring poets are doing, read their responses to the prompts, and get inspired.

Of course, the crafting of a poem takes time, and there is plenty of time once the month is over to work on all those drafts. But while April is in session, there is a beauty to the fact that you can’t spend ages agonising over each one. A bit like the timed drawings in making comics, something has the opportunity to come through that might not have done if you had longer to think about it.

This is an opportunity to dive in and try out all sorts of different poetic forms, things you wouldn’t normally try or things you haven’t even heard of. Last year – my second year participating – I tried my hand at a terzanelle, a landay, and an abecedarian poem, to name just three of the many forms the NaPoWriMo website threw my way.

April is the perfect month for a poetic challenge. It begins with April Fool’s Day, after all. Perhaps we can dance our way through a month of poetry, carefree as The Fool in the tarot deck, off on a new adventure.

We need more poets, not fewer, as some critics of creative writing programs would have it. We invite you to do what Russian novelist Leo Tolstoy asked: to add your light to the sum of light. Do it with patience, and love, and respect for the depth and difficulty of the task.

– Kim Addonizio and Dorianne Laux, The Poet’s Companion: A Guide to the Pleasures of Writing Poetry.

Check out the NaPoWriMo website here. I’ll be posting my poems every day both here and on my blog, Follow the Brush. I look forward to seeing you!