spines

I apologize, I am failing utterly at being a consistent and interesting poetry blogger! Its so difficult to find the time to sit down and really think and write, I am so busy these days. I know that is a shameful thing to say. 

For now, however, since I have no poetry to offer your eyes and minds, I would instead like to recommend some of my favorite books of poetry to you, in hopes that you READ. Because to be a good writer, everybody must READ. I'm sure some of these are common knowledge for some, but a lot of the younger poets I've come across would rather listen to Dashboard Confessional lyrics than sit down and read some Whitman. Which is a crying shame. Song lyrics are of course poetry in themselves (and often amazing poetry), but sometimes you just have to sit down  in silence and drink words up off paper. When you listen to a song, its like the emotion is already waiting for you in the music, you know? I don't even know what I'm rambling about anymore. Anyways.

So here are my recommendations! 

1. "The Marriage of Heaven and Hell" by William Blake.

I feel like some people have an aversion to Blake because he uses a lot of Biblical themes in his work. But the Bible is arguably one of the greatest works of poetry ever written (I've never read it in its entirety), so how could that necessarily be a bad thing? He draws on the booming, epic style of Biblical tales in describing his own vision of what heaven and hell are truly like, and does so in a beautiful fashion. Beautiful, sweeping and philosophical. Also, his prints are gorgeous and very unsettling at the same time. So if you can find a copy that includes the illustrations, read that one - it enhances the entire experience quite a bit.

2. "Ariel" by Sylvia Plath.

In my opinion, after Emily Dickinson, Sylvia Plath is the most important female poet ever. And her reign as poetess was so very short, as she killed herself at the young age of 30. She began writing when she was very young, and wrote up until her death. Her poetry was vivid, fierce, dark, imaginative, beautiful and honest. She was a woman tortured by her own mind, and you can feel her pain oozing out from each word of her poems. Her book of poems "Ariel" was published after she committed suicide, and many of the poems in the book were written mere days before she took her own life. When you read this book, its like you are sitting quietly inside her mind as she is writing her suicide note, her elegy. Its a beautiful and tragic experience. Her life was definitely too short.

3. "Howl and Other Poems" by Allen Ginsberg.

You knows. This is one of the greatest works of poetry of all time, as well as one of the most controversial. They made a fantastic movie about Ginsberg, the poem itself and the resulting trial surrounding it a few years back starring James Franco (dreamboat). If you don't know the story, its this - when City Lights Books first published Ginsberg's work in 1956, both Lawrence Ferlinghetti and the store's manager were arrested on obscenity charges. This was because the poem describes things that folks back in the 1950s were particularly fond of hearing about - sexuality, promiscuity, homosexuality, drug use, etc. Luckily, however, the poem was deemed to have artistic merit and the case was dismissed. This trial also made it possible for many books that were banned in the US to finally be published, such as the works of Anais Nin and Henry Miller. Because it broke boundaries, and won the right to break those boundaries, this poem has gone down in history. And rightfully so. It is a raw, humorous, shocking, beautiful piece of work. I'd also recommend also tracking down an audio version of Ginsberg reading the poem - this is the kind of poetry that was meant to be shouted out loud.

Thats all for now, folks. Happy reading! 

What are some of your favorite poets or works of poetry?

SJ

#13

Sorry I haven't posted in awhile. I haven't been very present on my other blog, either. I've been working nonstop nights, and when I get home all I want to do is just shut off my brain. Other than that, I've been doing volunteer work, and trying to enjoy the last remnants of summer as much as possible with my good friends. Its been hard to focus on writing, really.

I recently did a guest post on my friend Sarah's pretty lil' blog, Atlantic Atlantis, along with some other very talented ladies. Check it out! Her blog is a wonderful read.

I have several postings to make. The first is a poem I wrote on a break at work, in my first week there. I guess I was trying to capture the mundane, everyday feel of working in a convenience store and make it into something beautiful:

"in search of poetry amidst

shining cobalt tincans

that reflect noisy midnights,

the constant tinkling of bells

that single the gentle clink

of amber glass

i search for music in the beeping

of scanners, their angry crimson gaze

in the grinding of meats, the gentle

sawing of blades through soft,

warm bread

i search for meaning

in the unfocused eye

of middle-aged men,

the soft rumbling of

change in their pockets

their sour smells that hang

onto worn t-shirts

and torn jeans

each pebble in the carpets

tells the history of those

who have walked these

floors, broken glass maps

of parties that have long been over

the footprints are ghosts

of lives that have wandered off

elsewhere"

Thats all I got in me tonight. My eyes are drooping. I'm crazing something salty, some nice smells. I need new books to read. What is everybody reading lately, anyways? Until next day. I promise there'll be another soon! Fingers crossed.

SJ

#12

I've had a rather busy week. Schoolwork, normal work, volunteer work... I've been very productive, it would seem. I'm just wrapping up this semester, enjoying my effortlessly easy and rewarding job working night shifts as a cashier and on Wednesdays have been devoting my time volunteering with a sexual health organization. There hasn't been a lot of time for creation, but I seem to have managed. 

This poem here is prompt #140 for One Single Impression, the theme was "dreams". 'tis only a little thing, but I felt like jumping onto the raft again. 

- 

i cannot fathom 

returning to the other side

when here, 

i am an empress

wrapped in layers of cloth 

embroidered

with all the fables of the world

my throne seated atop 

a mountain of 

sugar that 

laughs in sweetened tones

at the absurdity of it all

SJ

#11

This is prompt #178 for One Single Impression. The topic this week was "need". Enjoy, my darlings.

-

it is in desire
for the softest flesh
that i sit beneath this
tree, the wind surging
through its leaves
like a stampede of ghosts
the stars blinking
in silent fatigue

and i imagine its flavor
as my teeth break through
the papery skin, its sweetness
flowing against my tongue.
i beg gravity to grant me this wish -
the rubyred glittering
apple that sits atop the highest branch,
like a crown.



SJ

#10

This was the 45th prompt for Jingle Poetry's Poetry Potluck. The theme was nature and life. In a lot of places in Newfoundland the trees have grown into strange, savage shapes because of the wind sculpting them over time. I think they're incredibly beautiful, and for some reason this is the first thing I thought of when I saw this prompt.

-

i recognize the sounds
of the world waking up,
the sun yawning whisps of
foamy clouds across the infant sky

and my feet touch the world's heart
as they move with me, crawling over
the detritus of summer like ants
weaving between the white trees

who stand solitary, their slender bodies
leaning back in rapture as they have done
since they were first ravaged by our winds -
fierce lovers, abstract artists

who on quiet days, gently kiss their masterpieces
admire their tender quills like tiny hands
reaching out to catch the rain, to hold
the sun like a warm stone in emerald palms



SJ

#9

This is prompt #177 for One Single Impression! The theme is "phantom".

-

death has made a voyeur of me,
seating me here behind reality's thin curtain - 
this fate is not a pleasant one,
doomed to watch as life
continues on like waves crashing
ceaselessly, watching those
who are born die, and life
begin anew, seeing the microscopic
details of disease and the macroscopic
of people, like insects across blue satin

and each time you peel
aside the curtain
all they hear is the rattling
of chains; which they ignore,
blaming it on the wind, hoping
nobody notices the goosebumps
rising along their spine
like raindrops dotting a
skyscraper, glowing in
the lights of traffic.


SJ

#8

July 18th, 2011

I was thinking about abstract art, about dreams, about lust, about confusion, and my brain shat this out. Imagine you're trapped in a lucid dream where everything is a painting. Imagine whatever you want.

-

i cannot comprehend why it is only now
that the occupying crimsons and azures
have chosen to fade to muted violet
while the clock's hands echo and click
in the corner, like tapshoes
like a loose hinge

our pale skin falls to the floor
perpetually, mechanically,
only to grow back as the sun rises again
the room's scent growing faint and trembling
as the air staggers home to bloom again
and our bodies are reborn

knowing they are watched by constellations
who recline, lazily wrapped in morning's silver veil,
waiting like ballerinas in velvet-lined wings
to dance forward across a dead sky
to correlate the freckles on our hands
into maps

to pull us across the glowing desert
of the mind, fearing the eruption of storms
each time our snow globe skulls begin to shake
ferociously, the sky falling down in exhaustion
as thin light pirouettes across our landscape
and we drop once more into sleep