Now face north.
It was bound to happen: me falling asleep as I tried to post my daily poem. If only I could write at noon instead of 11pm. So I’m posting yesterday’s poem now, at 1:30 in the morning, having just woken up, half slumped over my computer.
I’m back to feeling uncomfortable with this form. This one feels forced, and I’m not sure it gets where it was trying to go. And I’m not sure why, exactly, it immediately made R.E.M.’s “Stand” my earworm, but I haven’t thought of that song in a long time, so I’m okay with it, and it gave me the titles for both this post and my poem. The source text for tonight is Lucille Clifton’s “further note to clark.”
Listen to Reason I am wondering what any of us will ever have -- me, my people, your people, you. Will we ever not be crossing and recrossing these roads we've traveled. Will we ever reorient ourselves toward freedom, due north, peace, something more -- something more honest than any of this. I want your release, your salvation, as much as my own. This isn't the time to retreat to safety.
National Poetry Month 2021: the Golden Shovel
As I’ve done for the last forever, I’ve chosen a poetic form, and I’m going to try to write a poem in that form every day for the month of April. I don’t always succeed, but I always give it my best shot. The “Golden Shovel” was created by Terrance Hayes in tribute to Gwendolyn Brooks. I learned about it from my friend Sonia (aka Red Emma). I’ll be using Lucille Clifton’s poems as my starting point this month. Here are the rules:
- Take a line (or lines) from a poem you admire.
- Use each word in the line (or lines) as the end word for each line in your poem.
- Keep the end words in order.
- Give credit to the poet who originally wrote the line (or lines).
- The new poem does not have to be about the same subject as the poem that offers the end words.
If you pull a line with six words, your poem would be six lines long. If you pull a stanza with 24 words, your poem would be 24 lines long. And so on.
Should be interesting!