Sanding Plank: Jennifer Bredl - "there are no more questions/ more / on this / for you"
"fire / st.ill in my cheeks / more / on this / for you"
3 Comments - Show Original Post
Lorna Dee Cervantes said...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
there are no more questions/ more / on this / for you
certain lee / trees are turn ing / once more
reds tip leaves / not caring / green is gone
& this mind / loves the walk ing /
loves the wound ed / & in down time /
really / only thinks of stars / whits of lite
follow the dipper over the mountain / see see / it'll take you
to dawn / between drags
of cigarettes / & late nite
& see / day lee / passion rises / up up / i'm think ing
how do i get out of town / & what if / just what if
& i feel / the / a shift coming
on & round / /& once a gain
i've bitten / hard / in to
some thing bitter / /
& i'ts the hand around my throat i keep
coming back too / i can't for get / loss of
breath / glint of tooth / ah a smile / i'd walk
a million miles to taste that smile a gain
this very thing that keeps the body going
mind @ bay / / it's the water / constant lee
drawn back to the edge of blue / verge
a bohemian nite cap / when air tastes
like some thing you can't for get / sugar wine
salt / i could swear it was clover / / & i have
hand to hip / finger to bone / a long the line
of / spine / / it all ways pass es /
& i am walk ing on / in to / nite time
a gain / broken a way from yellow
& orange of / all day / clouds cover
& i am smell ing sweet soap again / cover ed
in ash once more / soak ing in water up to my
chin / try ing to wash / clean
fire / st.ill in my cheeks
Sept. 15, 2005 10:15 AM
Lorna Dee Cervantes said...
Excuse this trimming & slight reordering (re-framing, like a photo composition, like cropping).
I just love the poem that is here, Love these bits of passages, theses flares & flashes of language & (what?) heart-call. It's like a favorite flowering anything. Some poems are just not bulbs, self-contained & one only per season. Some bloom profusely the more we cut. Some display best in an arranged bouquet. Some we want just to set and go to seed slowly. You know?
And, aometimes, as in life, our endings are our beginnings and our beginnings were really the end.
What do you think of this crop? This is the poem that is "here", that is, present and "working", as I see & "hear" it.
Starting with trees, after the new title of questions & the address (more / on this / for you), seems to set the content core, these paths & passages, this changing, seasoning we're always doing, and how it, sometimes, drills into our core. And, sets up your main symbolic core: walking (out or in, back or away), this is why I'd suggest reframing, moving those lines:
& i am walk ing on / in to / nite time
a gain / broken a way from yellow
& orange of / all day / clouds cover
to the end, closing the poem on your strongest move, symbolically, poetically. (Plus I love all day / clouds cover, and how it , then, echoes "clover" visually and aurally. aura / lee
Then, poem seems to build, up to your apex, that mystery title "fire / st.ill in my cheeks." See, how now it makes more sense as aging (trees turning red), youthful blushing (this is the symbolic core: both negative & positive in multiple connotations), passion, maybe suppressed anger. But, and this is powerful, and why I'd want to reframe it:: unlike trees, treasoned to the seasons, *we* can walk. If we want.
Nice poem! I love these lines. I hope you don't mind my, what I call, sanding plank. I can't keep my hands off a good poem.
Best.
10:33 AM
666poetry-finchnot said...
dear lorna dee
thank you so much for
your comments & the cropping /
a very love lee positive type
thing for me
(you have no idea how pleased
i am / )
i don't really see my ramblings
as poems / / it's just me bleed ing
out my head / / i can't sleep un less i do / / here's my secret
i never write the title first
i usually take my last line &
make it the title / or take
the last title & riff on it some
how ///so i guess my ends are
all ways my beginnings / the circle
you see so much more in my work
than i do / but it all makes
sense as i read your comments
/ you see dear dee / i gave
up writing poetry long a go
now i just write / / does that
make sense ///
i'm honoured you would take the
time / interest required
thank you again lorna
~jennx
11:05
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Sanding Plank" is probably an old surfer term. I post this (thanx, jenn) for Anthony Robinson, who asked. A sincere poem, this. Good, too.
3 Comments - Show Original Post
Lorna Dee Cervantes said...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
there are no more questions/ more / on this / for you
certain lee / trees are turn ing / once more
reds tip leaves / not caring / green is gone
& this mind / loves the walk ing /
loves the wound ed / & in down time /
really / only thinks of stars / whits of lite
follow the dipper over the mountain / see see / it'll take you
to dawn / between drags
of cigarettes / & late nite
& see / day lee / passion rises / up up / i'm think ing
how do i get out of town / & what if / just what if
& i feel / the / a shift coming
on & round / /& once a gain
i've bitten / hard / in to
some thing bitter / /
& i'ts the hand around my throat i keep
coming back too / i can't for get / loss of
breath / glint of tooth / ah a smile / i'd walk
a million miles to taste that smile a gain
this very thing that keeps the body going
mind @ bay / / it's the water / constant lee
drawn back to the edge of blue / verge
a bohemian nite cap / when air tastes
like some thing you can't for get / sugar wine
salt / i could swear it was clover / / & i have
hand to hip / finger to bone / a long the line
of / spine / / it all ways pass es /
& i am walk ing on / in to / nite time
a gain / broken a way from yellow
& orange of / all day / clouds cover
& i am smell ing sweet soap again / cover ed
in ash once more / soak ing in water up to my
chin / try ing to wash / clean
fire / st.ill in my cheeks
Sept. 15, 2005 10:15 AM
Lorna Dee Cervantes said...
Excuse this trimming & slight reordering (re-framing, like a photo composition, like cropping).
I just love the poem that is here, Love these bits of passages, theses flares & flashes of language & (what?) heart-call. It's like a favorite flowering anything. Some poems are just not bulbs, self-contained & one only per season. Some bloom profusely the more we cut. Some display best in an arranged bouquet. Some we want just to set and go to seed slowly. You know?
And, aometimes, as in life, our endings are our beginnings and our beginnings were really the end.
What do you think of this crop? This is the poem that is "here", that is, present and "working", as I see & "hear" it.
Starting with trees, after the new title of questions & the address (more / on this / for you), seems to set the content core, these paths & passages, this changing, seasoning we're always doing, and how it, sometimes, drills into our core. And, sets up your main symbolic core: walking (out or in, back or away), this is why I'd suggest reframing, moving those lines:
& i am walk ing on / in to / nite time
a gain / broken a way from yellow
& orange of / all day / clouds cover
to the end, closing the poem on your strongest move, symbolically, poetically. (Plus I love all day / clouds cover, and how it , then, echoes "clover" visually and aurally. aura / lee
Then, poem seems to build, up to your apex, that mystery title "fire / st.ill in my cheeks." See, how now it makes more sense as aging (trees turning red), youthful blushing (this is the symbolic core: both negative & positive in multiple connotations), passion, maybe suppressed anger. But, and this is powerful, and why I'd want to reframe it:: unlike trees, treasoned to the seasons, *we* can walk. If we want.
Nice poem! I love these lines. I hope you don't mind my, what I call, sanding plank. I can't keep my hands off a good poem.
Best.
10:33 AM
666poetry-finchnot said...
dear lorna dee
thank you so much for
your comments & the cropping /
a very love lee positive type
thing for me
(you have no idea how pleased
i am / )
i don't really see my ramblings
as poems / / it's just me bleed ing
out my head / / i can't sleep un less i do / / here's my secret
i never write the title first
i usually take my last line &
make it the title / or take
the last title & riff on it some
how ///so i guess my ends are
all ways my beginnings / the circle
you see so much more in my work
than i do / but it all makes
sense as i read your comments
/ you see dear dee / i gave
up writing poetry long a go
now i just write / / does that
make sense ///
i'm honoured you would take the
time / interest required
thank you again lorna
~jennx
11:05
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Sanding Plank" is probably an old surfer term. I post this (thanx, jenn) for Anthony Robinson, who asked. A sincere poem, this. Good, too.
posted by Lorna Dee Cervantes at 1:43 PM
3 Comments:
now i'm blush ing
lorna dee /
glad to see
you enjoy ed dave's site
so much / certain lee a place
i go to every day / to ground
my self /& to find the familiar
thanx again lorna
~jennx
I hope it's okay I included your comment from your blog. I'm writing an essay on craft, and something for the blog on "sanding plank" versus dressing each other in corresponding uniforms and sending us off to battle - if you know what I mean.
Also, I'm available, to others, for cheap manuscript consultation - $50 plus postage or phone for first 50 pages, a dollar a page after that. Poetry, but I can do anything, and do, for the university cw students. I offer it here and now, while I'm on sabbatical, just because it seems to help my muse and I'm in an odd time at the moment when instead of 11 I have no grad students right now. I miss the stimulation. I get it in Blogville, which is why I hang out here, but it, evidently, offends, when you come at a stranger with an offer to help. It's like being a professional picture framer and walking into somebody's house where you really like the pictures on the wall but they're all hung crookedly, however slight, you notice it. You just want to reach out, when they're not looking, and straighten it out. Unless, it's pretty obvious, that that's the point, crookedness, that is. But here in Blogville, no one's ever not looking.
You, and anyone else who hangs out in my cocina/kitchen can send me a 50-page ms and I'll read it. Others can send that (hard copy regular mail) & a check or send it to my pay account at the bottom of the page along with an email to me. I'm in a slight lull right now before the books debut. I also have two new manuscripts of poetry written this year. Yikes, I'm like the zucchini lady in late summer. And, it's just the simple fact that the more good stuff I read the better I get. And, I'm motivated by love & friendship - "kinning". And, I'm always up for book trade or in exchange for a subscription. I'm a good person to consult with, because even if I were judging a contest or an award where the manuscript comes up again, I won't remember because I can't remember anything; it's all very impressionistic except for the exact words that people say and what they do. That applies to emails too, I seem to be better at getting back to people on the blog - a "doing" thing. Otherwise, I might not remember. (other Jenni, that's a guilty shout-out to you) And poets, unlike good successful fiction writers, don't come with a village to help them remember.
You have a real good poem here. I also like quite a bit of your work. I really liked parts of the screenplay, but it's hard to read all of it online. But, I've figured out my new printer & getting over the expense of it, so I'll print that and other stuff out soon.
Thanks!
(hmm, my word verification spells out "cow sh**s" phonetically in Mayan: cowxchiz - now I'm being sweared at?)
Jenn- You sent me the link and called Dave a "brilliant photographer" so I had to have a look. Plus, I'm a lazy gardener, I like to look at other people's flowers. You were right. Brilliant. I stayed up all night the other night, even though I had stayed up the night before and had no intention of staying up again. First, besides all the pics, I was lured in by all the Buddhist entries in the early archives. (I'm taking a Tibetan Book of the Living & Dying class right now, and have been reading zen buddhist texts since I was a kid)
It was like Yeats's trance writing - before I knew it, with no intention to at all, I wrote 61 hay(na)ku poems that night/morning. I always liked haiku, also as a child, so that's what attracts me to the contemporary hay(na)ku form. I extended it. So now I've been wanting to honor it, and it is the practice Dave exercises - like bits of life waving: I'm here! I'm here! And, I have something to tell you
Tell Dave ("Dave's not here!" sorry) that I'd like to do a book of these. I have enough now, but there were more, I know, because there are many more of the photos that compel me. I'm tempted to post all 61 of them here with the fotos. Maybe one-a-day? All not without his permission of course. Mostly, I just want to see & read them together, text & image, right now! which seems to be what they are about. The book has a working title of The Poetic of Now. It would have to be an expensive glossy unless I could find an enlightened publisher other than the economically maxed-out one I have now, and it could be a kid's book, too, as a separate market, as all the poems would be quite suitable for k-12.
All realized now.
Post a Comment
<< Home