Assignment 14: Find a New Perspective

Failing and Flying

by Jack Gilbert

Everyone forgets that Icarus also flew.
It's the same when love comes to an end,
or the marriage fails and people say
they knew it was a mistake, that everybody
said it would never work. That she was
old enough to know better. But anything
worth doing is worth doing badly.
Like being there by that summer ocean
on the other side of the island while
love was fading out of her, the stars
burning so extravagantly those nights that
anyone could tell you they would never last.
Every morning she was asleep in my bed
like a visitation, the gentleness in her
like antelope standing in the dawn mist.
Each afternoon I watched her coming back
through the hot stony field after swimming,
the sea light behind her and the huge sky
on the other side of that. Listened to her
while we ate lunch. How can they say
the marriage failed? Like the people who
came back from Provence (when it was Provence)
and said it was pretty but the food was greasy.
I believe Icarus was not failing as he fell,
but just coming to the end of his triumph.

"Failing and Flying" by Jack Gilbert, from Refusing Heaven. © Alfred A. Knopf, 2005 . Reprinted with permission. (buy now)

Message: The ride was still worth it, even if you threw up at the end.

Assignment 13: Become Obsessed With a Puzzle

So I never did get on the Sudoku train or the Kenji train or any puzzle train really. I can't stand crosswords because I never get obscure cultural references, even in conversation. I would see people with their little books or their newspapers and I was jealous that I couldn't get my mind to sit still enough to become fixated on a puzzle. Until I discovered the cutest little Posh Puzzle books at B&N! Sure they were an overpriced $8.00 but last night I spent like 2 hours solving logic puzzles and doing word roundups. I'm probably just obsessed because they are so cute and clandestine. It's like I am secretly exercising my mind and no one can tell. Too bad the gym doesn't work that way.




http://www.andrewsmcmeel.com/posh.html

Assignment 12: Find an Epic Writing Project

So I have been writing poems and the beginning of stories and it's time to embark on a project that will allow me to open up a little bit more. I am not ready to write "my great novel" or even "my great picture book", but I could be if I started a little bit closer to home. I have an idea for another blog that is merely a vehicle for a longer piece of writing that I cannot even imagine doing in word. I really am about to go through the most interesting personal period of my life since I moved to New York 11 and a half years ago. That was the last time EVERYTHING changed. All at once. And next June - 2011 - it's going to again. But first I have to turn 30, plan a wedding, find a new job, and leave New York. Luckily, I have a year and a half to get it together. Thank goodness for long engagements. I can still use this blog for smaller projects that involve spinning my mental wheels. Thank goodness for multiple free blogs. I like to compartmentalize things as much as possible.

Assignment 11: Save Two Poems for a Rainy Day

Suits

by David R. Slavitt

Each morning, as I confront my closet's array,
I have to admit again that the life I lead
is hardly good enough: I have not been named
ambassador to Malta; I am not on the board

of any college or large corporation; I shall not
receive a major prize today and pose
for photographers. Those suits, the shirts, the ties
are ready, but I am not, and the shoes are shined

as they wait for different occasions than I imagined
on the tailor's block, when I shopped for a dandified
future brighter than what I expect or deserve.
Even for weddings and funerals that require
a suit, I choose from the second best, reserving
that one for the dream into which I yet hope to awake.

"Suits" by David R. Slavitt, from William Henry Harrison and Other Poems. © Louisiana State University Press, 2006.

Nights Our House Comes to Life

by Matthew Brennan

Some nights in midwinter when the creek clogs
With ice and the spines of fir trees stiffen
Under a blank, frozen sky,
On these nights our house comes to life.
It happens when you're half asleep:
A sudden crack, a fractured dream, you bolting
Upright – but all you can hear is the clock
Your great-grandfather found in 1860
And smuggled here from Dublin for his future bride,
A being as unknown to him then as she is now
To you, a being as distant as the strangers
Who built this house, and died in this room
Some cold, still night, like tonight,
When all that was heard were the rhythmic clicks
Of a pendulum, and something, barely audible,
Moving on the dark landing of the attic stairs.

"Nights Our House Comes to Life" by Matthew Brennan, from The House with the Mansard Roof. © The Backwaters Press, 2009.

Assignment 10: Find a Poem that Scares You

Vanishing Point

by Freya Manfred

The moment arrives when you say,
"I don't dislike this man,
but how did I marry him?"
Something about his wintry voice,
the way he can't or won't show his face,
and how small and alone you feel
out here on earth's curve,
driving day and night,
never reaching a destination,
until you realize you're running parallel to him,
and you'll never meet.

"Vanishing Point" by Freya Manfred, from Swimming with a Hundred Year Old Snapping Turtle. © Red Dragonfly Press, 2008.

Assignment 9: Write the Beginnings of Three Stories

1) All of the men that entered that house inevitably left it slightly less manly.

2) The drifter appeared at the edge of town at exactly 2:15pm. After stopping in on Sam's General Store to re-up his supply of chewing tobacco, he further made his presence known by sending two bullets into the chest of Bart Baker, the bank manager. Under the fiery gaze of his split barrel shotgun, Mae Ann Clemens, the bank president's daughter, promptly handed him $6, 256 dollars in silver and gold coin. He did not wait for Pearl Landreau's diamonds, which Mae Ann offered under her duress.

3) Jesslynn was a girl who had never believed in fairies. Or Santa. Or genies. Or happy endings. At 13 she had already seen too much of the real world to pretend anything good or beautiful or lucky lay beyond the cesspool that was her life.

Assignment 8: Appreciate an Old Poet

Robert Frost (1874-1963) is considered the bard of New England. Casual readers sometimes overlook the depth of his poetry and its technical accomplishment.

Fire and Ice

By Robert Frost

Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice.

From what I’ve tasted of desire

I hold with those who favor fire.

But if it had to perish twice,

I think I know enough of hate

To say that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice.


(To perish by desire or hate - both an unbecoming fate. LOVE IT!)