An update from our thirty-eighth Writing Workshop with Conner Bassett A summary of the workshop held on Saturday, May 21, plus some of the output published below This week we focused on the literary device of anaphora, meaning a repetition of word or phrase at the beginning of successive sentences or poetic lines. From the greek, literally “a carrying back.” After reading the opening passage of A Tale of Two Cities, Walt Whitman’s “I Sing America,” and excerpts from “The Gospel of Mark,” T.S. Eliot’s “The Wasteland,” Mary Ruefle’s “I Remember, I Remember,” Allen Ginsberg’s “Howl,” and MLK’s “I Have a Dream” speech, we were able to diagnose what anaphora brings to writing: rhythm through repetition, intensity/tension, energy, emphasis, and speed. The Challenge: Write a poem or story using anaphora. If you don’t know what phrase or word to repeat, you can an example from class: “I Remember,” “and,” “Blessed are,” or “I saw.” The Participants: Emma, Josh, Ellie, Fatehbir, Shiva, Chelsea, Alice, Zar, Lina, Samantha, Anna To watch all of the readings from this workshop, click here. Emma Hoff, 10(Bronx, NY) Things Are Like Onions Emma Hoff, 10 You see dreams as you pad down the hallway. You see the things in your head. You see monsters bragging they can best Death and monsters lounging around doing nothing. They’re not that scary, now are they? You see your face laughing on a screen. You see a newswoman doing your makeup and your hair and your clothes just so that you can see and hear yourself bray an alarm call. You see a monster that has your face. You see a replacement. You see a reason to go back and a reason to be trapped. You see a river. You see your still done-up face on the screen, drowning in it. You see yourself not being able to swim. You see people holding you down. You see yourself surviving and dying. You see the alarm call that was for you. You see regret and so much fear. Colors: the whole entire rainbow of things and nouns and words. Colors: big bulky sentences you hold up with your scratched hands. Colors: trees and then lampposts and then that big wooden pole outside your window. Colors: can you see it? Colors: your attitude that races ahead of you. Colors: teachers tell you to control yourself but when you don’t you can grow wings. Colors: your class oohing and ahhing at your talent and you suddenly at the back of the crowd. I’m reading an author. I’m reading a book. I’m reading an answer to a question I didn’t read. I’m reading the answer sheet for a test and then forgetting it. I’m reading fun. I’m reading paragraphs and paragraphing myself. I’m reading knives for slicing. I’m reading faces and rooms and body language because people tell me to. I’m reading my own writing as I’m writing it because I am reading. I’m reading buttons and codes and all that stuff. I’m reading what you never read. Why did Sally kill her fish? Why did James stick his finger in the camera when it was about to take a picture? Why did Lulu destroy the pillow? Why did Mary break the glass? Why did Archibald run? Why did Charlie barrel into so many people? Why did Ari ask so many questions? Why did Camila’s limp hand break the glass of her coffin before she was buried? Things are like bird beaks, sharp. Things are like wine bottle corks, popping out of places you never knew existed. Things are like onions. Things are like walls. Things are like freedom and restraint. Things are like things because everything is a thing and that’s just the thing. Things are like the universe and the planets: we swirl everything together.
how stories work
How Stories Work—Writing Workshop #37: Poetry (Revisited)
An update from our thirty-seventh Writing Workshop with Conner Bassett A summary of the workshop held on Saturday, May 14, plus some of the output published below During every session, Conner devotes one workshop to discussing poetry—namely, how a poem functions. This week we again brought our attention to poetry, beginning with a personal anecdote about Conner’s experience watching Waiting for Godot as an 8-year-old. What Waiting for Godot taught him, and what he taught us today, is that if art (more specifically a poem) can be immediately understood, it is likely bad art. “A poem,” he said, “has an emotional importance you can’t quite articulate.” Or, as we learned from “Ars Poetica” by Arhibald Macleish, “A poem should not mean but be.” We also defined a poem as a body of writing more attentive to the “how” of language than to the “what.” In other words, a poem’s mode of writing is the content, and all poems are language about language. From this definition, we discussed two ways to write a poem: one, by focusing on what a poem shows, and two, by focusing on how a poem sounds. Over the course of this workshop we read “Pope John” by Bernadette Mayer, “In the Station of the Metro” by Ezra Pound, an excerpt from T.S. Eliot’s “The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock,” “The Snow is Melting” by Kobayashi Issa, “marry at a hotel, annul ’em” by Harryette Mullen, and “Poisonous Plants of America” by Elizabeth Willis. The Challenge: Write a twenty line poem with these following prompts: begin poem with a metaphor say something specific but utterly ridiculous use at least one image for all five senses use one example of synesthesia use the proper name of a person and the proper name of a place contradict something you said earlier in the poem change direction or digress from the last thing you said use one word you would not expect to see in a poem use an example of false cause and effect logic use a phrase or a piece of language you have overheard in conversation recently write a sentence using the following construction: the, adjective, concrete noun, of, abstract noun write an image in such a way that reverses its usual associative qualities make the persona or character in the poem do something they could not do in real life write a sentence in which you refer to yourself by a nickname in the third person write a sentence in the future tense, such that part of the poem seems to be a prediction write a noun with an unlikely adjective make a declarative assertion that sounds convincing but that ultimately makes no sense use a phrase from a language other than English make a nonhuman object do something human close the poem with a vivid image that makes no statement, but that echoes an image from earlier in the poem. The Participants: Nova, Emma, Josh, Ellie, Fatehbir, Shiva, Chelsea, Alice, Zar To watch all of the readings from this workshop, click here. Emma Hoff, 10(Bronx, NY) The Rose on the Dining Room Table Emma Hoff, 1o The rose was a child’s wrongly stained hand, the eager postman ate his donut while sitting in the mailbox, the lemon tasted sour, smelled sweet, looked salty, felt spicy, sounds like water, the rushing of waves is gray, Emma Catherine Hoff lives in the Bronx, New York City. The rose was a clean and fresh adult, the waves are rocking me so hard, arachnid, if you work out too much, you will wilt and become unhealthy, “the only emperor is the emperor of ice cream.” The sinister dishwasher of color, the spiderweb was metal, sharp like a shark’s tooth, Randy Brown hovered upstairs, Em was a girl who had no nickname, she will find this poem on a piece of paper. The cow was bright red, honestly, I’m sure if you just go to the bakery, you’ll find your chihuahua, ya ne chitatel’, ya pisatel’, the glass jar sung its song, the rose is like a bird on a cloud.
How Stories Work—Writing Workshop #36: Collage Poetry
An update from the thirty-sixth Writing Workshop with Conner Bassett A summary of the workshop held on Saturday May 7, plus some of the output published below This week, we continued with Italo Calvino’s Six Memos for the new Millennium. After focusing on “lightness” last week, we turned our focus to “multiplicity,” defined as the quality or state of being multiple or various. Naturally then, we discussed the epitome of multiplicity: collage poetry. To begin, we discussed the history of collage as an art form, noting its rise in popularity in the early 1920’s, especially among experimental painters of the cubist and dadaist movements. Some collage paintings we discussed were Picasso’s Guitar, Sheet Music, and Wine Glass, Hannah Höch’s paintings Fur Ein Fest Gemacht and Flight, John Stezaker’s Muse, and Jesse Treece’s Mountains Between (pictured above). We then broke into some definitions of collage, defining it as the art of choosing, affixing, juxtaposing, and arranging. This led us to discuss collage amongst writers, noting in particular the “cut-up” method of composition, wherein writers cut out words from newspapers, scriptures, magazines, etc. and put them in a hat before randomly selecting them to create a poem. Some examples of collage poetry we read were Ted Berrigan’s “The Sonnets,” an excerpt from T.S. Eliot’s “The Wasteland,” and an excerpt from Ezra Pound’s ‘The Cantos.” The Challenge: Make a poem with entirely found language: combine language (phrases, words, sentences) from multiple outside sources. Participants can use sentences around them from books, magazines, newspapers, street signs, conversations, other poems, etc. The Participants: Emma, Zar, Alice, Ellie, Samantha, Anna, Shiva, Nova, Lina, Fatehbir To watch the readings from this workshop, click here. Anna Cronin, 9 (Fishers, IN) Anonymous Child Anna Cronin, 9 Here is the revelation bright as the morning star The truth is: I know how intimidating it can be Creating your own, a vine and its branches The meal that’s special, the mothers example It’s all the same, sending them into his vineyard To some people, the reactions are new creations The goal in my first few years is pure: are we high functioning? Who is like them? They designed the central aim and the great theologians. What stereotypes drift in the wind, and what organizations of their character practice. While not all months are education, degrees in headquarters are anonymous like a good person. Multicolors, like a scene, are wild and beautiful. Self-concept is extreme humility, but why did the responsibility of the child matter? Additional scattering in our citizenship is healing, A vision for growth of the stones with power Some define brilliance in friendship and models, and for decades to come aromas pass. Finally, despite our emphasis, transitions will happen. And coaching includes our thoughts, not yours. Emma Hoff, 10(Bronx, NY) Core Collapse Supernova Emma Hoff, 10 Stars between about eight and 25 solar masses die in a core collapse supernova, a Major League baseball barrier has been broken, South Africa hit by rains, floods, news project launched. Get to know Arizona, the 48th state, look at an atlas or map of Wyoming, circle the capital city, this is a kakuro puzzle, 20. take a small drink. Last year I planted lots of daffodil bulbs in my garden, but only 65% of them actually grew into plants, are you ready for a challenge? Here’s a finished example: saving the cat’s pajamas, “The Outfit,” and “Deep Water. Wild pigs cause havoc, tributes to elephant, plan to help manatees shows promise, zoo animals go wild for scents. Blenny captures a quick meal, give bowling a try! New York/Motto: Excelsior.
