8.16.11 how to forgive the gone things: collaborative generating #9

8.16.11 how to forgive the gone things: collaborative generating #9

She knew I was fated a life

of stairs. Propel tumble

            clouds folded linen

going north.

 

Here you are,

 

laughing like a balm. As both

sister and brother, I wanted

 

to keep what was sacred

apart. Forgive.

 

Poetry is a form of violence

 

falling into sheaves of paper.

 

(made from the words of Todd Wellman, Melissa Morrow, Dani Hartke, Hari Malagayo Alluri, Rachelle Cruz, Evangeline Ganaden, Yael Villafranca, Melissa Sipin, Serena W. Lin & Carol Gomez)

*

Promptings for your writings:

 

Theremin player Pamelia Kurstin:

 

. We all want/
to catch light, drink water without thinking about toads. –
Emmy Pérez

 

What kinds of education are you striving to undo? – Melissa Morrow

 

(ruth forman) – {via Hari Malagayo Alluri)

 

You and I are so yesterday and flesh.” – Debbie Yee (via Rachelle Cruz)

 

Not slavery. Subjection. Subjugation. – J.M. Coetzee, “Disgrace” (via Evangeline Ganaden)

 

‘… These are the places myselves exist in. I know no places. That is, I cannot believe in places. To believe in places is to know hope and to know the emotion of hope is to know beauty. It links us across a horizon and connects us to the world.” —Adrienne Kennedy (via Yael Villafranca)

 

Katagiri found a giant frog waiting for him in his apartment. […]“Call me ‘Frog,’” said the frog in a clear, strong voice.—Haruki Murakami (via Melissa Sipin)

 

Do you smell that?” – Serena W. Lin

 

I feel calm and protected now cos I have my mom, you and all my family around me…(10 year old boy who survived domestic violence) – {via Carol Gomez}

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14 Responses to “8.16.11 how to forgive the gone things: collaborative generating #9”

  1. Monica Hand Says:

    Poetry is a form of healing

    I feel lost and unprotected now cos my mom has died without poetry I would die a violent death a death without anyone to mourn my passing a death without a grave without ash. I am hopeful because in this time of loss I still have poetry. My poems sustain me even as the world spins towards decline.

  2. toddw Says:

    Not slavery. Subjection. Subjugation. – J.M. Coetzee, “Disgrace” (via Evangeline Ganaden)
    ———————————————–

    When I think of ‘Disgrace,’ I think of leaving it all due to mistakes–but more often I think about how we have to kill animals, or so the character comes to believe. He carries bags to the incinerator and sets their ashes together. He can’t do the same to the people running about the land he wants. He can’t stop those who have forced everyone else’s hand.

  3. racruzzo Says:

    We all want

    to be incinerated

    by the tulip
    of her hand

    pinching the air

    out spills toads
    without thinking
    yesterday

    I cannot believe
    the balm of flesh

    the spine of
    magic

    Call me
    Catch light

    (words and sounds from Ching-In Chen, Pamela Kurstin, Haruki Murakami (via Melissa Sipin), Adrienne Kennedy (via Yael Villafranca), Todd W., Monica Hand)

    Prompt: “Our palms resist egg shells.” – Serena Chopra

  4. hari malagayo alluri Says:

    all this beauty encroaching on my days:
    a woman and her child self holding hands
    with god on a red-eye flight,
    work phoning as i write outside
    to avoid lamenting my bank account’s emptinesss,
    prayers to the invisible not-in-between, the glinting
    shadows of ripples a toad makes on the pebbles below
    multiplying themselves in a clear shallow pool of water
    under the noon sun, this clay european airline coffee mug.
    are you the one that brought me to this place?
    well eff you and the mould you rode in on!
    just kidding. i came by way of the pacific.
    everything churns and i can’t help but to sexualize
    goodbying, tamarind fingers, corrugated rice paddy
    manifestos, the way james baldwin’s eyes somehow retained
    their wonderment, whatever safe passage might mean,
    lanterns dancing in a rainstorm power outage.

    collabo raisers: carol, yael, mel, rachelle, todd, ching-in, melissa, amir, debbie yee, emmy pérez, haruki murakami, adrienne kennedy, martín espada, ruth forman, khalil gibran

    prompt:

    Tony pulls the hood
    of a big borrowed coat
    over his head and bodyrocks,
    a monk shadowboxing
    at the clang of churchbells,
    moving to a song
    with a distant helicopter beat,
    la tormenta
    and the anthill scattering.

    – martín espada, excerpt from la tormenta

  5. Mel Says:

    What Will You Give People

    The ones we remember kept standing.
    –Ruth Forman

    not supposed to
    write, dragging ashes
    from incinerators
    the hand is forced

    the violence of saints
    everywhere, a fist
    words reaching
    arabesque

    someone will tell you
    to sit down
    in this time of loss
    give them writing

    see to it
    that their
    spirit is
    so moved

    everything churns
    from one nonsensical
    moment, couched in
    some Invisibles

    the words move with you
    becoming a heartbeat
    waiting for instructions
    inside the skin

    point tempered
    a soft nude
    falling, your body
    in multiple lines

    Write out of thin air with an iron-like grip.

    (made from the words of Ruth Forman (via Hari Malagayo Alluri); Todd Wellman; Monica Hand; Melissa Sipin; Yael Villafranca; Evangeline Ganaden; Hari Malagayo Alluri; Dani Hartke)

    *********************
    Prompt:

  6. Bushra Says:

    We all want/
    to catch light, drink water without thinking about toads.

    Bill Hicks made me go scrub my bathroom floor
    The stream is roaring outside saying, Rain! rain! rain!

    Apologies to all the broken homes of webs I swept up today
    The stream is roaring outside, hurry, hurry, hurry

    My own death is no longer an illusion, but a real coming
    Bill Hicks said, it’s not a war, for a war you need two armies.

    prompt: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AjGxvVoRMB8

  7. Bushra Says:

    prompt from Emmy Perez

  8. Bushra Says:

    it’s more about the song than the video!

  9. serena w. lin Says:

    Katagiri found a giant frog waiting for him in his apartment. […]“Call me ‘Frog,’” said the frog in a clear, strong voice.—Haruki Murakami (via Melissa Sipin)

    city block treachery, she cranks up the walk, pocketing a fiver, feeling good, feeling high. resisting the urge for pancakes at midnight, artificial strawberries on her mind, she whistles a tra
    la la la
    song of spite, kissing elbows knees wrists, she remembers, honest women love harder. swinging twice around the seabird shitted lamp post, she’s got a mouthful of song to share. where have you gone, my love?
    the night accompaniment has taken the night off
    when her sore neck hits the pillow, she considers the music from the frog inside the toilet bowl.

    Prompt:

    As soon as you opened your mouth
    And I heard your soft
    Sounds,

    I knew we would be
    Friends.

    The first time, dear pilgrim, I heard
    You laugh,

    I knew it would not take me long
    To turn you back into
    God.

    -Hafiz, translated by Daniel Ladinsky

  10. caroljg Says:

    What kinds of education are you striving to undo? – Melissa

    I think all Latino men are like that, jealous
    of their women.
    insecure.
    He’s like that. They are all like that.

    I do believe
    there are men who are not insecure
    able to trust
    emotionally available

    What were you taught to expect of men
    to get used to?
    The myth that masculinity
    emotionally unavailable
    dominating.

    Do mothers leave their sons unbridled
    with privelege?
    Do fathers leave
    their mothers, sisters, wives, daughters
    invisible
    last and least?

    Do you think that Machismo can never be undone?

    trails of thought from the days work and wisps of inspiration from the creations of ching-in, melissa, bushra

  11. Evangeline Says:

    1. ‘… These are the places myselves exist in. I know no places. That is, I cannot believe in places. —Adrienne Kennedy (via Yael Villafranca)

    2. Theremin player Pamelia Kurstin

    the sound of loneliness like glass reverberating in an emptied room, doubling with a crackling pain in linings of your deepest membranes. the tumble, tumble sounds we hold. an egg before it is hatched. this is how the heart muscle contracts. your finger presses into the aorta, the ventricle, digging. ground cumin in your throat, dry enough to choke you. to body root, soul root. piercing skin membrane coronary tightening until blood root flows out of your toes. but this is now even if you insist on later. a rifle green ladybug opens its wings on a sunflower petal only to fall into drops of rain. such ripples under a goodbying sky. bent and whole: the goddess kali, the black one. if folded nights fall into sheaves of paper. fly above silence. scratch your nail against the window until your ears bleed without stopping.

    words from: Todd Wellman, Tsering Wangmo Dompa (“But this is now.”), Ching-In Chen, Dani Hartke, Hari Malagayo Alluri, Yael Villafranca, Melissa Sipin, Melissa Morrow

    Prompt:

    Everything, even the trees and the clouds, has come together to bring about the presence of your body. – Thich Nhat Hanh

    Then I turned around and saw the sky. It was red and all my life was in it. – Jean Rhys, “Wide Sargaso Sea”

  12. Melissa Says:

    “You and I are so yesterday and flesh.” – Debbie Yee (via Rachelle Cruz)

    This is what I remember: night after night, I sit at the edge of the bed with furrowed brows. You ask me what is wrong. Grabbing your hand, I tell you all the things: yesterday and yesterday, full of memories made of flesh, wash over me like a wave and I do not know how to forget. Forgiveness has become a violent word. Your face becomes lush like bright oranges for your reddish brown skin tastes like balm. I clasp my hands, separating the sacred things, putting “I hate you” with “I love you” in the same breath. You get up, take my body and I tumble off the sheets like sheaves of paper. My hands are cut from your furious eyes. Later, after you are asleep, I ask myself while I sit on the stairs with only the hallway light on: am I fated a life where I no longer remember to keep standing?

    Thanks to: Paul, Rachelle, Chin-In, Todd, Ruth Forman, Melissa Morrow, Dani, Hari, Evangeline, Yael, Serena, Carol, and many more.

    Prompt:
    “For my poems cannot help but reflect my identity as, in the words of Filipina American writer Lara Stapleton, a ‘bastard of the Philippine diaspora.’”
    – Eileen Tabios

  13. how to forgive the gone things: collaborative generating #9 « Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind Says:

    […] Posted by Melissa on August 17, 2011 · Leave a Comment  Collaborative Manifesto Project: here. […]

  14. clarissa rojas Says:

    forgive the poet eye

    to be incinerated

    by the tulip

    of her hand

    pinching at air

    we are the ones who drink from clouds

    who have lost their right to speak

    wonderment

    lament

    what will

    you give

    trust the hand
    and shell that fans
    the broken
    left
    half in
    to force
    with fists of words

    move like heart
    beat dance
    the page

    the ones who
    liberate with metaphor

    mourn all the homes of webs and sinew
    lost in a time of clearing
    forgive
    the mouthful
    of song
    that wails

    she is mother
    to the fish
    quieseran cielo ser

    let folded nights fall into sheaves of paper
    to fly above silences
    to move the mountain spirits

    to what is now
    rifle green ladybug opens wings
    on sunflower petal

    racruzzo mahmoud darwish mel hari bushra evangeline

    and for another day: touch her lips to echo the speech of sea

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