8.20. how to offer and repeat: lucky collaborating generating #13

8.20. how to offer and repeat: lucky collaborating generating #13

 

on one page, a list of places

to send light/the ambush coming

the sting of bamboo/the metronome today

like all days your breath/did they try to threaten

any means of protection against my bare flesh

(nothing you can see is not fire)

 

in the rice fields is a body

a sky body rubbed chemical/without easy mirrors would you

history/rouse those endings

let go of that queer?

 

(made from the words of Hari Malagayo Alluri, Monica Hand, Rachelle Cruz, Todd Wellman, Melissa Morrow & Evangeline Ganaden)

 

 

Promptings for your writings:

 

Some gems from R. Erica Doyle’s Best American Poetry blog this week: “Today I will share with you the sky, because I can.” which includes write-ups on some of the visitors amongst us including Tamiko Beyer & Monica Hand:

 

  1. Chrystos’ plenary @ 2011 National Gay & Lesbian Task Force’s Creating Change conference:
  2. Once a man offered me his heart and I said no. Not because I didn’t love him. Not because he was a beast or white—I couldn’t love him. Do you understand? In bed while we slept, our bodies inches apart, the dark between our flesh a wick. It was burning down. And he couldn’t feel it. – Eduardo C. Corral
  3. One in 8 Million – Ra Ruiz

 

 

You know a letter, a cache in a person. – Roberto Harrison

 

 

ben harper via maya angelou (via Hari Malagayo Alluri):

(original Hari posted is blocked for copyright reasons so another version)

Does the grief for the loss of the mother (earth) ever heal? – Monica Hand


“In the family albums everyone
is always held by someone else,
in siesta or in fiesta.”
-Karen Llagas (via Rachelle Cruz)

 (via Todd Wellman)

Corinna” by Taj Mahal (via Melissa Morrow):



I’m traveling in some vehicle
I’m sitting in some cafe
A defector from the petty wars
That shell shock love away
There’s comfort in melancholy
When there’s no need to explain

But you know I’m so glad to be on my own
Still somehow the slightest touch of a stranger
Can set up trembling in my bones
I know – no one’s going to show me everything
We all come and go unknown
Each so deep and superficial
Between the forceps and the stone

– “Hejira” by Joni Mitchell, sung by Cassandra Wilson at the Hollywood Bowl, August 17, 2011 (via Evangeline Ganaden)

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12 Responses to “8.20. how to offer and repeat: lucky collaborating generating #13”

  1. caroljg Says:

    Missing person found
    from outpouring of eyes and ears
    mouths and fingers of this social
    media, face on a book,
    books of faces, words on one page
    on 4000
    when there was no need to explain
    now open to speculation
    analysis, commentary, laughter
    connection.

    no more places to hide…
    not even, not ever inside yourself
    nor in the depths of a virgin rain forest
    no bandwidth, no waves to transmit
    but still your face is published
    12 to 4000 in 24
    embarrassed, exposed,
    relief of joy and tears mingles with
    anger
    as parents rest their weary heads
    on soft pillows in suburbs
    and beating hearts
    slow its frantic rhythm

    (inspired from an fb posting yesterday)

    Where to we go to hide? (prompt)

    Thanks to ching-in, evangeline/joni m

  2. serena w. lin Says:

    I’m traveling in some vehicle
    I’m sitting in some cafe
    A defector from the petty wars
    That shell shock love away
    There’s comfort in melancholy
    When there’s no need to explain

    But you know I’m so glad to be on my own
    Still somehow the slightest touch of a stranger
    Can set up trembling in my bones
    I know – no one’s going to show me everything
    We all come and go unknown
    Each so deep and superficial
    Between the forceps and the stone

    – “Hejira” by Joni Mitchell, sung by Cassandra Wilson at the Hollywood Bowl, August 17, 2011 (via Evangeline Ganaden)

    ***********************************************************

    youth

    Idling by the banks
    fingers drifting
    through radio waves
    everyday whistling nostalgia
    the virgin heart
    is petrified
    hanging backward neck facing up
    toward the black and starry night
    between the cosmos and the empty.

    (fabrications from joni m/evangeline, carol, ching-in)

  3. hari malagayo alluri Says:

    when there was no need to explain

    after we avoided corsonada
    bar where only gangster ass tito
    won’t name him blank could give us
    passage we stole right to be left alone
    the only appropriate apology money
    please history my body in view of the one sin
    theft we waded through foot of monsoon
    from jeepney to dagupan pool hall chinelas
    the only appropriate apology money
    on my jeans like dirt on my soap don’t mean
    a natural thing to my south van homeboys
    who spat down aravan’s gift we failed
    to drown every day to each other’s liking
    the only appropriate apology money
    my cousin’s santa barbara poverty refused
    to walk in until both of us stopped
    dripping street onto polished floor

    cipher: evangeline, mel, todd, ching-in, carol, khaled hosseini, joni mitchell, taj mahal, sara bareilles

    prompt:
    the perfect splitting open of a longan shell
    is controlled pressure smoothe twist all leap of faith
    – calabaw proverb

  4. caroljg Says:

    Ooo. I want to add a new prompt: Just watched it and it reminds me of our poetic process in art form….
    hope the link works here. trying non written medium for the first time on WPress…so bear with me 🙂

  5. caroljg Says:

    yay! it worked!

  6. serena w. lin Says:

    my prompt:

    how far have i traveled to get beyond these inches?

  7. racruzzo Says:

    Not because he was a beast

    like dirt on my soap / whistling

    between the cosmos

    and radio waves.

    Not because he was heart

    like dried flowers / bedazzled

    blood / an ambush.

    A red drifting.

    Do you understand?

    Once he offered

    grief / you know / a letter

    trembling and stones and

    a lit wick waiting at some

    cafe.

    -words from Eduardo C. Corral, Mel, Carol, Serena Lin, Monica Hand, Joni Mitchell, Ching-In Chen, Evangeline Ganaden

    ***Prompts:***

    An excerpt from a Poetry Society of America Interview with Wanda Coleman:

    (http://www.poetrysociety.org/psa/poetry/crossroads/qa_american_poetry/wanda_coleman/)

    When you consider your own “tradition,” do you think primarily of American poets?

    No. My “tradition” (or psyche) is split [I prefer the expression “shattered”]. My “tradition” is a complex mishmosh of two basic traditions: 1) the best of Western Civilization, as taught in the Los Angeles school system of the 50s and 60s, Sappho and beyond. 2) the Afro-American blues/jazz musical tradition.

    What is American about American Poetry?
    The unique cauldron of Protestantism and Racism in which it is defined and from which it takes shape.

    An except from Jericho Brown’s response to Wanda Coleman’s interview, ten years later:

    (http://www.poetrysociety.org/psa/poetry/crossroads/qa_american_poetry/page_35/)

    “How nice it would be to show just how male I am to someone else in this empty room tonight, but I’m much too busy shaking my head and muttering, “Wanda Coleman.” I should be pulling someone closer to me, but tonight I’m getting in my bed alone. Tomorrow, I’ll rise early and go to the gym where I bang my body against itself in a vain attempt to transform it into something someone wants to touch.”

  8. eucalyptusraven Says:

    In bed while we slept, our bodies inches apart, the dark between our flesh a wick. It was burning down. And he couldn’t feel it. – Eduardo C. Corral

    You know a letter, a cache in a person. – Roberto Harrison

    geo-caching is when you hide / bury a time capsule and tag it with GPS coordinates and then other people try to find it. we walked into the “wilderness area” where the trail was hidden / buried and never found the cache. cached out and checked that thing hiding / burial mound between us, our strange insides encapsulated into a pill bug.

    Prompt:
    The strangeness of our insides
    They will never know.
    -Margaret Rhee, from the poem “The Flannery I Know”

  9. toddw Says:

    R. Erica Doyle’s Best American Poetry blog
    ———————————————————-
    my name is [————].
    i scratched it out
    because there are still people
    fighting mortality.
    so, they don’t invest here.
    why then would they get my name?
    but, too, why should i keep it?

    —–
    prompt:
    “We tumbled to the bath mat.” — Roger Weingarten

  10. Mel Says:

    How to Offer and Repent

    missing person found
    hanging backward, neck facing up
    when there was no one
    to explain my skin attests
    why your part of town vs. mine
    pot of melting Protestants, Racism
    from which defiance arises
    not because unworthy
    of beauty, not because
    of irrevocable white
    do you understand?

    in utero, flesh is telegraph
    no slow modem, no holding back
    no books of faces, no
    explanations needed this
    the best connection must be cut
    so spend a weak century, if that
    to try to get back to understanding
    slightest touch of stranger
    can be bone-trembling

    should pull mother closer
    but tonight I bang soul against body in vain
    attempt to get through to someone willing
    to discuss what no one wants to touch, we all
    come and go, our unknowns unsolved for

    we should not be divided
    by degrees, mothers can’t help it
    mothers have mercy
    on my hard-luck
    soul, have mercy
    on a defector
    from petty wars

    I learned to love you
    before I knew your name
    before you gave me my name
    and taught me to speak it
    I came through you to
    break your heart and this
    is how I feel, the guilt unbelievable

    so now: how to offer and repent
    one page, shared places made
    to transmit despite severed connection
    despite body, inevitable
    endings reaching back into history
    do I wait ‘til all the walls she built in her twenties
    finally fall, for her to believe
    she’s moving past feeling and into the light

    do you understand?
    suburbs are a lonely drive
    kids don’t want to be so hard
    all my dreams are airlifted dead
    men trying to reach their
    daughters, men who knew father
    before damage done, before
    daughter instead of son or
    superman, before the first
    bombs fell or the course
    of a lifetime run
    my dreams are daughters
    weeping from loss
    and broken compass

    this is not to give false hope
    I want to hold hands, share
    beauty before laid low
    over and over again, drape
    rainbows ‘round shoulders
    join voice with birds aloft
    with lips surviving all of this
    and many aftershocks to
    love shellshock away

    we have the incantations

    (From words and hearts of, with love and thanks: Ching-In Chen; Carol Gomez; Serena W. Lin; Hari Malagayo Alluri; Monica Hand; Rachelle Cruz; Todd Wellman; Evangeline Ganaden; Wanda Coleman (via Rachelle Cruz); Joni Mitchell (via Evangeline Ganaden); Eduardo C. Corral; Arcade Fire (“The Suburbs”); Paul Simon (“Mother and Child Reunion”); Lucille Clifton (“Homage to My Hips”))

    *****************

    Prompt:
    (sequential imaging, lyrics, and music)

    –The Polyphonic Spree, “Running Away”

  11. Evangeline Says:

    Still somehow the slightest touch of a stranger
    Can set up trembling in my bones
    – Joni Mitchell

    the songs I no longer hear with the morning
    absence of autumn moon
    quiet strumming a kind of solitude
    I am left to face the ruins and write myself
    I’m petrified, backward facing the night
    I am flesh, prophet missing god
    a violent metronome marks this rhythm
    and still the slightest touch, dear god
    like grief and stones, a lonely aftershock
    trembling my bones to fields

    with words by Serena Lin, Ching-In Chen, Hari Malagayo Alluri, Carol Gomez, Monica Hand, Todd W, Rachelle Cruz, Melissa Morrow, Joni Mitchell

    Prompt:
    For almost a month I lived at this rhythm: the night prostrate and the day letting myself be carried across Vienna by sleep and the tramway. – Marjane Satrapi, “Persepolis”

  12. Tamiko Says:

    “let’s be together because it’s safer that way”
    – Ra Ruiz

    is a body a sky let go?
    the dark a wick
    burning down
    queer between us
    between the cosmos
    and the empty,
    a red drifting.
    our imaginations’
    muckswamp
    we dredge to
    please history
    and our strange insides
    we have the stars in our hair,
    childhood a baby tooth
    to wiggle off gladly
    or when its stickiness
    clings to our skin
    we peel and peel.
    why should we keep it?
    why should we keep it?
    our body in view
    trembling bones to fields

    [Word-source-collaborator: Ching-In Chen, Hari Malagayo Alluri, Serena W. Lin, Eduardo C. Corral , Rachelle Cruz, Jai Arun Ravine & Margaret Rhee, Todd Wellman, Joni Mitchell, Evangeline Ganaden]

    Prompt for tomorrow:

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