Junkyard Quote Post One Week Ten

"hazelnuts are the saliva of God."
-Ashley Warner

Improv Post Five Week Nine

The Bear- Galway Kinnell
This is a pastoral improv where I wanted to use the phrase "sopped turd."

In lung-colored transcendence,
a parabola belches blubber
and old snow, a tentative ravine
in what should have been his thigh.
The bear knives a hulk,
odor something only whittled
by gashes and resting places.
Steam endures blood and whatever
Marshlights shine on: a dam-bear,
or a sopped turd.

Improv Post Four Week Nine

Midsummer, Tobago- Derek Walcott
This is a pastoral improv of the form the Walcott uses.

Winter, Chicago

Wide frost-flavored lake.

White cold.
A grey sky.

A monumental bean,
mirroring icicled people

from the neighboring states
and cities in January.

Breath I have seen,
Breath I have gasped,

Breath that vanished, like spring,
in my daffodil garden.

Improv Post Three Week Nine

Lying in a Hammock at William Duffy’s Farm in Pine Island, Minnesota- James Wright
I liked the idea of being in nature and then realizing something important. That is what I wanted to improv-Wright's version of the pastoral.

To my left, a thousand ladybugs,
crawling up a leaf on the tree
I’m perched above the featherless
cardinal, waiting for the springing
of a daffodil so he can song others
into hopefulness as the snow melts
below the tree. I lean back as four
seasons waft through hair and darkness,
as the now leafless tree shakes.
I only wanted to see.

Improv Post Two Week Nine

The Explosion- Philip Larkin
This is also a pastoral, so I kept in the nature-y mode while keeping the first line "on the day of the explosion."

On the day of the explosion
my mother pointed to the sky,
said look, and I only saw clouds.
One, the shape of a bunny without
a tail, the other, a building.
The bunny lept over the building,
or maybe molded into it since the
two were clouds, and landed softly
on the other side. The tail twitches
silently in the corner, and fades
into the fluff of a white cloud.

Improv Post One Week Nine

The Thought Fox-Ted Hughes
What I wanted to take was the "and again now, and now, and now." It's also a pastoral, so I kept sort of nature-y.


The deer touches at the green
softly, hesitant, perked ears
to the sound of a wolf, or heavy
footed human. Waiting for open
and again now, and now, and now
when only one whiff through the
breeze of sour metal and decay,
turns the white tail and darts
into the underbelly brush.

Critical Commentary Post One Week Nine

I wanted to write on a band this week. The band Jake Trout and the Flounders is especially intriguing to me, because of what I do in class every week. I am studying form, but also sound in a sense. There is always that inner ear asking if what we read is pleasing or displeasing, and with that, if it is surprising in the language. The theory brought to question was that song lyrics cannot stand alone as poetry. For most bands, yes, but I feel as though Jake Trout and the Flounders writes lyrics that can stand apart. 
First off, they are the Weird Al Yankovic of the golf music world. However, there isn’t really a golf music world. In any case, the band draws it’s claim to fame through the idea of golf mixing with rock and roll. One way that they do this is improv-ing. Now, this is what I do in my journal.  I take something I like and appreciate from the original piece and I make it my own. In the majority of Jake Trout and the Flounders, they do this with music. There are songs with some phrases and most music being shifted from “Low Rider” to “Low Riser” and “Let Her Cry” to “I Just Wanna Cry.” These well known songs offer not only what they bring to the music world as an original, but also what they bring as an object of an improv-ing. I believe some lyrics can stand on their own because of the use of rhyme scheme. The majority of the songs that I have heard have some sort of rhyme scheme aabb, abcb. This form helps to unify the songs and have potential for being able to stand alone.

Junkyard Quote One and Two Post One Week Nine

"your belief may actually be an untenable waffle."
-back of a book

“Hotcake cemetary
Coca Cola Street Kids
4 o’clock colored bricks.”
-3200 class

Improv Post Five Week Eight

This is an improv off of "The Circus Animals' Desertion" by W.B. Yeats. Particularly, the first two lines.

I sought a theme and sought for it in vain,
I sought it daily for six weeks or so.
Until I realized the taxi wasn't waiting for
me or this theme. Standing at the curb, 
hands thrown up to either hail the cab again,
or express myself. I don't know how to 
search for a theme. Or a taxi. So I started 
to walk.

Improv Post Four Week Eight

This is an improv off of "Reading Plato" by Jorie Graham. I am improving the beginning "This is the story of a beautiful lie."

This is the story of a beautiful lie,
that floats through the window 
to be smashed by a tree branch.
I gritted my teeth, watched it fall
to the prickly bush below. Some
colored flower caught it, but that
doesn't matter. It didn't get up.
Back broken, I watched the left 
side roll onto the grass and limp
knee crawl away. But it didn't get up.

Improv Post Three Week Eight

This is an improv of "Starlight Scope Myopia" by Yusef Komunyakaa. I really like the last line "seeing the full moon loaded onto an oxcart"

Tonight, I can imagine seeing the full moon 
loaded onto an oxcart through the window
of your hotel room. The oxcart isn't attached
to an ox, and I say this aloud and you laugh,
but the moon doesn't care that it can't go 
anywhere.

Improv Post Two Week Eight

This is an improv of "The Colonel" by Carolyn Forche'.

What you have heard isn't true. I wasn't in his house. I drove by, stopped at the mailbox, and kept driving. I drove slow, just faster than a deer's walk. Minnesota forests have a lot of deer. White spots and little tails, the antlers that he hoists above the mantle every year after hunting season. Right before Thanksgiving, when deer meat fills every shelf in the garage freezer, he and I grab guns and tromp through the forest. But not this year. I wasn't in his house. I didn't drink or eat anything, and didn't see the Thanksgiving day parade. His wife, my mother, didn't bring me cranberry sauce or deer meat. He didn't hoist antlers on the mantle. Well, he might have, but I wasn't there.

Improv Post One Week Eight

This is an improv off of "The German Army, Russia, 1943." What I really liked from this piece is the line "I know I'll fly apart soon."

It's four a.m on a Friday and I know I'll fly apart soon
from either the whiskey or the wings.
You're slumps asleep in the couch next to me and I sigh,
curious about your terrible, luminous eyes,
telling me that I'm the woman you don't want. 
The woman you settled for in college-freshman year,
when we couldn't look each other in the eyes
because I blushed too much. I wish I never met you
every day but Fridays. Because on Friday
I drink whiskey and eat wings and not think about you.
But in the morning I am hung over and apart.

Critical Commentary Post One Week Eight

This is a critical commentary of Kelsey's "Improv 1 Week 8."

Rework of an earlier improv.
Jason Voorhees
The covers muffle as I stretch and my hands run across
sheets, finding bare bed.
The sheets are torn again.
My feet slap hardwood towards the kitchen, past your prized
machete on a plaque, nicked with use,
through a haze of cinnamon into the cracked
sound of bread falling into egg.
You’re making French toast for me.
I think back to our first date: your clobbered face so out of place
at Waffle House, its stark yellow against your muddied jumper.
You ordered French toast for me.
How was I supposed to say no to your eager smile?
Those same hands that fiddled at the front door, whisk eggs
each time you leave, but you only satisfy my hunger when you come back,
fierce and starved for me. Every woman wants a man who can take her in his arms
and snap her like a teenager. And you will snap, and break, and hurt
those campers who return every year to interrupt your arched back,
exposed spine on the sheets. The topless girls you stampede
through the woods for every year aren’t me.
Babe, if you didn’t kill them, I would.

And this is what I said:

Dude. This is so long! For you that is...and I LOVE how this flips the Jason character on his head. I really like how he's got some sort of redeeming side to him, like Ai's "Respect, 1967." I've always wondered what Jason would be like outside of the serial killer thing. Also, I find it interesting how the speaker is the jealous girlfriend. It makes me wonder how these two met. Was she one of the campers? The other thing about this piece is the repeating word choice. The word "sheets" appears three times in this piece, twice in lines right next to each other. I'm not sure if that is what you are going for, but that might be something to look at. The other thing that I found interesting is the line "You're making French Toast for me" and the line "You ordered French Toast for me." These lines are interesting because the syntax is so similar that it stands out and makes me feel like there is so much importance on these two lines. Then I'm wondering about the importance of French Toast and why Jason is making French Toast and not waffles. So, that might be something to look at because I'm not sure if there is enough information around the French Toast to be such an important player in the piece.

Junkyard Quote Post Two Week Eight

"[It's like you're] stuck in a VW with a flower eating a vegan sandwich when you need a dumptruck with ribs and whiskey."
-Adam Vines on writing

Junkyard Quote Post One Week Eight

"I don't know why her hand is wrapped in burlap and wool, who cares? It's a Bruce Willis movie and who cares about Bruce Willis?"-Dr. Davidson

"Your heart is both drunk and a kid."
-Marshall to Ted on How I Met Your Mother

Critical Commentary Post One Week Seven

This is a critical commentary off of Kelsey's Improv 2 Week 7 "The Colonel."
What she wrote:

I can look past the boxes in the living room that cover
the fake hydrangea on either side of the fireplace, and see the same house
that was here at Christmas. That was six months ago.
Mom says she pretends you're spring cleaning.
My sister picks up a box of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles action figures,
the inside all red and cushioned reminds me of a casket.

I didn't walk up to the front of the church at first, I sat in the second-to-last pew
so I couldn't see inside the casket. Did you know I finally
made it up to the front and snuck glances towards the coffin?
I didn't think so. Did you know I didn't see you there?
I thought not. For a second I entertained the idea that you were still in bed complaining about your leg. 

What I wrote:

I love this scene. It is full of specificity and high registered language. I specifically love the line "for a second I entertained the idea that you were still in bed complaining about your leg." The only critique about that line, for me, was the length. It began to sound a little wordy, and I think it was because of the word "entertained." Maybe if it was "for a second, I thought you were still in bed complaining about your leg," it would be a little quicker paced. For a later draft, I would like to see more about the relationship between this speaker and the subject. I understand that this person is a close family relative, but I want to know more intimate details regarding the relationship: what kind of things happened here at Christmas? What is the importance of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles action figures? Why was it so hard for the speaker to go to the casket? This detail would add to the specificity and create another layer of tension in the piece.

Improv Post Five Week Seven

This is an improv off of Sharon Olds' "The Language of the Brag." What I liked was the line 'the blade piercing the bark deep'.

The blade piercing the bark deep
into the fur. A wimper echoes
across the halls and I stop
for a second, curious as to blood
levels and why a dog's bowels
don't release like a chicken's.
We don't have chicken in 
New York. It's too cold.

Improv Post Four Week Seven

This is an improv off of Lucille Clifton's "move." What I liked most was the refrain in between stanzas and the way that she created her own form, so I wanted to practice that.

They had begun to trek
across an ocean, tired
of continuing to load and unload
shells on turbaned men and hairy children, protecting
ours

forever

we hesitated 
then screamed nonwords running
up and down rubbled streets toward
what was supposed to be in the middle, destroyed
ours

forever

the brown and green covers stealthly
men who look like trees, trees that
are no where to be found-oasis in this desert
of two angry lands, high on gunpowder and recoil,
ours

forever

if we could ever see the whirling blades
of a helicopter dispatched to gun cities of dust,
or rebuild a tower most have seen only on TV
that day, we claim priority-we claim control over these
landmarks, these figments of what is
ours

forever

If we destroy a mind of ourselves,
in order to comfort our future,
we hinder resolution
for our children in the years to come.
we hinder happiness, and
welcome paranoia forever,
ours

Improv Post Three Week Seven

This is an improv off of William Carlos Williams' piece "Spring and All." It is an open form, but what I wanted to improv was the idea of something new coming.

In the lateness of morning, something shifts.
Moves forward to a place unseen to most, under damp
snow, a bright nakedness appears, sprung up on the road
to my house with no heat, no insulation.
Where I sit like a tree waiting for leaf-blanket
to warm me. Under the sheet of snow coming
from my grandparents, who sent from Montana
what was excess, a dried dandelion- reminding
that once this melts, tomorrow appears.

Improv Post Two Week Seven

This is an improv off of Charles Simic's ode "Miracle Glass Co." What I wanted to improv was the idea of "I bow to you."

You stand tall and proud, reaching
just short of the ceiling and 
I bow to you.
To all you carry and store on your
shelves, where Dante sits next to Stevens
and The Bell Jar mingles with The Jungle,
and nothing is misplaced.

The printer clicks, shifts while
dresser draws creak, slam,
even the oak floor pops like geriatric
patients' spines-but not you-standing still
in the noise. Silence tucked in between 
shelves, waiting for me to get lost and flip.

Around you, bookshelf of fake oak, 
everything chews on itself, squeaks.
In you, something I want festers, covered
and one day I'll find it.

Improv Post One Week Seven

So, I read the ode "Paper Nautilus" by Marianne Moore and really loved the line "she scarcely eats until the eggs are hatched." So that's what I improved.

She scarcely eats until the eggs are hatched
on the plate. If a little nose stuck up to her,
it would eat the air she fed.
Tomorrow she'll wake up to hatch
herself from the egg-another ear, nose,
tuft of fur where a yolk should be,
a hopeful claw towards the kitchen light.
She'll grow, fed on air and yolks of other
unhatched eggs, like her mother who feeds
off her.

Junkyard Quote Post Two Week Seven

"The ghazal is 'the cry of the gazelle when it is cornered in a hunt and knows it will die.'"
-Edward Hirsch Poet's Choice

Junkyard Post One Week Seven

“The Scottish bagpipes tend to sound like a scalded cat.”
-Mel Gibson on "Braveheart"

Critical Commentary Post One Week Six

This is a critical commentary on Kelsey's post "Improv 2 Week 6: 'Dream Song 324' by John Berryman"
The original post:

I delight in your continents, your countries when you look at me like that, like I'm a dictator. In control of your land: the stiff upper-lip of your Germany, and the wasteland of America, so much like your hands, never reaching their full potential. Reach for my full potential.

What I wrote:

I am intrigued with this improv. The idea of a person being a world is something that could be considered cliche, but this is done in a way that works to sidestep that. I think that the repetition of the word "potential" is interesting, because it provides a slight turn in the piece. What I really would like to see for a continuation of this draft is maybe taking the idea of a person being the whole world and scaling it down to just a specific country that requires work: a third world country or a country in turmoil. For example: you mentioned Germany in the original improv, maybe you could turn this person into post-World War Two Germany, when the country was struggling to rid themselves of their debt to America and the rest of the world. Or you could turn it into a country like Iraq or Iran that is war torn, and turn this piece into a love poem that comments on how war tears countries apart. That could be cliche in some settings, but I feel when combined together in an interesting fashion, it could be sidestepped.

Improv Post Five Week Six

This is an improv of the piece "Tulips and Chimneys I" by ee cummings. This piece uses a late rhyme scheme and I wanted to use the line "furnished souls."

We live in a world where two people
could travel in a blimp and still watch
as the stares seep into the pores of the sky,
whimpering like a cat through a peep hole,
noticing softly the furnished souls forever
to be cleaning some table in a place
where this excites. A place not here:
Wisconsin, the cheese for Eve, her
mother ordered came in, messed
the world where no one laughed,
made sandcastles on the beach or confessed.

Improv Post Four Week Six

This is an improv of "One Art" by Elizabeth Bishop. This poem is a villanelle and that was my goal with the improv, trying to work in that form and use the line "I lost two cities, lovely ones."

I lost two cities, lovely ones
one was the body, the other
ran away with all my funds.

I couldn't help but cry to sons,
when simply stated, the facts:
I lost two cities, lovely ones.

The second first, of the lovely ones
had a hat named Fluff and he 
ran away with all my funds.

But fluff wasn't afraid of city one,
holding hope in a ball, unlike me
I lost two cities, lovely ones,

The first second, snagged buns
for hope from city two, knowing
I lost two cities, lovely ones
that ran away with all my funds.

Improv Post Three Week Six

This is an improv off of "Warming Her Pearls" by Carol Ann Duffy. There was no real rhyme scheme or anything I found, so I just kind of took "her pearls" and went.

My father took my pearls,
kept them by her pearls.
Told us something in Chinese
that mentioned pearls.
My father doesn't know Chinese
and shakes his head at pearls,
nods his head at pearls,
and mutters trouble, in Chinese.
Two women under one roof,
holding pearls?

Improv Post Two Week Six

This is an improv off of "I died for beauty-but was scare" by Emily Dickinson. This stanza maintained an interesting rhyme scheme for me: abcb, and I wanted to improv off of that, while using "adjusted in the tomb."

When adjusted in the tomb, 
it's hard to come back.
You think, it's okay, touched
by another's small dead slack
for a hand. It sat there
crying like a little girl,
hoping melting skin and washed
skin wouldn't unfurl
itself to the window and clean
the breeze of leaves, too bunchy
for the rest- not enough spice
or not enough crunchy.

Improv Post One Week Six

This is an improv off of "My Last Duchess" by Robert Browning. With this heroic couplet, I was focusing mainly on rhyme, not really worried about much of anything else. I wanted to also incorporate "since none puts by/the curtain I have drawn for you but I."

It's all in candles, books
and some forgotten hooks,
that continue to smile
and kill a fellow's bile.
Since none puts by
the curtain but I,
I must proclaim, to chat
some teacher, patiently
forgets the anxiously 
awaiting about. One by one
we line, hoping to finish. Done.

Junkyard Quote Post Two Week Six

"brush off their clothes- brush off means to retire, like brushing off the Earth."
-Dan Veach explaining translations from Chinese to English

"I pulled that out of the hat of 'I don't recognize your name'"
- me to Lucas while discussing course teachers and whether or not they are new to the school

Junkyard Quote One Week Six

"Boredom is your friend."

"Co-on (I think that is how it's spelled) comes out of nowhere like a chiropractic adjustment on your head."

- both from Dan Veach's talk