am entangled in two separate and equally interesting papers at the moment. nothing monumental. one is a response to a couple of articles concerning the relationship between colonialism and the rise of English language as a dominant, global commodity. the other is a reaction to a wretched triangle; to which i am proposing a more intricate and optical approach to teaching writing and rhetoric to freshmen college students.
and because i'm entangled, i have not had the functionability(tm) to 'think poetry'. instead, my blog, for a short while, will be reduced to katy ramblings and the potential show-case of at least one of the previously mentioned papers.
because i am unable to produce for you an original work, and hate to leave you writhing... below is a poem by the incomprehensibly magnific Albert Mobilio...
Ground Swell
They threw in the towel, they burnt
the notes. The chairs were folded up, the microphone
unplugged. After the questionnairs were collected,
we mopped the linoleum floor--the sickening smears
were rubbed into ever-thinning arcs. I watched
from behind the bandstand as the Pinnacle kids
draped the Contact Mirror that hours before
had shivered under the assault of
one thousand flashlights. Another root worked
into the soil; the encirclement's nearly done.
Outside, the men smoked as their exhalations
thickened under the awning. Everywhere, the salt
smell of bodies revved up, ready to flare. Voices,
hoarse and sated, rode a damp breeze. When the stick
is crooked, someone said. Our sting will then
be felt, I sang back, each word familiar
as the sore in my mouth my tongue can't leave
alone. Cars started, headlights bit
into the gloom at this, the furthest verge,
where a cure will soon take hold.
from Me With Animal Towering
and because i'm entangled, i have not had the functionability(tm) to 'think poetry'. instead, my blog, for a short while, will be reduced to katy ramblings and the potential show-case of at least one of the previously mentioned papers.
because i am unable to produce for you an original work, and hate to leave you writhing... below is a poem by the incomprehensibly magnific Albert Mobilio...
Ground Swell
They threw in the towel, they burnt
the notes. The chairs were folded up, the microphone
unplugged. After the questionnairs were collected,
we mopped the linoleum floor--the sickening smears
were rubbed into ever-thinning arcs. I watched
from behind the bandstand as the Pinnacle kids
draped the Contact Mirror that hours before
had shivered under the assault of
one thousand flashlights. Another root worked
into the soil; the encirclement's nearly done.
Outside, the men smoked as their exhalations
thickened under the awning. Everywhere, the salt
smell of bodies revved up, ready to flare. Voices,
hoarse and sated, rode a damp breeze. When the stick
is crooked, someone said. Our sting will then
be felt, I sang back, each word familiar
as the sore in my mouth my tongue can't leave
alone. Cars started, headlights bit
into the gloom at this, the furthest verge,
where a cure will soon take hold.
from Me With Animal Towering
1 comment:
Couplets, of course!
And I'd love to read more about colonialism and the rise of English language, if you ever feel like sharing...
Good luck with all your work, dear!
Post a Comment