Sharon Olds
“The B Network”
by Haki Madhubuti
by Haki Madhubuti
brothers bop & pop and be-bop in cities locked up
and chained insane by crack and other acts
of desperation computerized in pentagon cellars producing
boppin brothers boastin of being better, best & beautiful.
if the boppin brothers are beautiful where are the sisters
who seek brotherman with a drugless head unbossed or beaten
by the bodacious West?
in a time of big wind being blown by boastful brothers,
will other brothers beat back backwardness to better & best
without braggart bosses beatin butts,
takin names and diggin graves?
beatin badness into bad may be urban but is it beautiful & serious?
or is it betrayal in an era of prepared easy death hangin on
corners trappin young brothers before they know the
difference between big death and big life?
brothers bop & pop and be-bop in cities locked up
and chained insane by crack and other acts
of desperation computerized in pentagon cellars producing
boppin brothers boastin of being better, best, beautiful
and definitely not Black.
the critical best is that
brothers better be the best if they are to avoid backwardness
brothers better be the best if they are to conquer beautiful bigness
Comprehend that bad is only bad if it’s big, Black and better
than boastful braggarts belittling our best and brightest
with bosses seeking inches when miles are better.
brothers need to bop to being Black & bright above board
the black train of beautiful wisdom that is bending this bind
toward a new & knowledgeable beginning that is
bountiful & bountiful & beautiful
While be-boppin to be
better than the test,
brotherman.
better yet write the exam.
"Like Totally Whatever, You Know?"
by Taylor Mali
by Billy Collins
Trying to protect his students' innocence
he told them the Ice Age was really just
the Chilly Age, a period of a million years
when everyone had to wear sweaters.
And the Stone Age became the Gravel Age,
named after the long driveways of the time.
The Spanish Inquisition was nothing more
than an outbreak of questions such as
"How far is it from here to Madrid?"
"What do you call the matador's hat?"
The War of the Roses took place in a garden,
and the Enola Gay dropped one tiny atom
on Japan.
The children would leave his classroom
for the playground to torment the weak
and the smart,
mussing up their hair and breaking their glasses,
while he gathered up his notes and walked home
past flower beds and white picket fences,
wondering if they would believe that soldiers
in the Boer War told long, rambling stories
designed to make the enemy nod off.
"First Hour"
by Sharon Olds
That hour, I was most myself. I had shrugged
my mother slowly off, I lay there
taking my first breaths, as if
the air of the room was blowing me
like a bubble. All I had to do
was go out along the line of my gaze and back,
feeling gravity, silk, the
pressure of the air a caress, smelling on
myself her creamy blood. The air
was softly touching my skin and mouth,
entering me and drawing forth the little
sighs I did not know as mine.
I was not afraid. I lay in the quiet
and looked, and did the wordless thought,
my mind was getting its oxygen
direct, the rich mix by mouth.
I hated no one. I gazed and gazed,
and everything was interesting, I was
free, not yet in love, I did not
belong to anyone, I had drunk
no milk yet—no one had
my heart. I was not very human. I did not
know there was anyone else. I lay
like a god, for an hour, then they came for me
and took me to my mother.
Trying to protect his students' innocence
he told them the Ice Age was really just
the Chilly Age, a period of a million years
when everyone had to wear sweaters.
And the Stone Age became the Gravel Age,
named after the long driveways of the time.
The Spanish Inquisition was nothing more
than an outbreak of questions such as
"How far is it from here to Madrid?"
"What do you call the matador's hat?"
The War of the Roses took place in a garden,
and the Enola Gay dropped one tiny atom
on Japan.
The children would leave his classroom
for the playground to torment the weak
and the smart,
mussing up their hair and breaking their glasses,
while he gathered up his notes and walked home
past flower beds and white picket fences,
wondering if they would believe that soldiers
in the Boer War told long, rambling stories
designed to make the enemy nod off.
"Sometimes Silence is the Loudest Kind of Noise"
by Basskey Ikpi
by Sharon Olds
That hour, I was most myself. I had shrugged
my mother slowly off, I lay there
taking my first breaths, as if
the air of the room was blowing me
like a bubble. All I had to do
was go out along the line of my gaze and back,
feeling gravity, silk, the
pressure of the air a caress, smelling on
myself her creamy blood. The air
was softly touching my skin and mouth,
entering me and drawing forth the little
sighs I did not know as mine.
I was not afraid. I lay in the quiet
and looked, and did the wordless thought,
my mind was getting its oxygen
direct, the rich mix by mouth.
I hated no one. I gazed and gazed,
and everything was interesting, I was
free, not yet in love, I did not
belong to anyone, I had drunk
no milk yet—no one had
my heart. I was not very human. I did not
know there was anyone else. I lay
like a god, for an hour, then they came for me
and took me to my mother.
"Sign Language"
by Rives
"The Quest"
by Sharon Olds
The day my girl is lost for an hour,
the day I think she is gone forever and then I find her,
I sit with her a while and then I
go to the corner store for orange juice for her
lips, tongue, palate, throat,
stomach, blood, every gold cell of her body.
I joke around with the guy behind the counter, I
walk out into the winter air and
weep. I know he would never hurt her,
would never take her body in his hands to
crack it or crush it, would keep her safe and
bring her home to me. Yet there are
those who would. I pass the huge
cockeyed buildings, massive as prisons,
charged, loaded, cocked with people,
some who would love to take my girl, to un-
do her, fine strand by fine
strand. These are buildings full of rope,
ironing boards, sash, wire,
iron cords wove in black-and-blue spirals like
umbilici, apartments supplied with
razor blades and lye. This is my
quest, to know where it is, the evil in the
human heart. As I walk home I
look in face after face for it, I
see the dark beauty, the rage, the
grown-up children of the city she walks as a
child, a raw target. I cannot
see a soul who would do it. I clutch the
jar of juice like a cold heart,
remembering the time my parents tied me to a chair and
would not feed me and I looked up
into their beautiful faces, my stomach a
bright mace, my wrists like birds the
shrike has hung up by the throat from barbed wire, I
gazed as deep as I could into their eyes
and all I saw was goodness, I could not get past it.
I rush home with the blood of oranges
pressed to my breast, I cannot get it to her fast enough.
by Sharon Olds
The day my girl is lost for an hour,
the day I think she is gone forever and then I find her,
I sit with her a while and then I
go to the corner store for orange juice for her
lips, tongue, palate, throat,
stomach, blood, every gold cell of her body.
I joke around with the guy behind the counter, I
walk out into the winter air and
weep. I know he would never hurt her,
would never take her body in his hands to
crack it or crush it, would keep her safe and
bring her home to me. Yet there are
those who would. I pass the huge
cockeyed buildings, massive as prisons,
charged, loaded, cocked with people,
some who would love to take my girl, to un-
do her, fine strand by fine
strand. These are buildings full of rope,
ironing boards, sash, wire,
iron cords wove in black-and-blue spirals like
umbilici, apartments supplied with
razor blades and lye. This is my
quest, to know where it is, the evil in the
human heart. As I walk home I
look in face after face for it, I
see the dark beauty, the rage, the
grown-up children of the city she walks as a
child, a raw target. I cannot
see a soul who would do it. I clutch the
jar of juice like a cold heart,
remembering the time my parents tied me to a chair and
would not feed me and I looked up
into their beautiful faces, my stomach a
bright mace, my wrists like birds the
shrike has hung up by the throat from barbed wire, I
gazed as deep as I could into their eyes
and all I saw was goodness, I could not get past it.
I rush home with the blood of oranges
pressed to my breast, I cannot get it to her fast enough.
"I'm Losing You"
by Rat Sack
"The Two-headed Calf"
by Laura Gilpin
Tomorrow when the farm boys find this
freak of nature, they will wrap his body
in newspaper and carry him to the museum.
But tonight he is alive and in the north
field with his mother. It is a perfect
summer evening: the moon rising over
the orchard, the wind in the grass. And
as he stares into the sky, there are
twice as many stars as usual.
“there are two kinds of people in the world”
by eric pellerin
by Laura Gilpin
Tomorrow when the farm boys find this
freak of nature, they will wrap his body
in newspaper and carry him to the museum.
But tonight he is alive and in the north
field with his mother. It is a perfect
summer evening: the moon rising over
the orchard, the wind in the grass. And
as he stares into the sky, there are
twice as many stars as usual.
“there are two kinds of people in the world”
by eric pellerin
book people
and
real people
wake up
start a day
they make decisions
about what to wear
from a walk in closet
full of clothes
colors and fabrics
from well known designers
tommy and ralph and coco
everything contours
accentuates
they eat healthy
organic foods
specially prepared
housed in labeled containers
from container store
everything tastes fresh
so delicious
they never crave fried chicken
they put on pretty athletic gear
sneakers with special shock absorbers
color coordinated
with clean beads of sweat
they run 10ks around the lake
with all their friends
see you next week
they shower surrounded by grecian tile
put on the clothes they laid out for themselves
from that nice walk in closet full of clothes
set out the night before
they go to work
in careers they love
having studied at ivy league universities
get promoted
get bonuses
go on trips in business class
in freshly pressed clothes
just a carry on
they fall in love
with their co workers
or someone they met at a function
or through a mutual friend
or a high school sweetheart
or they have affairs
or get married
or both
they have children
and love them
and care for them
and hire someone to care for them
and love them
and play with them
and love them on the weekends
and the kids love them
and they grow up
and repeat the list above
without resentment
they buy things
oh how they buy things
houses and mansions and fill
oh how they fill them up
dont forget the walk in closet
furniture and paintings and vases
breakfast nook
gotta have a nook
pools motor cycles boats cars
dont forget the cars
hybrids and suvs and porsches
something fun
to drive to the beautiful two story weekend house
by the sea
they have a future
they know it
they will get old
look forever young
they will be visited by those loving children
without resentment
when they die
they die in their sleep
surrounded by
real people
who love them
no pain
no regrets
they go to heaven
they sit next to god
she smiles
and says
welcome home
welcome home
* * *
book people
read literature
like a set of stereo instructions
for a stereo we dont own
turning the pages over and over and over
desperately trying to figure out
how to make it all work out
like real people do
Billy Collins
The poem I’m choosing to talk about is “there are two kinds of people in the world” by Eric Pellerin. I enjoyed reading it more than the others and the ending gave me a little chuckle. I like the detail the poem goes into when describing the life of the “real people”; also, the idea that they’re called “real people” is quite interesting. The format of the first part of the poem also interesting, going in and out every line. The fact that the whole poem is basically making fun of both types of people shows the neutral side the writer has taken.
ReplyDeleteJohn Marshall
ReplyDeleteThe one poem that stuck out to me with its ironic tendencies was “History Tendencies” by Billy Collins. I feel the reason this one spoke to me in particular was because it relates so much to the situation that I’m in and makes me be thankful for the teachers that I’ve had.
Teachers have so much power in school systems across the country to influence the future of a child’s thinking. Billy Collins’ ironic poem to this misuse of power is comical but also shows a sense of sorrow within him to the things that teachers refrain from telling their students, leaving them ignorant in the real world. He begins his piece by telling how this teacher mistaught innocent events with the Ice age actually being a time where people wore sweaters for a million years. It quickly shifts from innocence to a feeling of melancholy because of the events portrayed. The poem begins to portray events like the dropping of the bomb on Hiroshima as a ‘singular cell’. Though these portrayals of these events are very exaggerated, it shows the power of the teacher in the school system. They have the most power in the world similar, similar to parents, to shape and shift the minds of young kids into thinking certain ways.
The poem I enjoyed the most was the "First Hour" by Sharon Olds. I felt a lot of emotions from this poem. At first I didn't exactly know what the poem was talking about but as I read more and knew that it was about a babies first hour out of the mother womb. This is something special to me because I work with babies and see how they develop more and more everyday. A baby's first hour being in this world is something we don’t think about much. I really like how the author made this from the babies point of view. I liked this so much because it's impossible for us to remember that moment in our lives ourselfs. So I really like this because she put a voice and imagination behind something we never thought about having one. The imagery in this poem is also so amazing. Every sentence and word instantly put an image into my head. And every moment of a baby's first hour into the world is described so perfectly through words by the author. The sentence “The air was softly touching my skin and mouth, entering me and drawing forth the little sighs I did not know as mine” is one example. I instantly could see an image of a small infant laying on a table with a must of air caressing the babies soft, brand new skin.
ReplyDelete- Justina Reppucci
The Two headed Calf immediately grabbed my attention starting with the title. Right away I knew I was in for a surprise and was anticipating something new. I was expecting every line to tell something different and more engaging that did indeed happen. The very random but sort of humorous plot makes the poem entertaining for me and keeps me reading, even though the poem is very short. For a poem very small in length and not the greatest in quality I found it very appealing. “Tomorrow when the farm boys find this freak of nature, they will wrap his body in newspaper and carry him to the museum,” was my favorite line because I felt that it was the perfect way to start a poem with this style. She adds that the boys will find this creature, wrap it up in newspaper, and bring him to a museum because it is like nothing else you have ever seen and it is valuable enough to be placed into a place like a museum. The poem makes me question whether the animal is fiction or not. Maybe for the sake of the poem it is better to think that this freak of nature is real after all, to improve imagination and to spice things up a bit. The author Laura Giplin also does a great job of keeping the poem is abnormal as the paranormal animal that she has created. “And as he stares into the sky, there are twice as many stars as usual.” The animal is mystical as well as the night. The Two Headed Calf is a pretty small piece of her work considering that she usually writes books of poetry. I’m glad that she tried to change things up. She tried something different and made it interesting for the audience. This poem would probably be for a younger group but could also be enjoyed by adults.
ReplyDeleteOne of the poems I thought was quite interesting to me was "The Two Headed Calf". It was interesting to me because a two headed calf isn't something you hear about everyday. I thought it was a good topic to write a poem about considering it's weird and out there nature. One of the lines from this piece I thought was really good was when the writer says " And as he stares into the sky, there are twice as many stars as usual." I thought this was a good line because it relates back to the title and main focus of the poem, the calf with two heads. While not outright or directly saying something about the calf having two heads, it gives a small piece of information to allow the reader to know the calf has two heads. This line also lets the reader put themselves in the position of the calf creating more depth within the poem.
ReplyDeleteThe poem that really drew my attention while reading was “The B Network”. I noticed a repetition with words beginning in the letter B. I liked the choice of words used throughout the poem. The words bop and bebop are interesting words to use and I imagine them as different sounds in my head. It tells the story in a really intriguing way. I had to reread the poem a couple times to really understand what was being said. I like that about a poem because it really catches my attention and makes me think. Overall this poem really grabbed me over some of the other poems.
ReplyDeleteNatalie Brennen
I really enjoyed reading your piece, Mr. P. My favorite part were the details about the "real people" and how it went so into depth, starting from just the walk in closet. From cars to careers, co-workers and high school sweethearts, you also added some context that was pretty funny, making fun of the "book people" when you said "breakfast nook, gotta have a nook" I feel like im also grasping a little lesson prom your piece. Basically saying go out and pursue your dream and whatever you like to do and dont just read it on a page in front of you
ReplyDeleteI felt the piece from the point of view of the history teacher was very unique and powerful. As students we are told time and time again that we learn history so that it does not repeat itself, however the author here showed us what happens when we do not learn from our mistakes his students became bullies on the playground messing with the smart and weak. The point of this poem was to learn from your failures and if you don not you are bond to repeat your same mistakes over and over again. I also found it interesting the stories he created the ice age was a time where people all wore sweaters, in a way this is a metaphor for making excuses the more you do the less you learn.
ReplyDelete-Sean Healey