Due Tuesday, March 3rd - Composing & Performing Your Own Poetry

Overview:  It has been many years since I included an assignment such as this into the curriculum.  It is so easy to make English class all abut composing essays and writing blog responses. I did not always like poetry.  Point of fact, I always loved novels, plays, and short fiction the best.  My former boss, Ron Howland, taught a professional development course on poetry that made me fall in love with the genre, and I have been writing and performing ever since.  I actually keep most of my work close to my chest.  I always revisit and edit a collection I titled, i know what happens when you die.  It chronicles my life in three section, the first as a young teacher and newly married, the second as a young father, and the last in middle age thinking about next steps.  Recently, I began work on my next collection based on a concept by Stephen Merrick of The Magnetic Fields (see their website).  They put together an album called 50 Song Memoir, where each song captures a year of his life.  I loved this idea and used it as a catalyst to write new poems.  Further, I developed a definite style over the years, and decided to use this opportunity to explore forms, rhyme, and meter.  I will share my poems with you as we go through this unit (you will find four at the bottom of this post). Also, there are three poetry reading opportunities I would like to share with you, as a goal in your writing experience.

Directions:  Please peruse the following poetry reading opportunities, below.  Let me know if, at this time, you may have an interest in participating.  Next, please read some of my work below.  I share it with you because I am going to ask you to do the same and I feel it is only fair that I do so.  Also, I would like to show you my process and some of the possibilities that are out there for poets.  In this blog space, please share any thoughts and reflections you have about your relationship with poetry, the prospect of writing and reading poems in class, the possibility of performing in front of a live audience, comments on the upcoming events, and comments on the work I shared with you.

I look forward to your responses,

Mr. P.

11th Annual AHS Poetry Night

Here is the flyer written by founder Harry Durso (on the right):  The Robert Frost Foundation, has invited students and teachers from Andover High School to participate in a special 11th Anniversary Poetry Night at Café Azteca in Lawrence on Tuesday, March 10, 2020 at 7:00 PM. The event will be hosted by former AHS Teacher Harry J. Durso . The AHS Poetry Night is sponsored by LA VENTURE. Video Production is sponsored by Joe Spanos Productions. English Teacher, Eric Pellerin, will coordinate the event for Andover High School.

We are planning on videotaping this event for a later showing on Andover Public Access TV and local cable access stations in Lawrence and Methuen and on You Tube.

This is a Robert Frost Foundation event that is open to the public and is being held at a full service restaurant that is open for business during the poetry reading.

The student’s best behavior is expected.

Café Azteca is located at 180 Common Street in Lawrence and is easy to get to with off street parking nearby. Instructions and a map are also available on their web site. Although the street area outside the restaurant is supervised, you are asked not to leave valuables in your car.

Parents are welcome and encouraged to attend. Please be aware that the content of some of the poetry performed later in the evening may have adult themes.

If you plan on eating at Café Azteca, please arrive around 6:00 PM so as to be finished before the reading begins. You are welcome to make reservations by calling Café Azteca and mentioning that you will be part of the poetry reading.

Café Azteca is open for business and food and beverages are available during the event, but the participants are responsible for their own expenses.

Students are expected to provide their own transportation due to school rules. Students should call their parents when the reading is over as this will be an undetermined time. This is a Robert Frost Foundation public event.

Other poets from the Merrimack Valley will read after the Andover High School portion of the event is over.

El Taller of Lawrence

From the website:  Fueling the pulse of creativity through literacy, community gatherings, conversation and good food.  El Taller offers an Open Mic from 7:30 - 11 pm every third Thursday. I am hoping to take a group on March 19th!  Visit their website here.

MassLeap Youth Poetry Competition

Overview from MassLeap website:  From 2012 to 2018, The Louder Than A Bomb Massachusetts Youth Poetry Slam Festival succeeded in bringing young people together across geographic, racial, cultural and socio-economic lines. LTAB (a city wide poetry slam model founded in Chicago in 2001) is a friendly competition that emphasizes self-expression and community via poetry, oral story-telling, and hip-hop spoken word. Over the course of 7 years, Mass LEAP served over 1,000 teens and educators through this festival, featuring poetry slam competitions, writing & performance workshops, panels, special partnership opportunities and professional development for coach-educators. The festival went on hiatus in 2019. Mass LEAP hosted several community conversations to help re-name, re-brand and re-envision how a youth poetry festival can better serve the unique needs of our communities. Wicked Loud Festiva will work do further de-emphasize the competition by offering more generative workshops, non-competitive open mics, themed panels and opening pathways for young people to reflect on how their writing can lead to stronger communities.  Visit their website, here.

My Work

Overview:  Who's that guy?  Here are four poems in various styles from my collection.  The first was my first published poem.  The second, "white people cant dance" was my feeble attempt at a spoken word poem, written as a challenge from my SLAM Poetry club members. The last two come from the aforementioned 50 Poem Memoir I am currently working on.  I read "Dam" at an event held by The Robert Frost Foundation of Lawrence, where I was born.  "A New Hope" is an extended metaphor about Star Wars using a variation on the Sestina poetic form. I wanted the stanzas to look like little star destroyers.  Enjoy.

“the prayer of the smoker”

by eric pellerin

(from Merrimack Literary Review ed. by Ron Howland & Greg Waters, 2004)

dear god

it is i

a  subhuman

sneaking outside civilization to smoke a butt

the december wind cuts my face

as do the sharp glances of the passers by

passing judgment with their pretty pink lungs ripe

with self righteous indignation

having visited the oracle who told them

you will live forever

wanna smoke with me lord

i heard you hang with the lepers beggars and whores

wanna slum a bit further down the ladder

take one

lets breathe in together

place the camels to our thirsty lips

no filters

no lights

no ultra lights

low tar

no tar

no way

wusses

right god

quiet now

lets bring the matches to our lips

inhale

hold it now

let tobey and nicky work their magic on our iron lungs

hold it now

breathe it all in

ill breathe in the endless piles of paperwork

you breathe in the 100 years war

hold it now

ill breathe in

the computer glitches

the long rows of cubicles

the pimple on my chin

the copy due by five

the coffee four hours cold

the paper cut on my thumb

the pain in my back

the clinking of my car

the kids screaming in my ear

the wifes disapproving glare

the eyes staring back at my reflection before i go to bed wondering where it all went

hold it now

you breathe in

the gift of freewill

the murders

the rapes

the poverty

the racism

the sexism

the ageism

the thisism

the thatism

the billions who died in your name

the planet you created covered with hot top

the blame you receive for all of the above while others walk away clean

the sad sulks like me who take your list for granted and rant about my own

hold it now

together

breathe in oblivion

hold it now

exhale

drop it

stamp it out

hold the door

2004

“white people cant dance”

by eric pellerin

watch em try

            though

they cannot

            hear

music

            they

make rhythm n

            white

blues

            merely repeating

motown sounds

            slave songs

drowned out

            through olive presses

until the juice loses richness

            complexity

through years of sitting in oak barrels

            waiting for a chance to see the light of day

to breathe

            it is crushed

no longer resembling grapes

            pinot or sauvignon

it is only water

            now

there is no way

            to get drunk on manilow

or maroon 5

            they say they move like jagger

they do

            just

without the swagger

            of james brown

they prefer elvis

            impersonating

forgetting

            muddy waters

in a bar saloon

            billie holiday singing

for a fix

            ray charles

before pepsi ads

            without a remix

they cannot dance

            they cannot move

forward

            you have to know

how to look

            back

step

            to hear

they do not know how to

            listen

they press on

            sung by their own

they claim it

            as their own

forgetting the pain

            they caused

to create it

            apply it

to their petty problems

            then

give themselves a grammy

            give it to beatles

to buddy holly and his crickets

            to little taylors swiftly

who look like their daughters

            they are not ready

no i dont think they are ready

            for this jelly

they cant handle

            jazz

unless its norah jones

            blasting from ceiling speakers

at starbucks

            sipping coffee with too much cream

drown out the flavor

            with white liquids

whipped

            americans

dream

            without

brown sugar

            cain

un abel

            to open their eyes

they sip

            they can swallow

nyc

            in the key of alicia keys

they choke

            on jay z

they just like the chorus

            ignore the verse

which describe why nyc

            is the place to be

not just the upper east side

            near sex and the city

among charlottes and samanthas

            what about detroit

chicago

            need to channel gladys

aretha

            ella

or go further

            back

to ghana

            make you sweat

so

            get up

move

            sing it in rounds

move your feet

            whitepeople

into someone else shoes

            let someone else

do the stomping

            trace the steps

created from a world

            that only offered pain

by those who cannot

            hear

the music

            songs about you

songs about

            me

2013

“1973:  dam”

by eric pellerin

they set out to create a city on the mill

upon foundations of imperishable blue stone

laying granite foundation

upon a system of canals

leading to bodwell’s falls

there stood a great stone dam

to generate power

unable to hold back the current

of immigrants who would populate the

tall brick mills of abott lawrence’s vision

they were married in 1970

all blue eyeshadow and brown polyester

walking their first born son in a stroller down common street

past corpus christi parish where they religiously attend service

past tripoli’s bakery where they eat pizza

with sweet sauce and sparse mozzarella

to where the neon lights are bright

on route 28 broadway

they will stop to see the damn falls

praying it will help this colicky child stop crying

the sound of water crashing

unfailing waves falling into foam

juxtaposing a scarlet sun setting behind the crumbling bricks of

his story

her italian grandparents sorted laundry here

stripped to their waists handling steaming hot sheets

she took his name which means pilgrim in france

then off to canada to louisiana settling in lawrence

where the name signifies nothing

ultimately all their descendants will make missiles for raytheon

to point at the only people less fortunate than themselves

i could not sleep

from my stroller

i look at the falls

noticing how the water transforms

sounding like my mother’s womb

knowing my place is swimming in a sea

where i am at peace

they tried to return home by turning me around

where all i can see is smoke and brick

rows of three story houses

with three generations of families in each cell block

                                                                                                             

i cried

i made them turn me around

to look at the falls once more

at that time my voice determined where i go

silently seeing falls fall crash and settle

eventually they will need to take me home                                                                                                      

bring me back to a reality

where i will carry on traditions

i will never fit in anywhere

i will always feel poor

i will never be manly enough

i will always be too sensitive

too much

not enough

i will spend the rest of my life holding back

feelings i never know how to express                                                                                                            

who i am

until someone opens a gate

unleashing a barrage of rage

crashing down with nowhere to fall

nowhere to settle

nowhere to call home

2019

“1977: A New Hope”

by Eric Pellerin

A long time ago, in a country far, far, away,

under the sign of Libra, Apollo gifts a baby boy

to a family in Eastern Mass, who are movin’ on up to a place

called Groveland, with a white picket fence, a private yard, fulfilling their destiny,

of escaping drugs, alleyways, low performing schools, and other assorted dead ends, free

to dream beyond their parents’ prospects; this boy on a swing-set soars, feet pumping toward a sky full of hope.

He doesn’t know it yet, but his only hope

to escape his INFJ mind is born in a country far, far, away

gifted to a family in Romania who wait in line for bread, no free-

dom to learn, think, dream, own property, or practice religion.  The only girl

of this family will watch her father escape to Greece, work in a refugee camp, hoping to fulfill his destiny,

immigrating to America, praying his wife and daughter will find him in Eastern Mass, where freedom is commonplace.

The boy deals with the silence of this place

by arranging his action figures from Star Wars: A New Hope

on the coffee table, while mom watches black and white movies.  His destiny,

at this time, is to become a Jedi Knight, unlike his father, a teacher who is often away, 

working several labor jobs. There is a daughter, now. She shares the princess’s name, and plays with the boy

who often remains alone. It’s winter. Snowing. He longs to run through sprinklers, as summer always helps him feel free.

Raised by her grandmother, she was free

to be herself, to play with dolls, animals, and knew this place

would be her home forever.  But it is gone. She is gone. They told the girl

America would be like Dallas, with horses roaming on pastures made of grain, only to find her hopes

buried under concreate sidewalks, discarded trash, dilapidated buildings.  She thought they came to get away

from this?  Where is this land of opportunity?  Where are the starry nights shining above the green pasture of destiny?

His mother never thought this would be her destiny

moving an hour away from her mother, one would think she felt free

to live the life of her choosing. She does not.  Her mother never visits her. Castaway

from her family to this new town, it may as well be on the other side of the world, some place

like France, Spain, Romania.  Her husband works three jobs and she keeps house. She is lonely, yet remains hope-

ful, watching her stories and old films where people like her have big dreams, beyond being a mother to a girl and a boy.

Her mother never wanted to have this girl

her husband wanted children, and her mother helped her fulfil her destiny

by watching this child while she worked.  She had so many friends.  They were full of hope,

dancing, smoking, sharing a laugh, quietly gossiping of the goings on in Romania – so young. Well, free-

dom feels like a different word in this lonely, new country of opportunity, only to be scorned or with no place

to escape. She is no longer herself, just a wife, mother, servant, with no life. What purpose does she serve, anyway?

For now, anyway, he is just a boy and she is just a girl.

In this place, in time, they will begin to find themselves. Their ultimate destiny,

is to will freely choose one another, to fill in the missing pieces. Yes, their chance meeting will be their only hope.

2019