Wednesday, February 26, 2020

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