Monday, January 4, 2016

January 4


7 comments:

  1. This comment has been removed by the author.

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  2. TITLE EXPLORATION
    Nurse Aid: Buried Treasure
    Nurse Aid: Unheralded Service
    Nurse Aid: A Touch of Human
    Nurse Aid: Care for Little Things

    AND A REVISION OF THIS POEM, CITED ON JANUARY 2

    150 pounds slip, again
    Down the hospital bed
    As risky tube feed flows
    Fragile skin in feces
    No back safety help is near
    For re-positioning.

    Get vital numbers quick
    So many bodies, need care
    Toilet, Bathe, and dress
    Keep steady to the plan
    As Xrays, labs, and docs
    Cut in to patient
    Chagrin.

    Oral care, then mealtime tray
    Puree heated right
    For temple sunken patient
    Who ate the whole meal
    Because you spoon-fed slow
    You met his gaze, and
    He smiled.

    Dash off to ringing bells
    Are you the few who see?
    The sweaty brow, the eyeglass spot
    The television loud.
    You're at the totem’s low
    But you usher Normal
    Here.

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    Replies
    1. I like the last title the most. It really gets to the heart of what you're talking about.

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  3. Hi Everyone! So I tried working through the title and throat clearing exercises on this one, I'm not sure if they get any clearer, but it was interesting what removing the beginning and the framing of the poem did. The title can do some crazy things.

    The photo this poem was based on was a satellite dish reflected in a bedroom window.

    Original version:

    27.

    This is the new blood, the new tap-root, which crosses
    the horizon, brings images from the celestial body to
    the branches, to the leaves
    with their chlorophyll memories, none of them individual—they are more
    like the refractions of this seemingly unmoved
    being seen here in the window, a multiplicity
    held in the memory of light, no perfect form but in forms.


    Take 2

    No perfect form but in forms

    of this new tap-root, which crosses
    the horizon through our disconnected
    satellite dishes, brings only white noise from the celestial body to
    our upside down branches, to the leaves
    with our buried chlorophyll memories,
    none of us individual—we are
    refractions of this seemingly unmoved
    disc seen here in our bedroom window, we throng
    held in the memory of our hands that dig,
    that turn themselves
    towards the sunlight.

    Take 3:

    this new tap-root, which crosses

    the horizon through our disconnected
    satellite dishes, brings only white noise from the celestial body to
    our upside down branches, to the leaves
    with our buried chlorophyll memories,
    indistinguishable from one another—we fractal
    of this seemingly unmoved
    being we throng
    dig with frantic hands
    that tune themselves
    to the memory of sunlight.

    Take 4: 

    this being, seemingly unmoved,

    pushes aside our horizon, glints on our disconnected
    satellite dishes, which bring only white noise

    from the corpse of the sky to
    our upside down branches, to we leaves

    with our buried chlorophyll memories,
    indistinguishable from one

    another—the fractal of the upside down tree
    we

    dig with these green, frantic hands,
    that tune themselves

    to our memory of a disc of light we once saw reflected
    on our bedroom window, of which

    we were also
    once a part.

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    Replies
    1. Wow, you're really working with that. Those are some great changes man!

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  4. Yes Poet Cooper! Each revision reached across more layers for me and take 4 frames the images succinctly with beautiful language. Interesting that the title changes helped prompt you to these greater depths. Lovely.

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