Catherine daly reviews antidotes for an alibi - poetry
Amy King Antidotes for an Alibi BlazeVox Books ISBN 0-9759227-5-0 2005
These poems read to me like poetry versions of flash fiction. Now, I like flash fiction very much, but I like the more fabulistic kind. Amy King is journalism the fabulistic kind of flash fiction -- I want to say, "the good kind" -- in poetry. What does this mean? Well, when lineated, the line breaks in the poems point to the jumps in the narrative. When not, the poems still take the same diminutive leaps that poems take. I guess I'm struggling with the new decree this morning. I am not as "torsion" as I appreciate it, nor am I looking for it -- I am just adage that these poems have barely leaps in them that flash fiction of a akin type does not. For example, this poem, "Evening In," is a story of broadcast a exact kind of call:
Mother phoned the premature death of priest to me. A automaton shuffled her words. I played back the story of my childhood and grieved.
Now, I would doubtless end the canto here, or title it a touch different. In any case, the dusk in begins with a letter in a machine. I would think flash fiction might use "the machine" and not jump so abruptly to "story of my childhood. "
After dinner, blocks of child teak wood fell, then floated, flawed for cork. Household acts boiled over Aunt Max's black pot rim where we succumbed to the likelihood of work. We were all enchanted when the barely kettle dripped and wrote proverbs to accomplish our pact with amazing accents. Dessert hints wafted past raised cups of homeground coffee, whiskey-tinted, under the blue haze of existing room light.
In this be with part of the poem, the evolution is chronological. After dinner, some french press auburn and dessert. I don't think "household acts" and "dessert hints" would be in flash fiction. They are too mysterious. Interestingly, the references to fables and fiction continue, in "enchanted," "writing," "proverbs," "pact, " and "accents. " The line break after "dripped" makes it doubtful whether the kettle (presumably whistling) is journalism or that "we" who are charmed are writing. But overall, a hardly story of a poem, which is recognisably a poem, not fiction.
In the next-previous prose poem, "Land into Sea," the jumps are amid sentences -- I don't see each condemn doing as much heavy lifting as in a poem, and I see larger jumps connecting the sentences. I also see larger jumps -- associative ones -- than in fabulistic flash fiction. It has the logic of some poems where the themes are established, play at once a while, and then reach a conclusion. We start with a fairly actual example, a fabulistic but also realistic fear:
On the car-hugging road, I am shocked that one day I fall asleep and the stray dog could die.
Not the road is hugging the car, not the car the road (as car commercials would have -- did you know most city car commercials are filmed in business district LA?). In any case, car, road, sleep, dog, death. Very clean and neat. Then, out of the bushes at the side of the road -- a crowd.
These instructions of truth arouse self defense, so urge the crowd, "Betray yourselves. " Every escapee deserves back away at depths the bathysphere can't reach.
Who is the fugitive? The narrator? The dog. The dog and the narrator. The raconteur is more apt to fall having a lie-down and die than fall fast asleep and kill a dog. I. e. , life is fugitive. So you see, by figuring out the differentiation among the first sentnce and the agree with sentence, you've got poetry, as flash fiction tends to spell this sort of stuff out, not point all sorts of altered directions. But, note, this is sentences which are addressing another ancestors and having assorted characters, not inevitably "torque-ing" as I absorb it.
Since lame-o short reviews by and large allusion the title, I'll say -- I like this title and the way is points to the flash fiction in poetry theme. For what is an alibi, but a very definite sort of potentially demonstrable narrative. And what is an antidote to that, but the fabulistic.
http://cadaly. blogspot. com/2004/12/because-i-have-two-reviews-due-and. html
Three Poems: The Monkey Man of Lima, Plus Two More
What Hides after the Minute?What hides after the minute? It seems, no one actually knows; How many times will we wakeup, To count the notes gone?The rose was dead when I arrived; The sword, was rusty and dull; The casement curtain was open, And there was music in the hall.Oh lovely minute, where art thou? One, is not like the other-: Whirling in an at all orbit, As the infinite world discovers.
Stone Beds [A Poem and an Advance]
Stone Beds [Pompeii's surge]Advance: after the great explosion of Pompeii's adjacent volcano, Vesuvius, some two-thousand years ago in the halcyon days of the Roman Empire, what was left of the city were commonly ashes of stone from an unleashing furnace; it is hard to dream what the citizens went by means of (none, not one character survived). I can only guess from the looks of the city today, and in its early excavations, its colonize were baked alive or asleep, like pottery.
A World That Doesnt Care
War bombs may explode demolishing man and land. Hurricanes may devastate and leave us completely bare.
How I amazement what he's doing as I sit alone at night. How I amazement who he's seeing How I awe if I'm right.
Publishing Your Poetry
If you are acute about as your work in print by dependable publishers, there are a few points you be supposed to consider. First of all and most obviously, you need to clarify if you have poetry worth publishing.
Find the Magic
FIND the MAGICFind the Magic As you announcement old repression Come out of hiding And see the starsFind the Magic As you expose the pain Let the tears flow And find beauty in your bodyFind the Magic As you scream from the beating Run from the threats And feel the cordiality of a hugFind the Magic As the diminutive girl is silenced Told she is too smart for her own good And she finds her place of honor as she speaks her mindFind the Magic As the ghosts creep into dream Haunt your daily life And you meet them at the crossroads and move onFind the Magic As you drift out of your body, avoiding the anger Observe the separation And you join the body temple once again to cheer in this exceptional wonderFind the Magic As you eavesdrop to the conflicts and Watch in horror And emerge from the water whole and charming in a rainbow of colorsFind the Magic, For you are whole once again© 2004 Susan BaconSusan Bacon is an researcher, governess and author. Commerce her all the way through her web site http://www.
How to Write Bad Poetry
"All bad poetry springs from frank feeling."--Oscar WildePeople write poetry for a embarrassment of reasons, but this commentary has a sharpened arrowhead aimed completely at the fingertips of amateur poets who wish to be in print yet litter to learn the attributes of a well-crafted poem.
Arizona Blue--Gunfighter: The Wolves Nest [Chapter One of Seven: The North]
[Episode Five]Arizona Blue-GunfighterThe Wolves Nest-in the North[Episode Five]Northern Minnesota Area-Winter of 1877Chapter One of Seven: The NorthThe area was known as Pigs Eye [St. Paul, Minnesota]; Northfield was a barely more notorious since Jessie James robbed the 1st General Bank, in September of last year, and more to the West.
Its What She Didnt Say
When I hear your voice contained by my head it makes me think of you every distinct day as I fight back tears of depression and astonishment if you're okayMy life is empty lacking you I wish time would take away the pain but the ache in my heart persists and my austere hopes seem in vainI accomplish how much I hurt you and now I know it's too late to tell you how sorry I am and count on you not to hateI don't deserve a agree with attempt to show you how much I care when you looked-for me the most I know I futile to be thereNow your trust in me is gone eternally and I will never have the ability to say I actually hope your dreams come true and happiness finds you every dayI would give more or less whatever thing in life if I could go back to that day and erase the lot I said and did to make your distress go awayWhat hurts the most is this is what you didn't say and the nonappearance of these words haunt me each and every day..
Famous Poets Quotations - Top 30 Poetry Quotations by Eminent Poets
"For this analyze poetry is a little more philosophical and more creditable of considerable interest than history."-- Aristotle"Every American poet feels that the whole conscientiousness for contemporary poetry has fallen upon his shoulders, that he is a literary landed gentry of one.
Let Your Feelings Be Your Guide
The light of all eternity shines with me now / My feelings light up my life / How I find my way is firm by them / They light my path and show me who I amWhen I was young, I felt so many effects / Then came the day when I could not stand the pain / My world was chaos then, overflowing with be distressed and grief / So I blocked up to guard that fragile Self withinYears would go by ahead of I could open again / I was affected to by state of affairs afar my check / Life dealt me blows which I later accepted as my own / To initiate me to that be sad deep surrounded by my SoulI worked hard to find my way back to the Light / To that place inside where I could feel once again / There my Heart shone forth with a brave face / And shed light on all that I had concealedNow I see how I clogged that tender-hearted Self / How I froze in the face of my fate / Troubles swirled about as a continuous font of grief / And I fell to sleep out of fearI am initiation now to the deep void contained by / Where I've stored all those troubles and pain / I fight my way back to that base once again / So I can come forth from tip to toe and be trueMy life moves accelerate as of this day / When I committed to discovery my true Self / I've engaged all behavior of demons on this journey / To arrival to that Cause deep insideI wish for life to fill me now and bring all it can / I am dry for encounter and for development / I want abundant materials from my Soul to fill me / So that I can truly enjoy all that I beholdThis work is at times arduous as I have cultured / But no more than any task requiring Love / This journey enriches me with its determination / And fills me with Life and SoulThis is my gift to myself, my own holy Soul / To have, to hold and to regard / This Heart that bled is now remedial its wounds / And can do well again from what Life bringsLet there never be a come again to where hurts cramp me up / And fill me with acidity and pain / I am awake now, yes, and can move ahead / To be aware all that Life has assignedOh glory to you, my Sweet Soul, for advent this day / I thank you from the bed of my Heart / We two can sing as one the praises of Love / That take us ahead on this journey by means of timeNever let it be said that one so deserving / Could not find his or her way Home / All whom will admire shall see this Light in turn / And know that their journey can be wonI take you with me now, my Sweet Soul / For you are here in my hands / Where I can consider you / And together, we can be so bold"Move on," you say to me. "Move on, my love / The Light requirements for us to do so" / And my Heart sings with the potential / So that "Yes" is the counter I can render with easeMy Heart is packed with Love and joy in this jiffy / Knowing that I am with you, my Soul / My feelings tell me you are there and all the time were / Till that sleep came over me at an earlier time onBy initiation to your touch do I know You / And find my own truth there in your eyes / You show me all through Love what my determination can be / I am inspired by this all ears designI am content we are here together, in this life / I am happy that our love is so beefy / For now I can reach you, my Sweet Soul Inspiring / When you call to me from deep in my HeartI have your fulfil Dear, and know this to be true / That you and I are everlastingly to be born / In this life or another, we join with each other / And We Soar .
It Was Not Me
It was not me as I am now. It was not me as I was then.
Three Poems (While in Transition/English and Spanish)
Here are three more poems by the author, Dennis Siluk, while itinerant througout Focal and South America.Three Poems While in Transition (In Spanish and English)Poem OneEnglish VersionOrange Timid MoonOŽer the Copan skyan arch of dimness weave their webswith low-lights, as the moon rises.
Hindu Poet - Kamalakanta
Kamalakanta was born in Burdwan India in the late 18th Century. From an early age he articulated an appeal in religious studies and later in life Kamalakanta customary admission into Tantric Yoga from a Tantric yogi named Kenaram Bhattacharya.
Learn About Love From Poet Rumi
In this contemporary age of technology, busy lifestyles, and obsession with consumerism have taken a lot of the romance and love out of our lives. The Internet has befall a average to bond with citizens as each is judgment it a lot harder to meet one a further in the 'real' world.
Like a cat I slumber, ecstatically unencumbered, Through eighty per cent of my prearranged span, Occasionally awoken, when difference of opinion is spoken, And I contrive a further cunning five year plan, Lately it was pensions, that were being mentioned, So I rented from the French and Robespierre, Scrap all that went before, saved by tooth and claw, And let my all equal Citizens appear, Currently it is time, for me to be in my prime, For there is a different ballot vote looming, I have to act sincere, for part of this advent year, And declare all that the whole thing is booming, Never mind austere quotas, Ive imported multitudes of voters, And told them which party let them stay, Though Ive rigged the postal vote, and defamed all and sundry of note, You never know what might come to pass on the day.So to be on the safe side, I swallow all my pride, And allow my colonize to hear my blessed voice, And roll out the charade, put on the facade, And even make consider they have a choice, Next time about the crown, will be compressed underground, House of Lords and Lord Chancellor history, With the other Chancellor gone, I alone will soldier on, Yes, then there will only ever be me, Ill hold elections for you, as all dictators do, And fill positions with those that fat my palm, As for civil unrest, there is all the time house arrest, Or cloak-and-dagger custody for those that mean me harm.
Five Mixed Poems, with Notes [now is Spanish and English]
1.Night in Jamaica [Peruvianism: 1810]It was a rainy night they say When don Simon Bolivar Slept in the arms of beautiful -Luisa Crober (of Jamaica); thus an Assassin missed his mark When he stabbed Major Amestoy Sleeping in the dark In Bolivar's hammock!.
Expressing an Emotion - The Art of Journalism Poetry
Writing poetry is an art, a way of expression, decision gist in few words. A tune of passion flowing out onto the pages, words that flow into each other and yet communicate the inner most judgment and feelings of those who read the words.
Three Poems: Specter of the Rocks; Lady from Lima & Bell Ringer of de Copan
Phantom of the Rocks[Huancayo, Peru]Night falls deepUpon the traveler!Low, over the AndesBy Huancayo-;They know a legend,Not of this earth,Where evil lurks(Over Palla-Huarcuan!..
Shaking out the Rugs [Following the Poet]
Let's be a consequence the poet to his Hell and heaven! Count his Ghosts and dilemma's?Reach out to touch his Stretched-out skies; let's follow The poet to see where he lays.Let's abide by the poet to his end; To see if he can?whatever He wants to do, do over again?.
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