Three favorite blogs

One blog that i thought was really exemplary was Sarah's blog.  In her posts, she managed to show a lot of emotion while also making both her poems and her responses very factual, strong and clever.  That perfect mix of emotions and facts is something not a lot of people can come across. 

Her sonnet was quite impressive, and it seems like she actually took time and effort to write it-With the perfect iambic pentameter and perfect sonnet form, and it actually developed well and beautifully as a poem! It's written beautifully! 

Great Job Sarah!

Another blog I really admired was Julia's blog.  Everything she writes flows out with precision, making sense and sounding beautiful.  It's not choppy at all. (A big problem everybody always complains about in my pieces is the choppiness.) 

Her sonnet is also beautiful.  It leaves room for the mind to wander, and out your own interpretation, while also stating some things very clearly.  And the things she states are very connectible, without sounding cliche. The next entry down, her poetry forward, is also above standards.  It sounds beautiful, and is just so TRUE and cool. 

Great job, Julia!

The last blog I'm writing about that really impressed me was Tomin's. (No surprise there.)

Every time I read any of Tomin's posts I'm blown away. Also, I'm blown away by realizing that some guys actually CAN write.  It just seems sometimes that boys are not capable of expressing emotions or writing anything meaningful. I know that's really sexist of me, and looking at Tomin's blog reminds me that I'm totally wrong. He is not only capable of expressing things and writing with emotions, he does both things amazingly! Tomin has a voice in his writing that i wish i had in my speaking.  It's really gorgeous, and never bores me.

Bravo, Tomin!

A Sonnet on A Thunderstorm (Cliche, I know.)

A Sonnet                                                  Ana Gross 807

A giant thunderstorm, the sky expands

The trees in front’ my house the lightning sears

The hail calls me an ordinary man

The rain tells me that my fate is not clear.

My heart, it seems, is caught up in the past

The thunder says to care about the now

But I won’t let this storm dissuade me, fast

I run outside, forgetting the storm’s growl.

The rain, it stains my face and knots my hair

And into my clothes freezing water seeps

But this exhilaration does not care

Peace with myself I’ll try so hard to keep.

I know not where I am, nor where I’ll be

But I trust now that I can wait and see. 

Salt/Fresh- Foreword

FOREWORD: “Salt/Fresh,” Poems about the water

         My book, “Salt/Fresh” is a collection of poems written simply about water. It does not pertain simply to the ocean; it does not pertain only to lakes, or pools.  This book is about all types of water, from the water in your sinks to the eighty-percent chlorine in your pools.

            For, don’t we all have stories to share about water? I know I do.  I’ve always had a love-hate relationship with water, with stories backing up other sides.  I’ve been caught in terrible riptides, choked and slapped around by water.  I’ve been blinded by chlorine, and stung by jellyfish.  But I’m also in love with the ocean. I have an inexplicable connection with the water, one that sends me swimming all the time.  A connection that gets me called “mermaid,” and “dolphin.”  A connection that makes my favorite animal an octopus-

            And my connection with the ocean is one I’m pretty sure we all have. Sure, you might not feel it the way I do.  But after all, water is the thing that keeps us living.  You can only live a couple of weeks without water.  Your own body is up to 70 percent water. 

            So whether you read these poems while bored, or you read these poems while yearning for a beach vacation-these poems have a specific meaning.  If I’ve done my job, you should be able to relate to these poems in some way.  These poems should evoke memories, or at least do something.  If they don’t, either these poems suck or I’m just really weird and believe that I’m not the only one who has this weird pull towards water. You can decide which one it is.

Response to "My Papa's Waltz," by Theodore Roethke

My Papa's Waltz

The whiskey on your breath
Could make a small boy dizzy;
But I hung on like death:
Such waltzing was not easy.
We romped until the pans
Slid from the kitchen shelf;
My mother's countenance
Could not unfrown itself.
The hand that held my wrist
Was battered on one knuckle;
At every step you missed
My right ear scraped a buckle.
You beat time on my head
With a palm caked hard by dirt,
Then waltzed me off to bed
Still clinging to your shirt.
    
 In class  today, my group and I were discussing the father in the poem.  Some of us believed that Roethke, (or the character he made up,)  is being physically abused by his father.  Others chose not to believe that, and to believe that well, they were actually waltzing.
  I happen to think that to believe that Roefke is writing a happy poem about just waltzing with his father as a child, and the feeling of being naive to his father's drunkenness, is deluded.  I mean, sure, i get a BIT that this poem could just be about how  when the narrator was young, he did not understand what being drunk meant.  He had thought that his father was merely acting a little off tonight.  But who's to question? You're young, right?
  Let me tell you-that's not how that happens.  I know on an intimate level that even when you're very young, you understand that something is wrong when a member of your family is drunk.  You understand that the drawl, the bloodshot eyes, the inept care of others, is not normal.  You understand that it's wrong, even if you badly don't want it to be wrong.
And so, no, I don't think that this is a happy poem.  You can tell just by the tone of the poem, can't you? It has a sad, mellow feel.
  But do i think it's about abuse? Not necessarily. I was outraged in class today when a classmate said that, "of course the dad beat him up, he's drunk.  It's what drunk people do."   That's so not true.  There are many different ways that you respond to intoxication.
However, from the tone of the poem-It is about abuse.  The lines, "You beat time on my head," and "At every step you missed/ my right ear scraped a buckle," can be hints at the fact that he was abused.
  OR, they could just be literal.  Actual, with no meaning behind the words.  But that almost violates the laws of poetry, huh.
This poem sure is mysterious.  That's almost what i don't like about it, it reminds me of myself in too many ways.
I myself write poetry to be interpreted in many different ways, but often find that it just turns out confusing or weird.
But maybe me and Roethke have something else in common: It's hard for us to let out our  emotions plainly.  It would hurt too much.

A Rhyming Poem By Ana Gross

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This wouldn't copy-paste, but I'll show it to you in class.  :)

Poem on an important memory

I continue to talk
about the same boring stuff
You continue to shush
shush
shush
shush me
You're embarrassed to be around me?
"Forgive Me," I say
"I have nothing else to talk about."
Our hearts,
once one, are separate and throbbing.
Do you remember I exist?
Salty water stains my cheeks
Those are not tears
(It's the ocean)
This is not a love poem
(Love, Ha!)
Watch me float out into the water,
so far that the I'm way past where waves crash
You don't come to me
You turn your back
My heart is not one with any person
My heart is one with the water.

Response to "The Starry Night."

In class, we established that Anne Sexton is writing autobiographically about the woes of her life in this poem.  We established that she was a very sad woman, and this shows through her violent imagery.
Sentences like "one black haired tree slips up like a drowned woman into the sky," and "even the moon bulges in its orange irons to push children,"show the violent images in the mind of this sad, depressed woman.
Another signification that this poem is very personal and about the author's sadness is the repetition of the line "I want to die." Every stanza ends with "Oh starry starry night! This is how/ I want to die."
A different theme i find in this poem is the author's feelings towards the sky. It seems as if she's confused.
In some lines, she shows it as being harsh, violent: "The night boils with eleven stars."
But mostly, it just seems like she loves the sky, and, like Van Gogh, feels more connected to it than she does to the world: "The town does not exist," and "Oh starry, starry night! This is how i want to die."
I can connect to her (mildly) in that way. I know how it feels to feel like you feel more connected to some place than the world you live in.  For me it's the ocean, or water in general.  I can literally feel like it can just lift me away and take me.  And i wouldn't resist.  The water is where i belong.
This poem is really nice.
I LIKE it.