In honor of finishing the 28 (-ish) part poem, “Another Affair with Water,” I’ve finished with a two-page spread.
Usually, when we write in our notebooks, we don’t track our progress according to the weight of our work—ink on a page does not significantly change the weight of a notebook. But look; my little book has gained a little over an ounce!
Perhaps there is a name for the tendency to find the names of colors as appealing as the colors themselves. Some kind of synesthesia-type disorder. I don’t know. I just know that ever since I was a child I have loved the names of colors, in some cases more than the colors themselves. Pink, for instance.
In this week’s collage, colors arrive on the banks. This is, after all, the second to last collage in this particular series, which is super awesome and incredibly surprising, and I think it is time the banks of my sad specter and lonely fish king saw spring. Continue reading “colors arriving on the banks”→
Aphrodite, Baby Bootlegger, Alexandria, and Mary. Four boats. Four good boats.
It’s more than a little funny how I’ve come to feel about the little black and white man featured in this gallery. I guess he must be the fish king himself, in his cozy sweater, with his mustache and curly hair. I can’t imagine he is the personification I would have chosen, but there he is nonetheless. Continue reading “The Fourth Book of Good Boats”→
So, here we are at the final five poems in the “Another Affair with Water” series. I’ll be honest. I was not sure I’d make it through 28 connected collage poems. But I did and my little red book has gained a few ounces.
At this point, I started really thinking about how to tie up any loose ends within this series: my dear Fish King, Specter (Spectre), Light, Mistresses, Hearts, and Boats.
We have reached the end of sex stories. For now, at least.
I really enjoyed doing this collage, especially after what felt like a lot of disorder in the previous ones (in this sex series). In contrast, this one is more focused and the black and white arrangement is easy on the eye.
The second story is fairly similar to the way I behave on any plumbing aisle. All those pipes and fittings, with names so dirty, and me whispering / chanting them to myself until overcome with bawdy hysterics.
Which once was Essex, but oh, sex is so much better. Ever since I saw this beautiful headline I have been waiting to use it, saving it up, plotting and planning. And yes, it was just as fun and satisfying as I thought it would be.
But I could not limit myself to just one — it is “storys” after all (Story in this case is a surname, hence the odd pluralization).
So far I have created four stories/poems. I may or may not do more.
This past week I’ve been doing a lot of work on my poetry thesis: organizing it into three possible orders and working out themes and sections and all that. Each time I’d figure out one potential way into the manuscript, I’d take a break to finish a collage / poem.
Diversions like experimental writing can be quite useful for the writer–especially the writer who is entrenched in a project. I’d go as far as to say this is the most lovely stage of editing: the diversions. Continue reading “A Riverkeeper”→
Today an image heavy post, with a sparse poem to accompany. In this case, I worked on the poem first, and then finished the image. Sometimes, certain words just pop out. In my case, it was “take care.”
This week is all about the process, because making this page required more effort than any other page so far. I am going to actually give you a step-by-step for this, so you really can follow along if you like. The following is all one big prompt.
Today, a full page image/poem, meant to be a continuation of “bend and break in silence.”
For this poem I used a very simple process. I highlighted all instances of the word “sound” and then whited everything else out. I love using this technique because it lets you choose to leave some words only partly obscured, such as in the title image.
Not justified. And I drove to the grocery store, the store I visit weekly, past the place where the flags and lights and tributes are still set up. Today, cameras. Today, voices. Today, news. But still, no resurrection.
Too many bodies. Too much silence. Too much broken.
Here, a return to the heart, previously explored in Young Fair Hearts… which is where you may recognize the heart stencil from.
This time I used the cut out heart directly (rather than as a stencil): cutting some words out, leaving others, and inserting new ones. And red paint. And a little messiness, because I like a little messiness. Continue reading “Of Yachts and Men”→
Forewarn: Physically uncomfortable as I began this post, I finally removed the snorkel and umbrella from the chair I have been sitting on too long. Which is to say, my youngest son is coughing on the sofa where he has been sleeping for the past 14 hours, the cat is screaming out the window at the oldest two for walking outside without her, and I have probably had less than 5 hours of sleep (nightly, not total) for the past week. Being an insomniac, this last is not really news.
THE SURVIVAL OF THE FISH KING matters now more than ever. If this post is goofy, it is because I am barely here.
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