Poetry Friday: Finicky Feline

Remember the great Poetry Postcard project of early 2013? Remember how I said, "Stop at the planned 44 poems? Heck no! I'm having too much fun."

That was until I met Postcard #49. It is a paper collage from a fine art postcard series, 30 Contemporary Women Artists. And it had me stumped for months.

Detail from Postcard 49.
See full information at the bottom of this post.

My first attempt was to describe the image. Although visual imagery is my habitual "way in" to a poem, I struggled. Describing this image was not easy. The postcard features two Keith Haring-style water nymphs (nude), carrying a spotted leopard (hammock-style) through a lily pond. And the provocative title, Post Coital -- I didn't need to see that.

I let that sit for several months while I was teaching. When I went back to the poem, there was one salvageable line: "They have spent all day eating white paper petals."

The petals and shadows of the water lily are a fitting
subject for the depth and layers of  collage art.
http://www.all-creatures.org/works/waterlily.html

Round two. Persona poem. I like persona poems! I teach persona poems (see some student examples here). Maybe that will work.

I tried the poem in the voice of one of the water nymphs. This draft was called "Cut Out Woman." See, I can write provocative titles, too. But the poem? Bleh.

That's when I threw the early drafts out, gave up trying to create a meaningful poem, and took my own advice. Remember this "points of entry" exercise?

With your postcard (or other prompt: object, idea, memory), jot down:

1. Visual image
2. A word or phrase that jumps out at you
3. An image using one of your other four senses (not visual)
4. Is there something to research?
5. A personal connection

One of these will lead you down the path to the poem.

Is your path to the poem free of obstacles.
Mine certainly wasn't! Look out for those pesky water nymphs.

Did it work for Postcard 49? You bet! I researched the etymology of the word "leopard" and  was rewarded with this juicy piece of information: it contains roots for both lion and panther. In ancient times, the leopard was considered to be a hybrid cat. What did the leopard think about that?

The Leopard

Leo is my lion stride.

I’m velvet paws and kingly-eyed.

Pard is panther’s sinewed gait.

I climb up trees. I watch and wait.

A hybrid beast, the ancients said,

as if I had an eagle’s head

and mere spots on my dappled coat,

where sun and shadows swim and float,

as if my grace could be defined

or catalogued by human mind.

Patience is a hunter’s work,

and silent is the leopard’s lurk.

by Laura Shovan

Postcard Information:

30 Contemporary Women Artists

Beverly Bigwood (American, b. 1952)

Post Coital, 1988. Paper collage, 27 x 45 in.

© 1988 Beverly Bigwood

Pomegranate ● Box 808022 ● Petaluma, CA 94975

http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Namibie_Etosha_Leopard_01edit.jpg

Beverly Bigwood's site is worth checking out. There's a cool collage portrait at this link: http://www.bigwoodart.com/gallery/commissioned-portraits/3936981

Have a wonderful Poetry Friday and happy Summer Solstice to all this evening! Today's host is Carol at Carol's Corner.

Poetry Friday: In Praise of Math Poetry

Are you following college hoops? Me either. My heart belongs to football (Ravens!) and my body belongs to yoga.

Give me a wall, I'll stand upside down
and perpendicular for you any time.
www.wholeliving.com

My mind? I am exercising it by participating in March Madness Poetry, cunningly organized by the brilliant and technically prolific Ed DeCaria at Think, Kid Think.

What is March Madness Poetry? Ed explains the competition here.

I was nervous and excited to be selected as a March Madness Authlete. Then, the words were announced. I pulled the sixth seed word "perpendicular."

It's been nearly a year since my last
athletic escapade.

Thus began a mad race to find rhymes for my word: curricular, particular, extracurricular.

And near-rhymes: triangular, rectanuglar, octangular, crecpuscular, caterpillar. Caterpillar? An idea was hatching. But first, attempt #1 -- 9 PM. (Admission, I have revised this poem since.)

Posture Perfect

When Mom wants us to stand up straight

she stacks our heads with dish and plate

and makes us march us around the room

from suppertime to rise of moon.

“But I have homework!” I complain.

“Quadratic angles to explain.”

Standing perpendicular

is entirely extracurricular.

Laura Shovan

But I couldn't get the caterpillar out of my mind. Among my list of possible words for the poem are two notes: "inchworm: perpendicular caterpillar" and "inchworm in math class."  I must have been inspired by all those words ending in angular.

"Okay, inchworm," I thought. "Let's give you a try." Here is poem #2, written at about 9:30 PM.

http://school.discoveryeducation.com/clipart/clip/inchworm.html

Worm-ometry

Angles and hexagons curdle my brain when I sit in math class,

but do I complain? Not when my tutor decides to stop by

with legs at both ends and a poppy-seed eye.

He measures rectangular sides with green ease,

inching along each new problem he sees.

His middle points up, perpendicular line.

Since my tutor’s an inchworm, my grades are just fine.

Which my daughter quickly labeled "confusing." 

She wrote her own math poem. (Maybe next year, Ed will have a junior authlete division. Julia is already in training.)

90 Degrees

Perpendicular means ninety degrees.
No more, no less, if you're eager to please.
Use a straight edge and proceed with care
if you wish to make a perfectional square.
A protractor measures exactly precise
from point A to point B the degree -- it's quite nice.
Be careful to place the dot in the right place,
or your square could turn out to be a disgrace.

by Julia Shovan

I went to bed impressed with her work, a little defeated about mine, but hopeful.

And I dreamed of perpendicular. Not perpendicular things like chair backs and hand stands. No. I had dreams about the actual, mathematical word in all its clumsiness. Oy.

The next morning, I decided to revise "Worm-ometry." In the new poem, a kid tells us about his  math teacher, who is an inchworm.

(You can read the final poem, as entered in the March Madness Poetry tournament. Be sure to vote for your favorite!)

Just in case I was on the wrong track, I got out my trusty tin of postcards and wrote a FOURTH poem. I know. I am insane.

K51  This beautiful poem was written by Joseph B. Strauss,

engineer, artist, musician, poet and builder of the Golden Gate Bridge.

PUBLISHED BY “ZAN” STARKS, MILL VALLEY, CALIFORNIA●

LITHOGRAVURE BY H. S. CROCKER CO., INC.,

SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA.

Mother to Son

I will take you

            to the Redwoods

                        before you’re grown and gone.

We’ll stand beneath

            their canopy, the trunks

                        ancient and strong.

How straight they reach

            from earth to sky,

                        in perpendicular groves.

My love is like

            the Redwoods, and

once planted, never moves.

Poetry Postcard #50 (View the postcard project wrap-up here.)

My daughter came home from school. She liked both new poems. I consulted with several sources. Their advice: go with math humor over heartfelt.

I thought I was ready to submit until  my husband got involved. He is a math brain, an engineer by training, and he hated the title. "Worm-Ometry" did not make sense to him. Our mathy son concurred.

I tore my hair out. Then, I said, "Aha! I will look up the scientific name of the inchworm." Which is GEOMETER.

Yes. My geometry-teaching inchworm would some day grow up to be a Geometer Moth. How is that for serendipity?

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Geometer_moth

Our Poetry Friday host is Jone at Check it Out. The March Madness Poetry entries are so fabulous, I hope you have some time to check out the perspicacious poets at work.

Groundhog's Day

Edgar Allan Poe wishes you a happy February 2. The Raven and his crew are storming New Orleans tomorrow. 

If we do have six more weeks of winter, let's hope our ebony birds will beguile our sad fancies into smiling on Sunday night.

Do I have a postcard for the occasion? But of course.