collaboration as inspiration

I've been thinking about collaboration, and how interesting the results can be.  There are various examples of artists working together, bouncing ideas off of each other, igniting inspiration.  For example, in the coffee table book "A Year of Sundays", two artistic women collaborate by linking a series of photographs taken each Sunday at their respective homes during the year.  The photos offer windows into their (aesthetic) lives and personalities, capturing the mood and essence of (if you are lucky enough to be off) Sundays.  They managed to collaborate despite the 3,000 mile distance which separated them, through the magic of the internet, of course.   Over the years, they have published several books of lovely -- if not somewhat staged -- photographs.

I also thought of Renku, "collaborative linked verse" in Japanese poetry, in which poets string together a series of poems, using some word or phrase offered by the collaborator that triggers the next poem.  Traditionally written as intellectual games in groups during "renga" gatherings, Renku are often found to contain humorous or witty undertones.  Contemporary renga gatherings have inspired modern Renku, as described by fellow blogger, Melissa Allen in her post about a published collaboration she did.  Her collaboration was so inspiring -- the result feels similar (although more intellectual) to the collaborative photographs mentioned above.

There have been countless musical collaborations throughout the years, of course.  The first one that pops into my head, oddly enough is the song, "Under Pressure" by Queen and Davie Bowie. The song was a huge hit, and has an interesting video to accompany it.  The video was most likely prepared by yet another collaborator!  Of course collaborations happen across all genres, musically and otherwise.  Surely, there have been more interesting musical collaborations recently --perhaps you'd like to tell me what they are?

In art history, the Exquisite Corpse Game comes to mind, invented by Surrealists and appropriated by Dadaists.  A piece of paper was folded and passed around and each participant added a different body part or element to the picture, which, when unfolded, resulted in the portrait of a unique creature.

Finally, I should mention a personal example.  My classmates and I were given an assignment at the end of the last term in my MFA program.  We were paired up and asked to collaborate on a creative writing assignment.  Instead of linking poems together, we took the last line of each segment of text written by the other collaborator, and began a new segment using that sentence.  The results were varied and interesting.  Many of them will be published in an upcoming journal (to be announced later).

In any case, It's probably safe to say that most art, in its final form, is the result of some form of collaboration.  All the more reason, I believe it's important to think collectively.  Imagine the potential results!  Ultimately, and at the very least, collaboration can lead to new and inventive forms in art.

rilke quote

"To sing about someone you love is one thing; but, oh,

the blood’s hidden guilty river-god is something else."

—  Rainer Maria Rilke, Duino Elegies, trans. A. Poulin, Jr.

(thanks to "a la recherche du temps perdu" for the quote:  Permalink )

31 days

I've now completed 30 days of consecutive writing. That is, I've posted 30 "small stones" during the month of January. I have to say the experience was great. I can't say my prose-poetry improved by the end; it actually seemed to get longer! It reminds me of a drawing class I once took, in which our first assignment was to do a self-portrait. My first one barely took up a small corner of the drawing paper. It was scrunched up and tight, protected and withdrawn. By the end, I'm not sure if my skill at capturing my own image had improved, but I had somehow managed to spread myself out across the entirety of the page, filling it up.

So, tomorrow marks the end of the writing a 'small stone-a-day" in January challenge. I have managed the challenge and learned that the more I practice, the more I trust myself and what I have to say. Whereas I used to worry that what I wrote would be 'not good enough' or 'wrong', now I know that the best thing to do is just get something down; get it out there on the page. You can always edit later. Such an easy concept, and we all know it, right?

From Neruda's Book of Questions

"Is it true that amber contains
The tears of sirens?

What do they call a flower
That flies from bird to bird?

Isn't it better never than late?

And why did cheese decide
to perform heroic deeds in France?"

Pablo Neruda
The Book of Questions
trans. by William O' Daly

from Rilke's Book of Hours

"I believe in all that has never yet been spoken.
I want to free what waits within me
so that what no one has dared to wish for
may for once spring clear
without my contriving.

If this is arrogant, God, forgive me,
but this is what I need to say.
May what I do flow from me like a river,
no forcing and no holding back,
the way it is with children.

Then in these swelling and ebbing currents,
these deepening tides moving out, returning,
I will sing you as no one ever has,
streaming through widening channels
into the open sea."

--Rainer Maria Rilke
Rilke's Book of Hours Love Poems to God,
trans. Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy

Courtesy of Poets.Org - Happy April!

The Waste Land
by T.S. Eliot
"Nam Sibyllam quidem Cumis ego ipse oculis meis vidi in ampulla pendere, et cum illi pueri dicerent: Σιβυλλα τι θελεις; respondebat illa: αποθανειν θελω." For Ezra Pound il miglior fabbro. I. The Burial of the Dead  April is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain. Winter kept us warm, covering Earth in forgetful snow, feeding A little life with dried tubers. Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade, And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten, And drank coffee, and talked for an hour. Bin gar kine Russin, stamm' aus Litauen, echt deutsch. And when we were children, staying at the archduke's, My cousin's, he took me out on a sled, And I was frightened. He said, Marie, Marie, hold on tight. And down we went. In the mountains, there you feel free. I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.    What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man, You cannot say, or guess, for you know only A heap of broken images, where the sun beats, And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief, And the dry stone no sound of water. Only There is shadow under this red rock, (Come in under the shadow of this red rock), And I will show you something different from either Your shadow at morning striding behind you Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you; I will show you fear in a handful of dust.                Frisch weht der Wind                Der Heimat zu,                Mein Irisch Kind,                Wo weilest du?

national poetry month and NaPoWriMo day 1

It kicks off, every April.  I'm no poet, but I enjoy following along and reading the poetry that emerges during "the cruellest month".

Below is a link from Poets.Org about National Poetry Month:

http://www.poets.org/page.php/prmID/47

and a link to NaPoWriMo.net's home page:

http://www.napowrimo.net/


Happy Poetry Month!

a haiku a day in february (day 4)

   frozen lake
 I carry my little net
-are there fish inside?



Naoke



haiku writing tips

Writing haiku is more complex than you might think!  There are lots of websites explaining how to do it.  One of the most helpful I've found recently is through the link below;  I found it through the NaHaiWriMo facebook page:

http://sites.google.com/site/graceguts/essays/haiku-checklist

You can try using the checklist above, and remember to include:

• A season or a reference to a season using evocative "season words"
• evoke a feeling or a moment in time
• present what caused the feeling rather than describing the feeling itself
• write your haiku about a mundane/every day topic
• split the haiku into two parts and include a shift using a kireji, or cutting word
• write your haiku in the present tense

a haiku a day in february (day 3)

***

at a stranger's house

eating a bowl of rice

in the early sunset

Hashimoto

***

(alternate version)

at a stranger's house

I'm fed a bowl of rice

in the early sunset

a haiku a day in february (day 2)

Feb 2, 2011

early morning fog
I look out the window of
the austere office

Van Gogh

Feb 2, 2011

Sunlit kitchen wall
She’s baking cinnamon buns
Coffee’s in the pot

a haiku a day in february

According to the Rattle Bag Blog:

It’s the first day of National Haiku Writing Month

Posted on February 1, 2011 by genemyers

Is NaNoWriMo too much for you? How about NaHaiWriMo? All you have to do is write one single haiku every day for a month. And to make it easier on you, the month will be February. Get it? Join us, and see if you can write one haiku a day in February!
http://networkedblogs.com/dKcAF

Pollock

So here's mine:

FEB 1, 2011

February chill

Mexican women laughing

Waiting for the bus

Thought for Friday

The World is Too Much With Us
by William Wordsworth
The world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers; Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon; The winds that will be howling at all hours, And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers, For this, for everything, we are out of tune; It moves us not.--Great God! I'd rather be A pagan suckled in a creed outworn; So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea; Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.

Summer

My cat, 14 years old
striped brown and beige
with greying back and ears and feet
lies stretched as flat
as a dime upon the pavement,
barely breathing in the heat.

Her little toes twitch as she
dreams, who knows what
dreams while I'm sitting here in my
uncomfortable body, hot -
wondering if it's OK to relax -
Shouldn't I be doing something?
There is progress to be made!
But why?  For what?

Do we need permission
to be idle from time to time?
I'm not answering the phone,
I've decided, and I
lean back in my chair.

My cat senses my nervous
stirring as I write this,
and tip-toes off to lie
in the cool tall grass
on the other side of the house
as a car blaring Peter Frampton
loudly drives by.

July Poetry Marathon

My friend Heather is hosting a poetry marathon this month.  Each day she posts a new theme and uses a different poetry form for poets to experiment.  I've only done a few this month, but I thought I'd post them here:

For Heather's poetry marathon, 7/16 Theme - Things We Say - Form: Double Ethere

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 Today at 3:52pm | Edit Note | Delete

My simple, Double Ethere. Each line has an additional syllable, from 1 - 10, and then you reverse it from 10 - 1 as you complete the poem. I kind of went dark and psycho a bit on this one... Trying to catch up in the marathon!


Things We Say

If
you like
we can try
discussing this
calmly and without
any drama and then
I'll make you a nice cup of
tea and we'll go over it one
more time. Would you like cream and sugar? There.
I knew you'd soon come to see things my way.
Now what was it you wanted to say?
Let me refresh your memory.
We were discussing last night -
that's right. Remember now?
Do you still love her?
I forgive you -
It's ok.
You need
me.






~cmw
7/17/10

Written about an hour ago · Comment · 

For Heather's Poetry Marathon, 7/13/10, "After the Storm" theme (Cinquain Form)

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 Today at 12:40pm | Edit Note | Delete

After the Storm

Wet leaves
red and yellow
torn by wind from the tree
as you walk by you remember
last night



~cmw
07/17/10

Written 4 hours ago · Comment · 

Baptism Sestina (for Heather Fowler's 7/12/10 poetry marathon)

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 Tuesday, July 13, 2010 at 11:01am | Edit Note | Delete

This is an experiment to keep to the sestina form - I tried doing it in Iambic pentameter as well, since I read that English sestinas are written in iambic. So, it's a first draft and an experiment, but...it was fun. I learned that it is important to chose the first 6 words you use at the end of your first 6 lines carefully since you will be repeating them throughout the poem. Mine were: house, floors, throughout, doors, walls, and pain. Ugh. Not easy to work with those words! For the rules on the form, see Heather Fowler's page or her comments on my wall.

Baptism


1 I had a dream about an empty house
2 maze-like, sterile; white walls on all floors.
3 paintings hung in perfect rows throughout;
4 spaces in between them and the doors
5 created patterns, shadows on the walls
6 reflecting light and dark and love and pain.

6 The host was elegant, betrayed no pain
1 proudly taking guests throughout the house
5 smiling as he walked, caressed the walls
2 and spoke about the art on all three floors
4 I wandered by myself between the doors
3 admiring art’s opulence throughout

3 Several guests meandering throughout
6 oblivious to any signs of pain
4 hidden in the canvas, behind doors,
1 laughed so carelessly in this man’s house -
2 their footsteps echoed loud upon wood floors
5 and fingerprints smudged black the whitest walls.

5 Not only were the paintings on the walls
3 expressionist and modernist throughout
2 Several, as I said, on all three floors -
6 they somehow soothed, an antidote to pain
1 the only colors brightening the house
4 yet ravens seemed to lurk behind the doors

4 but suddenly came bursting through the doors
5 young people, thundering, the weakest walls
1 and running, dancing, skipping through the house
3 sang songs of sacrament and joy throughout
6 so any creature crippled in his pain
2 felt light, for angels crossed these wretched floors

2 and even as the angels swept the floors
4 ravens sulked quietly ‘hind doors
6 the host, forever shackled to his pain
5 was graced with heaven scattered ‘cross the walls
3 inseparable from paint and light throughout
1 the joyous art was spread throughout the house

6, 2 so if a pain seeps in beneath the floors
1, 4 within your house, look well behind the doors
5, 3 and on your walls do keep fine art throughout

Word Smoothie - Another Draft

WORD SMOOTHIE

Those words are heavy as slow molasses
oozing from an old bottle like motor oil.
Thick as cream, with a nutty smell
like coffee when it bubbles over, percolates;
it permeates the room.

Candy sweet, soft as light, streaming,
dark and steaming, resting on an old stove.
Cooking up stories, they never had love
for Jack lived far away, in Idaho.
He’d never admit it bothers him, though.

His words were brittle and clear
The day when words mattered most --
Just like when we were children.
Even caged, he was always free -
But I knew he still loved me, and I hated myself.

He plays for keeps, my Jackie.
he'll stay tried and true ‘til the end.
serving up sacrifice for his little boy
with hearts as old and stiff as
the carved ones in our tree.

Better always, to do things the hard way,
says Ellie Mae to herself, lifting a car overhead
to save the baby.
'What a lovely mess!' She sighs.
It’s for the best, the little birds sing sweetly.
Ahh, but those darn words will always be
thick and sticky ones.

today's haiku

Such wind and rain!
Tall trees bend gracefully
There is hot coffee with cream

Driving - A poem produced during the October/November 09 workshop at Esalen, CA

Driving is like a meditation
A long snake in the grass
With blue-green eyes that gleam
Winding along a road that twists and turns
Its way for miles
She smells the view and tastes
the sound of fog rolling in
Mile after mile
Early, and then, later
The sun
As if meant for Annie alone
peeks through her windshield as she drives.

There is no time for idle thoughts now,
for Annie is on the lam,
telling no one but the wind
and eight elephant seals;
they bark and laugh, mocking
her secret journey

Once in Big Sur, she'll call him;
She'll call John and tell him
about the fresh beet and citrus salad
she ate in Cambria.
The coffee wasn't so good, but c'est la vie!
Si tu m'aime, tu viennes la prochaine fois
If you love me, you'll come next time.
If you love me, rain will come.
Like when we were in Paris:
We ate and slept well, there, didn't we?
The winding road of intuition
brings us back to life.