Writers Island - NAPOWRIMO day#3
Apr. 3rd, 2011 12:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ezekielsdaughterhttp://writersisland.wordpress.com/2011/04/03/napowrimo-day-3/
http://www.napowrimo.net/2011/04/day-2/
So here goes: Cesar Vallejo wrote a pretty famous poem that begins with him saying that he will die in Paris, in the rain, on a Thursday (different translations from the Spanish make it hard to quote precisely in English). So go ahead and write a poem predicting your own death — at night in Omaha at the Shell Station, in an underwater Mexican grotto after a dry spell. It’s less morbid than you think!
On Tuesday night the smell of jasmine intoxicates her
She pirouettes and stumbles on rain slick streets
The cry that escapes her lips is sharp and brief
as parcels tumble into the road.
She pirouettes and stumbles on rain slick streets
The alarm of banshee brakes match her cry
as parcels tumble into the road
The howl of companions echo ‘twixt inert glass canyons.
The alarm of banshee brakes match her cry
As metal wheels tear into flesh
the howl of companions echo ‘twixt inert glass canyons
The scent of blood cloaks nearby jasmine blooms.
http://www.napowrimo.net/2011/04/day-2/
So here goes: Cesar Vallejo wrote a pretty famous poem that begins with him saying that he will die in Paris, in the rain, on a Thursday (different translations from the Spanish make it hard to quote precisely in English). So go ahead and write a poem predicting your own death — at night in Omaha at the Shell Station, in an underwater Mexican grotto after a dry spell. It’s less morbid than you think!
Streetcar Pantoum
On Tuesday night the smell of jasmine intoxicates her
She pirouettes and stumbles on rain slick streets
The cry that escapes her lips is sharp and brief
as parcels tumble into the road.
She pirouettes and stumbles on rain slick streets
The alarm of banshee brakes match her cry
as parcels tumble into the road
The howl of companions echo ‘twixt inert glass canyons.
The alarm of banshee brakes match her cry
As metal wheels tear into flesh
the howl of companions echo ‘twixt inert glass canyons
The scent of blood cloaks nearby jasmine blooms.
