Archives du mot-clé Writing 201 : Poetry

9 signs you’ve got Writing 201: Poetry hang over

Last writing 201 : Poetry session ended only days ago but you already feel like something is missing. Yo u might have entered post W201: Poetry Blues.  Here are a list of symptoms you can check to establish you own diagnostic.

1 : You dread the absence of your poetry assignment when you check your emails

no-new-messages

2 : Now you count syllables and talk in rhymes
3 : You listened to Bon Jovi and Beyonce’s entire repertoire
4 : Your shopping list is now an enumeratio
5 : All your argumentative emails are written following the the theme/form/device plan
6 : You tried to customize the course’s logo with a quill
7 : You mistakenly call the course Poetry 101
8 : You checked on the Daily Post if there is already a date for next Writing 201: Poetry session
9 : You’re reading this list

My suggested cure ? A daily dose of Haikus for starters. You’ll find plenty of poetry challenges in the events section of the Daily Post.

Without a proper stash, they won’t last

Garlic, Basil, zucchinis and prosciutto
Made my day with baked potato.

When all the supplies fill my refrigerator
It’s time to spread the delicious odor.

Picking, slicing, seasoning, cooking
Feeding and my boyfriend pleasing

Made my breakfast , my lunch, my diners
Until the day I lost all my refiners.

Spices, aromatic herbs, oils, vinegars,
All at once slipped through my fingers.

Delicious meals from Sundays past,
Without a proper stash, they won’t last.

[Writing 201 : poetry] Sandy Jane, Milly and Violet

There was a man so sour
He got to live by the hour

7:00 Coffee and a prayer
8:00 Tax fees and a checker
9:00 Toffee for the fox terrier
10:00 dishes, papers
and dog by the drawer

Than came little Sandy Jane
Anything but mundane
Dresses, shoes and flashes
She lived like a princess

Free to go, laugh and sing,
Then haul all night long
Till the very morning

Rigid man thought
His case was solid
Sued her in court,
Stood there rigid.

Clock on mind,
He arrived at seven
With coffee to grind
Papilla’s Heaven

Court door locked
Daily schedule blocked
Imagine his surprise
When he saw Sandy
Laying her big eyes
On her dear hubby

The one and only judge
With an obvious grudge
And a hammer named Milly

The neighbor he never met
Destroyed his planet,
His plans, and anxiety net;

Too bad sour man thought
I haven’t told them about
My axe named Violet.

[Writing 201] A real festival in cold states of mind.

One more day of warm sunlight I ask
Before the faces wear their winter mask
To protect them from Fall before the hour.

Everybody thinks the hour before
The fall of temperature has arrived,

I face the many fabrications
though the mist of my imagination,

A real festival in cold states of mind.

[Writing 201 : Poetry] The very reason my husband and I went to Mauritius

I discovered this poem when I was 15 and Immediately fell in love with it. I love the images, I love the rhythm I love the sensation that still lingers with you after reading this poem : your imagination travelled to some dream place that actually exists.

I had always wanted to go and see this wonderful place for myself : Mauritius. My husband made me the great pleasure to take me there for our honeymoon.

I love how Baudelaire opposes the words in these lines :

There all is order and beauty,
Luxury, peace, and pleasure.

The meanings seem opposed but each word compliments the others. The rhythm enforces the feeling of something throbbing and lingering. It’s quite impossible to forget these two line once you’ve read them.

L’invitation au voyage

Mon enfant, ma soeur,
Songe à la douceur
D’aller là-bas vivre ensemble!
Aimer à loisir,
Aimer et mourir
Au pays qui te ressemble!
Les soleils mouillés
De ces ciels brouillés
Pour mon esprit ont les charmes
Si mystérieux
De tes traîtres yeux,
Brillant à travers leurs larmes.

Là, tout n’est qu’ordre et beauté,
Luxe, calme et volupté.

Des meubles luisants,
Polis par les ans,
Décoreraient notre chambre;
Les plus rares fleurs
Mêlant leurs odeurs
Aux vagues senteurs de l’ambre,
Les riches plafonds,
Les miroirs profonds,
La splendeur orientale,
Tout y parlerait
À l’âme en secret
Sa douce langue natale.

Là, tout n’est qu’ordre et beauté,
Luxe, calme et volupté.

Vois sur ces canaux
Dormir ces vaisseaux
Dont l’humeur est vagabonde;
C’est pour assouvir
Ton moindre désir
Qu’ils viennent du bout du monde.
— Les soleils couchants
Revêtent les champs,
Les canaux, la ville entière,
D’hyacinthe et d’or;
Le monde s’endort
Dans une chaude lumière.

Là, tout n’est qu’ordre et beauté,
Luxe, calme et volupté.

Charles Baudelaire

And the best English translation I’ve found

Invitation to the Voyage

My child, my sister,
Think of the rapture
Of living together there!
Of loving at will,
Of loving till death,
In the land that is like you!
The misty sunlight
Of those cloudy skies
Has for my spirit the charms,
So mysterious,
Of your treacherous eyes,
Shining brightly through their tears.

There all is order and beauty,
Luxury, peace, and pleasure.

Gleaming furniture,
Polished by the years,
Will ornament our bedroom;
The rarest flowers
Mingling their fragrance
With the faint scent of amber,
The ornate ceilings,
The limpid mirrors,
The oriental splendor,
All would whisper there
Secretly to the soul
In its soft, native language.

There all is order and beauty,
Luxury, peace, and pleasure.

See on the canals
Those vessels sleeping.
Their mood is adventurous;
It’s to satisfy
Your slightest desire
That they come from the ends of the earth.
— The setting suns
Adorn the fields,
The canals, the whole city,
With hyacinth and gold;
The world falls asleep
In a warm glow of light.

There all is order and beauty,
Luxury, peace, and pleasure.

— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)

[Writing 201: Poetry] Through the mist of imagination

What are the odds, my friends
That I can write this story of mine
And know right away the last line

Value the protagonist defends,
Plot points, structure and twist
Have to be seen through the mist

Of my ever so busy imagination.
Yes, this is a work of fiction
And its map is called a plot.

Steps are scenes, cold or hot,
The writer needs to vary
To come up with a good story

I’ll go with imperfect

Give me the nap recipe that’s perfect
For a home full of insects
Feasting on in this damsel
In nightdress. Oh hell !
As long as I sleep, I’ll go with imperfect

Epidermal revolution

Skin voices emotions when the mouth’s shut. Akin to a megaphone, turns turmoil boils into red hot flashes. Skin chokes, needs to see the sun, too much shown provokes clashes. It questions, breeds doubts. Let’s not shut up and take our clothes off.

Kid’s best toy in fall

What more enjoyable
And hilarious
Than a puddle ?
Everytime I see one
Really big I

Plan an escape
Unbeknownst to mom.
Darling gift from nature
Delightful
Like chocolate
Everyday

Writing 201 : Poetry

Je me suis inscrite au cours de la Blogging University Writing 201 : Poetry. C’est un cours un peu spécial pour moi parce que je l’ai déjà suivi pendant quelques jour l’an dernier et que cela m’a montré que la poésie pour être amusante.

Avant cela, le souvenir douloureux de mes cours de français restaient collés dans ma tête. Nous apprenions beaucoup de règles, lisions beaucoup de poésie qui semblait avoir été écrites à l’ère préhistorique et avoir été sommés d’écrire un sonnet, juste comme ça, comme si nous l’avions eu sur le bout de la langue, sans nous donner la moindre suggestion d’une possible source d’inspiration. Oui, cet enseignant m’a tellement fait aimé la poésie que je l’ai fuit aussi vite que possible lorsqu’il a mis le nez dans mon échec à produire un poem intéressant.

J’avis l’impression que la poésie était une torture pour les sado-masos qui voulaient donner un look artistique à leur dépression. Je n’ai découvert, aimé et adoré Baudelaire que des années après, toujours convaincue que les rimes n’étaient pas mes amies.

je n’ai compris le plaisir de jouer avec les mots, les sons et les vers que l’an dernier lorsque l’éditeur responsable de Writing 201: Poetry a cité Bon Jovi et Beyonce. Il a su rendre la poésie, drôle, hautement appréciable et totalement dénuée d’attentes de maestria académique. Il a sur la rendre intéressante à mes yeux.

J’ai écrit 3 poèmes pendant le cours de l’an dernier mais j’ai du abandonner parce que mon travail sclérosait mon cerveau. J’ai écrit 10 poèmes depuis, à on propre étonnement.

Cette année, je suis bien décidée à profiter au maximum de ce cours.

Et vous, vous participez aussi ?