Howdy, Campers ~ And yikes! The Progressive Poem is HERE today!
This year, 30 poets signed on. Our mission: to grow the poem, one line at a time.
A few days ago, I posted a poem about my mixed-up feelings leading up to this momentous day. ...aka, the day I add a line.
This year, our instructions were: "take a
minute to record your first impressions of how the [first] line strikes your
imagination and what you think the poem might become."
So...I read the first line, by Liz Steinglass: Nestled in her cozy bed, a seed stretched.
Like so many others on this 30-day most excellent adventure, I was very happy with this first line because I like concrete, accessible images. I wrote:
Okay, a personified seed. Let's see...by nearly-the-end of this month, our seed will be
s-t-r-e-t-c-h-e-d to the max. Will she be a vine who crawls along the tops of walls? A tree who ages with each generation?
And my, my, look how our small seed has grown! I loved Jan's line #5: invented a game. It grounded me; I couldn't wait to learn the rules of the game which Jasmine, Owl and Moon would play. And then...off we veered! As Matt wrote: "the seed has invented a game, but she’s not playing it – which is a conundrum as far as a narrative goes." And as Heidi wrote:"you poets, you really know how to turn a ship with a well-chosen word!"
I liked Donna's prethinking of possibly including a sound, a texture, a smell...or perhaps, why be serious? Donna jokingly toyed with the idea "that Jasmine slipped out of the owl's talons and fell to the ground and the owl ate her, The End..."
I was grateful for Sarah's grounding Jasmine on a trellis ("made of braided wind and song"~ such a pretty line) so that I could see her as a vine once more. I need images I can hold on to. (My favorite earrings are monarch butterflies. I also wear tiny bicycles, a little girl in a red dress, and big juicy slices of watermelon. My sister said: "I figured it out: you like to wear nouns.")
So, in order to be clear about what was going on in this poem, I printed it and added little drawings along the margin:
My notes. Star jasmine on the left, poet's jasmine on the right.
And boy, is its aroma intoxicating!
And boy, is its aroma intoxicating!
Along the way, Christie discovered that poet's jasmine is a real plant (which curls up the posts of our home--but I didn't know it was poet's jasmine! Thank you, for this, Christie!) According to one website, "give [this plant] heavy support [e.g., a trellis, etc.]." Isn't that what our warm community of poets and readers does?
Another site says, "this jasmine grows quickly and has a strong resilient root system." And that was my way in. I thought about what a young person could take away from our poem, especially in light of the fast-growing, newly awakened, resilient power of this generation.
So here's the poem thus far (I added a period after Kat's line):
Nestled in her cozy bed, a seed stretched.
Oh, what wonderful dreams she had had!
Blooming in midnight moonlight, dancing with
the pulse of a thousand stars, sweet Jasmine
invented a game.
“Moon?” she called across warm honeyed air.
“I’m sad you’re alone; come join Owl and me.
We’re feasting on stardrops, we’ll share them with you.”
“Come find me,” Moon called, hiding behind a cloud.
Secure in gentle talons’ embrace, Jasmine rose
and set. She split, twining up Owl’s toes, pale
moonbeams sliding in between, Whoosh, Jasmine goes.
Owl flew Jasmine between clouds and moon to Lee’s party!
Moon, that wily bright balloon, was NOT alone.
Jas grinned,
stretched,
reached,
wrapped
a
new,
around tender
rootlet
a trellis Sky held out to her, made of braided wind and
song.
Her green melody line twisted and clung.
Because she was twining poet’s jasmine, she
wiggled a wink back at Moon, and began her poem.
Her whispered words floated on a puff of wind,
filled with light and starsong. “Revelers, lean in –
let’s add to this merriment a game that grows
wordgifts for Lee. He’s a man who knows
selection, collection, and wisely advising
these dreamers, word-weavers, and friends.”
Jas enfolded Moon-Sky-Owl into the cup of her petals,
lifted new greens to the warming rays of spring. Sun
smeared the horizon with colour, as Jasmine stretched.
She felt powerful. She felt fresh. She bloomed and took a breath
She felt powerful. She felt fresh. She bloomed and took a breath
The Progressive Poem is a kind of poet's relay race isn't it?
So it is with a deep breath of relief, that I hand it over to dear Doraine...
who takes us to the finish line!
Thanks for creating this, Irene ~ and thank you to every member of this year's team!2018 Progressive Poetry Contributors:
posted with love by April Halprin Wayland, with help from Eli and Monkey
Monkey and Eli share a favorite poem
from Louis Untermeyer's The Golden Treasury of Poetry
