Annie-Belle

Stuff

noreply@blogger.com (Annie) — Tue, 23 Jun 2009 06:47:00 +0000

Well...you don't have to know me to know I'm a bit of a Disney Freak XD

So, I wanted to share my Disneyland flickr

http://www.flickr.com/photos/mordooraq/

also this is sort of random but... I just love this song from 1967's Doctor Dolittle
sung by Anthony Newley

if you have never seen this movie I recommend that you do :D

Short Update

noreply@blogger.com (Annie) — Sun, 14 Jun 2009 06:28:00 +0000

I started work yesterday. Re-learning everything, getting back into the Cashier Groove.

Nothing else exciting has happened...but that is life.

Sentence

noreply@blogger.com (Annie) — Wed, 10 Jun 2009 15:51:00 +0000

I thought of this sentence a couple of nights ago, and I wrote it down...but with all the papers I have and finals I have a feeling I am going to lose it so just as a back up I am writing it down here.

Her laugh sounded like sharp nails smothered in honey.

Ok. Thats it.

Last Poem for WR 441

noreply@blogger.com (Annie) — Sat, 06 Jun 2009 03:52:00 +0000

Yes I have pictures and video just for the heck of it. It amuses me :D

So, yesterday right after class I got an idea for a poem. This maddened me because I wish I could have included it in my book. Though I already wrote my last thoughts for WR 441 I did not write my last poem. So, here it is now, sort of a farewell present to anybody in my class who is actually reading this.

YO HO

If Pirates
were a lollipop flavor
would you guess it
to be mango?
I believe
that mango
gets rid of scurvy.

But being a Pirate
Isn't about being
a fruity spherical candy

it's about sword fights
hidden treasure
and Orlando Bloom.

But sometimes
It's about the Muppets
Singing "Cabin Fever"

But mostly it's about
Orlando Bloom.

and talking skulls
that tell you
that "Dead Men Tell No Tales"
Which really doesn't make sense.
Because it's a skull...
that can talk.

I guess now everything from here on out is totally not going to be for 441...weird.

The Ending and then the Begining...or maybe the end.

noreply@blogger.com (Annie) — Thu, 04 Jun 2009 03:02:00 +0000

So I inadvertently asked my mother what she thought poetry was today. I said I thought it was about ego, and she told me that she thought it basically boiled down to connection, and hoping what you write connects with someone else.

I don't think that I agree, though I wasn't sure (while laying on the couch discussing this) how to argue against it. I guess on some level poetry is about connection. But then I think about all the poetry we have read or have listened to where there is no connection. It isn't about pretty lakes/forests/birds/deer/mountains/[insert more nature words and phrases here], lost loves, or finding yourself...all the things a regular Joe person usually associates with connecting to poetry....but it's the poet who writes (and maybe even says)about nothing, that it is all about sounds...it's about sounds.

Are sounds connection? Do I connect with sounds? When sounds form words, and then those words form sentences, and those sentences are coherent (and maybe even commanding) then I guess I connect, but what about when you see:

Uhgha mugga mooga moof-frickle bood facky miffle morf. Naffy gordon copple plaf.

Do you connect with that readers? Do you have some emotional connection to mooga moof?Ok, yes I admit it, I am being facetious writing that.

Then it got me thinking...anybody here watch Home Improvement? If you do, or did, or you are familiar with Tim Allen you will probably get what I am about to say and have probably imitated it:

Tim the Tool Man Taylor, in every episode makes grunting noises. They differ in pitch and tone depending on the situation but it's still grunting...yet the audience gets exactly what that grunt means in that moment. It can be an excited grunt, a confused grunt, an angry grunt, or a grunt of despair.The point is they are mostly just noises...not even words but they inflict an emotion.

So what would happen if those grunts were on a page rather then on t.v? Would they convey the same emotional connection? I am guessing that if one was to read it correctly it would- but on paper how would one convey that connection?

Oh oh oh oh oh
wrowro oh ah ah ah ah
AH AH AH AH!

Is that anger? Sadness? Tenderness? Or complete bullshit? I really don't know, yet if Tim Allen were here to read it out loud maybe he could convey some deep emotional feelings that will make me weep in joy.

So maybe just maybe when read the right way even Uhgha mugga mooga moof-frickle bood facky miffle morf. Naffy gordon copple plaf. Would have someone balling like a little baby.

So where was I? Oh yeah connection. Maybe it really is all about connection maybe the poet doesn't even care what connection it is as long as one connects.

So maybe it really is about ego, we are trying to make someone feel something and if we succeed it is because we are the masters of some higher power.

It's like bully's encouraging the little kid to cry and then getting some sick joy out of watching that kid ball their eyes out...they are so porud of themselves because they got the kid to cry.

So what am I saying? Is poetry all about being egotistical bullies? Maybe.

I think there is so much to poetry, so much I want to write about and share and ask but there is always not enough time to soak it all in. Life is like that, you can never answer the question in exactly the way you were initially thinking.

I could go on and on, trying to convey every thought I have about poetry...but then I wouldn't be giving anybody else a turn. So there, I have written a small snippet of how my brain works, and what I think poetry, and writing poetry is all about.

and hopefully, I have made a connection...

Bad Country Song

noreply@blogger.com (Annie) — Sun, 24 May 2009 19:28:00 +0000

We all have problems
some more then others,
and we all want to be
loved by our brothers
reach out your hands to strangers,
for we all wander the same road
our lives are broken circles,
with forgotten oaths.

Some people talk of sunshine,
some people talk of snow
some people talk of rain
but we don’t know.

We all say we're different
yet we all act the same
we are all hypocrites,
but no ones to blame.

Some people talk to somebody
but that is rare,
mostly we talk to nobody
because nobody cares.

We want to be noticed,
we don’t care how
all we want is,
to be noticed now.

And,

We all have problems
some more then others,
and we all want to be
loved by our brothers
reach out your hands to strangers,
for we all wander the same road
our lives are broken circles,
with forgotten oaths.

Wayne Allwine February 7, 1947 – May 18, 2009

noreply@blogger.com (Annie) — Thu, 21 May 2009 05:37:00 +0000

No more, no more
the voice is gone
my childhood
my childhood is gone.

Oh Monday, Monday
it was thirty two
thirty two and sixty two
not alive in 77 but
my childhood is gone.

life and love he preached
life and love and joy

I wrapped him in my arms
I wrapped him in my world
so tightly did I hold him
so tightly did I know him

No more, no more
the voice is gone
my childhood
my childhood is gone

Twenty three
and my childhood is gone.

Thanks Guys

noreply@blogger.com (Annie) — Thu, 14 May 2009 19:06:00 +0000

Don't Teach Your Class This

Yes a crystal never tries to make a paragraph,
but does a tree ever try to paint a person?
Mixing fire and ice and expecting
that tree.
I'll keep a picture of my enemies on a chain.
I'll try to force myself
to like them better.
Throw my net into the sand, though I'll only get sand
and maybe a pissed off crab.

3 Poems

noreply@blogger.com (Annie) — Wed, 13 May 2009 21:57:00 +0000

a few more poems :D

Question

I have a comfort zone and I am not afraid to use it.
Am I a feminist? A Humanist? A Whateverist?
Take your pick, I don't care.

It Tick's Me Off

Why is it, that people ask me
if I am ok...am I ok, am I ok...
No, I was NOT shot down by a smooth criminal
I'm not blaming, I'm just stating facts

Hey, but, you know...
don't worry about it.
It was bound to happen.

Yellow Motorcycle [Lucky You]

There was a yellow motorcycle.
I saw it on the road.
It turned in front of my car
while I was waiting for the bus.
The rider was wearing khaki shorts; and I thought
what an idiot.
It reminded me of the first rain of the year...the green truck.
Except, then, when the truck spun in the road...
and I thought we were going to die
as we slammed into the divider

we weren't wearing khaki shorts.

noreply@blogger.com (Annie) — Sat, 09 May 2009 02:39:00 +0000

drawing by me

I am going to respond only to the poets I felt strongly about.

BEAT/SF RENAISSANCE

Gregory Corso:

I read The Mad Yak and got really excited for more of Gregory Corso's poetry. I really thought it would be in the Mad Yak style. Simple, with a neat/unique point of view kinda I dunno earthy but still sorta mystical. I don't know how our anthology portrays Gregory Corso's work because after The Mad Yak I sort of got disappointed. His work just didn't captivate me after Yak. It almost seemed like it was a different poet...and that saddens me because I thought I might actually like Gregory Corso. But like I said we are reading from an Anthology so it might be manipulating my thoughts about him as a poet.

NEW YORK SCHOOL

Frank O'Hara:

He really started to get into my head. I really don't know if he has left yet. I like how he is able to have a poem that sounds like he is telling an everday story but how the story can be somewhat distorted and the reader dosn't care. Maybe it's just me but I love the clever references to Movie Stars (like they are his own little nods/odes to the past). But it's not just the Movie Star references...it's also (like I said) how he can tell a story and I feel like I am listening to a story and I feel satifyed after reading it. My favorite poem of his in our Anthology is Why I Am Not a Painter it has this awesome franticness and playfulness to it.

My favorite section of the poem is when he talks about orange:

But me? One day I am thinking of
a color: orange. I write a line
about orange. Pretty soon it is a
whole page of words, not lines.
Then another page. There should be
so much more, not of orange, of
words, how terrible orange is
and life. Days go by. It is even in
prose, I am a real poet. My poem
is finished and I haven't mentioned
orange yet. It's tweleve poems, I call
it ORANGES.

Kenneth Koch:

Variations on a Theme by William Carlos Williams it's funny. It's absoulty funny. It's a great parody but you can totally see the respect for William Carlos Williams. 'I don't think I could do that very well... I just mock.

The snippets that Kenneth Koch comes up with are hilarious. Notes you would never see ever written yet you kinda wish they had been written just because it would be so absurd to have them be written.

I think my favorite has to be #4 it's silly yet kinda creepy if you really think about it...

alright so next post will be the MISC.

Posting is a Result of a Chocolate Meltdown and Maple Blondie

noreply@blogger.com (Annie) — Fri, 08 May 2009 08:12:00 +0000

A title idea for my chapbook

Slightly Divertivo

and a couple of poems. (I think I'll expand on two of them. Maybe.)

Facts

There are people who get hit in the head
with an out of control flying monkey bar
and there are people who get catapulted into a barbed wired fence.

FEAR

It vibrates when I step onto the crosswalk
dose(does?) the ground feel like jello?
Sometimes.

OBSERVATION

She got on the bus, and there were four of them.
They were sitting on the left-three were in the front
and one was in the back.
When she went to class
two walked by her as she was climbing the stairs.
When she sat down, one was in front of her.
If he turned around he would have seen the smile.

BLACK MOUNTAIN

noreply@blogger.com (Annie) — Sun, 03 May 2009 23:55:00 +0000

photo by me

BLACK MOUNTAIN

I found the Black Mountain poets impossible to read... the formatting of the poems just kept throwing me off, and I know I sometimes have problems with my own formatting but these were just hard to read. I found myself reading in the same mechanical voice every single author I read.

The hardest to understand for me was Paul Blackburn. Each poem was so...all over the place I had a hard time distinguishing one poem from the next. If the dates and the names of the poems weren't in our anthology I would probably have a really really really big headache right now. But because there are dates and names I only have a slight headache.

I couldn't concentrate and I couldn't enjoy the poetry because my eyes hurt from trying to follow the formatting. This doesn't go for just Paul Blackburn I had a hard time with each of the BLACK MOUNTAIN poets. Robert Creeley seems to be the only poet in the BLACK MOUNTAIN who isn't all over the pages. His formatting is easier on me and I like his use of enjambments he seems to know when to cut off to the next line...I don't know if I like his poetry per say but I do think he is an excellent enjambment-ator.

so yes...in conclusion BLACK MOUNTAIN hurt my eyes.

Another Poem

noreply@blogger.com (Annie) — Sun, 03 May 2009 19:22:00 +0000

BUMPY ROAD TO LOVE

I wish I could sing like Ella Fitzgerald
and dance like Cyd Cherise.
Detrick is close to Dietrich
and the middle school teacher
I once knew
told me I should change my name.

When I think of rain
I think of Gene.
And that helps me get through the day.

Edit

noreply@blogger.com (Annie) — Sun, 03 May 2009 18:56:00 +0000

I promise I'll have a post soon of what I thought of the readings *shields self from flying tomatoes*

But here is something for the time being...

I realized that the long poem I had written was definitely two poems...not one :)

so here is a much better version of the poem. There is more to come!

FACE CHARACTER

I hate writing.
Everything I write has to be smart.
I'm caving under the pressure.
and my Dad wants to know what I am going to do with my life.
He tells me I should start driving again.
I am not driving with him.
He mumbles everything.
I'm like a deer in headlights
my hands grasping the wheel
I'll kill everyone on the road.
What would happen if I told him
all I wanted to do was be a face character
in Disneyland?
I'm the right height for Snow White.
I got the round face
and the squeaky voice
I think little kids like me.

Internet and God

noreply@blogger.com (Annie) — Sun, 26 Apr 2009 00:56:00 +0000

Database connection error!
How the hell am I supposed to goof off
when I have no good internet.
This is some sick
twisted joke.
I need my homepage
because I am
an addict.
I know whose fault this is
and I don't think it is funny.

GOD I KNOW YOUR DOING THIS JUST TO SCREW WITH ME!

I Think Frank Took Over My Brain.

noreply@blogger.com (Annie) — Fri, 24 Apr 2009 23:10:00 +0000

God I hate writing.
Everything I write has to be smart.
I'm caving under the pressure.
and my Dad wants to know what I am going to do with my life.
He tells me I should start driving again.
But there is no one to help me and god damn it I am not driving with him ever again!
He mumbles everything.
I'm like a deer in headlights my hands grasping the wheel I'll kill everyone on the road.
What would happen if I told him all I wanted to do was be a face character
in Disneyland?
I'm the right height for Snow White.
I got the round face
and the squeaky voice
and big eyes.
Little kids like me.
I would rather hug a zillion boys and girls
and call them "little Prince" and "little Princess"
then be stuck here writing a damn essay about Frankenstein.
Which by the way I haven't started yet.
I'm thinking of getting another iced tea.
It would be my second today and that would make it four servings.
Sometimes I wonder if I am hiding behind my weight.
As I write this I realize I am only stalling for time.
I have to write that damn essay.
God I hate writing.

I Celebrate It!

noreply@blogger.com (Annie) — Thu, 23 Apr 2009 18:51:00 +0000

photo by me

I have a comfort zone
and I am not afraid to use it.
Think I am some sort of freak?
Well ~~fuck~~ frick that!
Just deal with it.
I celebrate it.
I own it.

Whatcha going to do?
Try to change me?
You already tried, don't you remember?
That was a delicious disaster.
So chock full of absolutely wonderful failure.
I felt joy from the demise.
I jumped around the fire pit
watching the deep complete burning
of the corrupted corruption.

I praise my comfort zone
I pet it, and it purrs.
It is mine and not yours.

Poem Edit 3

noreply@blogger.com (Annie) — Wed, 22 Apr 2009 01:08:00 +0000

poem I read in class:

Secretary.
Waitress.
Girl in blue,orange,brown.
Walks by Stage Right.
Runs Stage Left.
never stops.
Wings
warts
gray hair
burns
blood
mask.
She points and laughs and cries.
Cue the music.
It's a simple dance.

edited poem:

Secretary.
Waitress.
Girl in blue,orange,brown.
Walks by Stage Right.
Runs Stage Left.
never stops.
Wings
gray hair
masks.
She points and laughs and cries.
Cue the music.
It's a simple dance.

Poem Edit 2

noreply@blogger.com (Annie) — Wed, 22 Apr 2009 00:49:00 +0000

poem I read in class:

Here comes the beat
count it ...one two three
silence.
Gasp for air
and just continue
don't worry
keep going
it's bound to happen
here comes the second beat
count it...one two three
Don't slow down
keep the momentum
wait for the next one
here we go
you know the routine
stick to the plan
don't let the silence, silence.

and edited poem:

The beat
count it...one two three
gasp for air
and continue
here comes the second beat
slow down
but keep the momentum
wait
know your lines.

Poem Edit

noreply@blogger.com (Annie) — Tue, 21 Apr 2009 19:39:00 +0000

Poem red in class:

Dancing Dancer dances
Plié Plié Plié
On the top
Tippy top of her tippy toes
Dancing Dancer Dance
Fire in the dance
Dancing Dancer Fire Dance
Fire Dancer dances
Plié Plié Plié
Dancing for the Phantom
Phantom Dancer
Phantom Dancer Dancing Dancer
Phantom Dancer Fire Dancer dance
On the top of the tippy top of their tippy toes
Phantom Dancer done dancing
Fire Dancer Dancing Dancer dances
Plié Plié Plié
No Phantom Dancer but Fire Dancer Dancing Dancer dances on
On the top of the tippy top of her tippy top toes.

Edited poem:

Dancing Dancer dances.
On the top
tippy top of her tippy toes.
Dancing Dancer Dance.
Dancing for the Phantom.
The Phantom Dancer.
Phantom Dancer, Dancing Dancer,
on the top of the tippy top of their tippy toes

It just keeps coming!

noreply@blogger.com (Annie) — Tue, 21 Apr 2009 02:01:00 +0000

photo by me

Oppen: I like Oppen. I like him because he reminds me of...me. In the way I write poetry for the most part. There seems to be a meaning, it seems pretty "put together" and the poems that in our anthology are pretty short. As for a specific poem that I like I have to say I really enjoyed Pedestrian espceically the line

In a soil of pavement, a mesh of wires she walks/In the new winter among enormous buildings.

I get it yet I don't get it. It is intriguing in the sense that I like the sound of it, like the way it looks, and like what it says. It has simplicity and ambiguity without turning the reader off.

Niedecker: yeah... I like somewhat abstract poetry and I like short poetry but Niedecker's poetry was too abstract and too short. In the collection we got from our anthology I felt like I missing something and not given the chance to read more of it. In her poems I was denied the hypnotic tendencies of long abstract poetry which for some odd reason bothered the crap outta me. Not enough just not enough...

Next!

noreply@blogger.com (Annie) — Sat, 18 Apr 2009 04:10:00 +0000

photo by me

Moore: A lot of poems having to do with, or mentioning nature. I don't have too much of a problem with that, in fact I love nature (hence the pictures I have been posting) except every single poem I read had to do with nature and after a while it got kind of boring to me. Maybe if I have time to read one of her longer poems I might think differently of her. But for now I was not a big fan of her nature poetry.

... I said next was T. S. Eliot...but I lied. Next is-

Louis Zukofsky: I read To My Wash-Stand. I enjoyed it, I liked how a poem was dedicated to an object rather then a person or nature. The way it is formatted too is really neat. It reminds me of water, water waves running down through the faucet of the wash-stand. I love the beginning lines they are really great because it is such a strange beginning yet pulls the reader in.

To my wash-stand
in which I wash
my left hand
and my right hand

I really wish it could be formatted here the way it looks on the page

also what I liked about this poem was even though it was dedicated to a wash-stand you could totally see it being more then about a wash-stand although it isn't clear exactly what the deeper message is and I have to admit I don't know...maybe I am reading to much into it and it really is just about a wash-stand. But what makes it stand out to me (because I usually dislike poems that are about one object but have some deep universal more then meets the eye theme) is that one can read it, like it for a wash-stand poem, or decide it has a greater meaning but not feel stupid for not getting it. A lot of the poems that are about one thing and really about something else tend to make me personally feel inadequate and stupid for not getting the deeper message. Even the way the authors right makes me feel like they expect one to get it right away. This poem had a relaxed feeling about it...where it felt like I could enjoy it and if I didn't get it, that it was ok with Zukofsky.

I also listened to Zukofsky on PennSound. I like his voice. It reminds me of a story book narrator- someone who would read classic fairy tales. He has that cool classic laid back story book voice.

I also read Zukofsky article "An Objective"... now I can give you some B.S to make me look smart... But I won't do that. I got maybe one or two lines but for the most part I have no idea what the heck I just read was. This really makes my first initial reaction with the wash-stand poem seem contradicting. I thought Zukofsky was a chillax kind of guy but I just didn't get what he wrote at all and I didn't get a laid back vibe from it at all. I felt like I had to get it-which made me very sad.

Can anybody tell me what they got from it?

I need to read his other article, and my next post will have Oppen, Niedecker, and just maybe T. S. Eliot.

noreply@blogger.com (Annie) — Tue, 14 Apr 2009 04:35:00 +0000

photo by me.

Pound- Like Whitman, Pound's poems (well especially so in our anthology) are insanely epic (even when they are his shorter poems) and seem to jump from one idea to the other. Except with Pound he puts into his work a lot more abscure characters. Where (except for Lilacs)Whitman's many characters are for the most part normal everyday people, (like the man in the carrige or the boys in the river) Pounds are references to historic, and Greek or Roman mythological characters. (Like Homer, Circe, and Hermes) Pound challenges the reader almost to what seems like a battle of wits, where he tells the reader (in a sense) go look it up. I think Pound's poems would be a lot more challenging without given the anthology notes at the bottom of the page (especially if one was not familar with mythology...even I had trouble understanding Pound and I love mythology...though it also has been a while since I last studied Greek Mythology (Holy crap, it's been since Middle School!) But, I digress.

H. D.- I noticed H. D. also uses mythology in some of her poems which is interesting being she was friends with Pound. Unlike Pound H. D. seems to cut to the "mythological" chase. Her poems are relativity short and they still have the epic-ness of a "myth" based poems. Helen being a clear example, especially the first stanza:

All Greece hates
the still eyes in the white face,
the luster as of olives
where she stands,
and the white hands.

for me it has the epic language, the mythical-ness-ness, and its easy to read.

I really like her Sea Violet Poem. Something about it. The beauty in the ugliness...the strength of delicacy...the uniqueness of the violet by the sea, standing out from all the blue violets on the hillside. This poem stood out for me the most.

Williams- Definitely has a...style. The poems I read were not clear, but not "abstract" They seem to be tied into a theme even if the theme is slightly odd. Especially Sympathetic Portrait of a Child. I read it, and re-read it and I am still confused...Is the narrator going to kill her because she is a murderer's daughter? Or is that how the murderer picks the victims he lets the daughter pick them?

Next Post... Moore and T. S.

Word Disassociation

noreply@blogger.com (Annie) — Wed, 08 Apr 2009 22:05:00 +0000

So after yesterday's class (after seeing the seeing the Warhol video, and also talking about Dada) I remembered a video...and decided I would share.

Word Disassociation: by Neil Cicierega

NeilCicierega

Her Mouth Is Two Steps Ahead Of Her Brain

noreply@blogger.com (Annie) — Tue, 07 Apr 2009 00:48:00 +0000

Because I was totally "cool" and had written on Loy "back in the day"...ok so last term.... I'll sum up what I wrote.

I read some of Mina Loy....Her work is interesting. To me she seems to be on the verge of being modern and post-modern. She has some great lines from each of her poems; but they tend to get buried in some longer-more hard to understand -“high brow” –“poet-y” lines. This is really clear when it’s a longer poem and not so clear (or maybe it works better) when the poem is shorter.

I'm pretty much saying that I get Loy better then I do Stein. Reading Stein for me is like swimming through a pool full of mud. Though I would like to say that God Made Dirt and Dirt Don't Hurt. So what am I saying? I guess I'm saying that if I had a choice, Stein wouldn't be in my top 3. Maybe top 20.

I had a hard time with the repeating words...I wanted the poems to go somewhere. Where? I dunno...It doesn't have to be a place, or a theme, or whatever but just needs to get there. I felt stuck.

I think it was harder listening to the reading of the poem- it seemed like the reading was a broken record.
But then I heard her language in a voice I could understand. Nope, it wasn't Stein's voice...and probably not Stein's intentional voice for her poems...but it was the voice that made her poems make sense TO ME.
I was listening to a teacher this morning, and as she was talking- trying to get her ideas out- she kept repeating the last word till she remembered what it was she wanted to say after it.

It made everything (in my world) make sense. Now, every time I read Stein I will picture her being a person whose mouth is two steps ahead of her brain.
That makes perfect sense.