Hey, blogger dudes. Remember when my (old) blog was just vague, sometimes-good poems? Ha ha! Well turns out that phase of my life isn't actually over yet or something, because I have more poems. But they're different or better or something.
Also I got my copy (a year later) of the Speak for Yourself book in the mail today and it made me pretty nostalgic. But that's beside the point.
Point is, I wrote some poems (as sanctioned by my creative writing teacher here at college (who is actually the best man)). Welcome to the newest stage of Addy poetry.
This one's a untitled found poem, and I used people's tweets, so that was cool and fun.
If you don’t want ugly pictures,
get out of ugly wars.
You’re so perfect, it hurts.
& now it’s raining – November
has been good to me so far.
Shake my ash to the wind, Across
like an experience,
Lord forgive all of my sins.
Out of the ash I rise with my red hair,
and I eat men like air,
I require a palace by the sea and
diplomatic powers over some small country, please –
I’ve had my regularly scheduled panic attack,
hate to reign on your parade,
but New Yorkers don’t cry.
I am sharing this with you all
because I love you.
Falling slowly, Ole Miss is still racist,
And you’re like a well-choreographed Broadway musical.
You is kind.
You is smart.
You is important.
This is gold, shake the dust,
Dear merciful God – ask Ralph Waldo Emerson – for blue is wrong for
roses… witch lover.
roses… witch lover.
And this one's supposed to be a poem around my favorite word. I almost started writing about how I'm still just mad that I don't speak all the languages in the whole world and still have to read some things in translation and also there are so many beautiful words in other languages but I've probably ranted enough about translations to last all of us for the rest of the eternities.
The Glory Poem: Take 10,001
Here is a list of words that are my favorite words because I like the way they sound:
But here is my favorite word:
· glory (i.e. “high renown or honor won by notable achievements” or “magnificence; great beauty”)
Glory’s like, “Girl, why you so obsessed with me?”
And I’m like, “Maybe I’m a raging capitalist.”
But mostly because I just like the idea.
High renown. Honor. Notable achievements.
Maybe I just like awards shows.
Give me all the Oscars. Give me all the Pulitzers. Give me all the Tonys.
Maybe I’m a product of a society that has told me
for eighteen years
that I will never have physical magnificence,
that without makeup and photoshop, I will never possess great beauty.
But I’m sorry, mainstream media,
I like my body.
And maybe I’m a narcissist,
but I also really like glory.
I’ve written ten thousand poems
and they are all about the same thing:
Glory, glory, glory, glory.
What an ugly-sounding word, glory.
*Also, yes. I stole this bit almost word for word from a poem of Avery's. I know. She's brillant and writes really glorious (lol, get it?) poetry.
So that's the end. Sorry if you hate it when I post poems. But also I'm not really sorry. Because I like poems and this is my blog so I'm the boss. The end.
Oh! Wait! Before I go, let me shamelessly self-promote (again, my blog): I've gotten the opportunity to do something way cool, and that is that I'm writing a weekly column for NYU's arts blog, The Highlighter (if you click on "Columns" in the header, it'll give you a drop down menu, click "Matrons of Art"). It's called Matrons of Art, it usually comes out on Wednesdays, and it's just a short little thing where I tell you about cool women in the arts and why they rock and why you should love them and why they inspire me, etc. So far I've done Audrey Hepburn, Beyonce, Cindy Sherman, Lady Gaga, J.K. Rowling, and Patina Miller, and I just wrote a brand new one about Frida Kahlo. So it's awesome and informative and inspiring and you'll feel cultured and cheery after reading it, so you should go read it.
Now it's the actual end.
"And I summarize the whole world in the warmth of your shirt." -Ahmad Shamlou