Foremost of noble ladies,
joined with Amen.
A husband died too soon:
left me a son too young to rule.
The survival of my family’s reign
depended on my strength.
To promote my endeavors,
the desert is littered with my statues.
A secret affair with a common architect?
I won’t kiss and tell.
Read of my grandeur
on ancient stonewalls,
visit my grand temples, and
learn of my bold military campaigns.
But notice what they have done:
see my face scratched out of history,
my accomplishments left anonymous,
the credit of my work given to the undeserving.
I am the King, the Pharaoh,
and my daughter: Egypt’s prince.
I am the woman they call ‘he’
who wears the royal headdress and false gold beard.
His Majesty,
foremost of nobles.
**************************************************
^ Third poetry assignment for Creative Writing. ^
I'm a history dork. We had to write a "persona poem," as someone or something other than ourselves. So, we had to write as if we were that person or write - at least - about that person. It didn't have to be a person, either. One of the examples we read was a mirror talking about what it sees.
So, since I'm a history dork, I wrote mine of Egypt's first (and I think only) woman Pharaoh. The title of Pharaoh is only for males, but she adopted the title and turned herself male. Everyone around her called her my male names. She even changed her name from "Hatshepsut" with a "t" to "Hatshepsu" without it the "t" because the name with the "t" means "noble female" and the name without means "his majesty." She wore the traditional male clothing and a false beard made of gold. Egypt had many queens and many female rulers: women were treated almost equally in Egypt, being allowed to own land, etc. Hatshepsut actually ruled as an equal with her husband, Thothmose II, until his death. (He was always sickly and died young. Their son was too young to rule at the time of Thothmose II's death, so she took the throne herself, originally as queen and gradually as king.) In hopes of continuing female rule, there is evidence that Hatshepsut was training her daughter, Neferura, as a prince. There are inscriptions that illustrate Neferura wearing a false beard. Though she ruled for about twenty years, a lot is unknown about Hatshepsut because after her rule, a lot of work was done to erase her accomplishments from history. Neferura died young and never ruled. Hatshepsut's and Thothmose II's son (Thothmose III, the one who was too young when Thothmose II died) grew up and reigned after Hatsheptsut, but it is unclear whether she died or if she was removed from her position by force. She disappears from history pretty suddenly. Her face and name are scratched out of the ancient structures she built and out of the historical records. Her records weren't just eroded with time. You can actually see wear stones and other tools were used on the structures, statues, and walls to scratch her out.
[Aside from doing a little research before writing the poem, I first heard about her from some Discovery Channel special where I saw the damage done to her monuments.]
But, if you don't believe me, these are a couple websites I skimmed:
http://www.egyptologyonline.com/hatshepsut.htm
http://www.thekeep.org/~kunoichi/kunoichi/themestream/hatshepsut.html
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hatshepsut
Hundred years, hundred more. Someday we may see a woman king - sword in hand - swing at some evil and bleed. Iron And Wine Woman King
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Friday, September 21, 2007
Mission Accomplished (The Emperor Pt. 3)
The court jester saved the day
with his air force of purple piloting penguins.
He defended against the Invading Invaded
and proved the Democratic Peace Theory.
One way or another.
A Band-Aid on a brain tumor.
That miraculous swirl:
that day, the confusion,
when blind men hunt hawks
and the deaf danced on beat.
Never a celebration so yellow
had ever occurred in this kingdom.
The old King’s breasts perked
as she knighted him: Sir Fool.
*********************************************************
^ Second assignment for Creative Writing. ^
I like this poem, at least considering the assignment. We had to write a surrealist poem. We were told: don't write the way you've been taught to think. Defy convention. Write something that makes no sense while still having some kind of bond linking the lines.
So, this is the weirdest poem I've ever written, I think. That was the point of it.
Believe it or not, this poem is an allegory for the US in Iraq. It works; I promise it does. The only thing that doesn't really relate back to the real situation is that President Bush in not a woman and does not have perky breasts. But since it was a surrealist poem, I liked the idea of a woman king and the juxtaposition, in one line, of the words "King" (making you think male) and "breasts" (making you think female). I also like, in that same line, the "old King's breasts perked" because you think of perky breasts being the trait of young women.
Normally, I wouldn't explain a poem in depth because I want the reader to get whatever he/she wants from it, but since I've never written a poem like this before, I want to explain it mainly so I don't forget what it's about. Ignore the rest if you're disinterested.
This is what the poem means:
The jester is, essentially, General Petraeus and his air force of penguins is the military in general. Penguins don't fly, so the fact that these are flying penguins relates to the utter impossibility of a military engagement saving the US in this mess we've made, but in the poem, the jester is successful in his efforts.
The Invading Invaded is the Iraqi insurgency. The US claims to be the good guy even though the violence only increased when we got there. Now, they're fighting us and we try to paint ourselves as the victims. So, the military is defending the US against fighters whose fight escalated only when the US invaded them. (I mean, it was violent in Iraq before, but it got worse because of American military operations.) Fighting this war proves the Democratic Peace Theory one way or another by illustrating that this is a democracy fighting a theocracy...or at least something far from another stable democracy. It's meant to be cynical and a little ironic. US victory in Iraq (building a democracy there and lessening the violence) isn't really fixing the whole problem: it's just covering up and smothering underlying problems. Until the US is out of Iraq, the problems will remain and I'm not even so sure that's enough to stop it. Violence it the Middle East goes back hundred of years and it's a religious division that I'm not sure any outside force can fix...but that goes into my own philosophy which is unimportant here.
Moving on. The rest of the poem after the Band-Aid line refers to celebration at home. It was a miracle: a grand victory so wonderful it made the blind read and the deaf dance...and give an old lady perky breasts. Surrealist poetry uses weird images, so I wanted to describe the celebration as being yellow (meaning kind of bright and energetic, happy), rather than fun, exciting, etc. However, I chose yellow because it's also a word used to indicate cowardice. I wanted the double meaning. It isn't to imply that our soldiers aren't brave. It's more to imply that US citizens have been scared into this war. It's more of a reflection on the people than the administration.
And then the last two lines, I already kind of went over...except for the knighting of the jester. President Bush has a tendency to give people - almost degrading - nicknames. He likes calling people by names that indicate they are below him. So, the King knights the jester to reward his bravery, but still calls him a Fool so that everyone knows who's still in charge.
It was also a deliberate choice to use a royal allegory. Kings are thought of as being absolute rulers and imperialistic...and I think that describes the current administration pretty well. Making Petraeus a court jester wasn't to degrade him, really, but more to show an unlikely person going against what he would do in a normal situation. (He wrote a book about Iraq, but his recommendations have been going against what he wrote.) I've used similar allegories before in both my "Emperor" poems: using a fictional monarch as a symbol of the president. It's probably not a rare usage.
Okay, done with that. I have fifty pages of Walcott's "Omeros" to read by Tuesday and since I'm going to Boston this weekend for Brand New, I better get going on that.
"I belong in the service of the Queen. I belong anywhere but in between." Counting Crows Rain King
with his air force of purple piloting penguins.
He defended against the Invading Invaded
and proved the Democratic Peace Theory.
One way or another.
A Band-Aid on a brain tumor.
That miraculous swirl:
that day, the confusion,
when blind men hunt hawks
and the deaf danced on beat.
Never a celebration so yellow
had ever occurred in this kingdom.
The old King’s breasts perked
as she knighted him: Sir Fool.
*********************************************************
^ Second assignment for Creative Writing. ^
I like this poem, at least considering the assignment. We had to write a surrealist poem. We were told: don't write the way you've been taught to think. Defy convention. Write something that makes no sense while still having some kind of bond linking the lines.
So, this is the weirdest poem I've ever written, I think. That was the point of it.
Believe it or not, this poem is an allegory for the US in Iraq. It works; I promise it does. The only thing that doesn't really relate back to the real situation is that President Bush in not a woman and does not have perky breasts. But since it was a surrealist poem, I liked the idea of a woman king and the juxtaposition, in one line, of the words "King" (making you think male) and "breasts" (making you think female). I also like, in that same line, the "old King's breasts perked" because you think of perky breasts being the trait of young women.
Normally, I wouldn't explain a poem in depth because I want the reader to get whatever he/she wants from it, but since I've never written a poem like this before, I want to explain it mainly so I don't forget what it's about. Ignore the rest if you're disinterested.
This is what the poem means:
The jester is, essentially, General Petraeus and his air force of penguins is the military in general. Penguins don't fly, so the fact that these are flying penguins relates to the utter impossibility of a military engagement saving the US in this mess we've made, but in the poem, the jester is successful in his efforts.
The Invading Invaded is the Iraqi insurgency. The US claims to be the good guy even though the violence only increased when we got there. Now, they're fighting us and we try to paint ourselves as the victims. So, the military is defending the US against fighters whose fight escalated only when the US invaded them. (I mean, it was violent in Iraq before, but it got worse because of American military operations.) Fighting this war proves the Democratic Peace Theory one way or another by illustrating that this is a democracy fighting a theocracy...or at least something far from another stable democracy. It's meant to be cynical and a little ironic. US victory in Iraq (building a democracy there and lessening the violence) isn't really fixing the whole problem: it's just covering up and smothering underlying problems. Until the US is out of Iraq, the problems will remain and I'm not even so sure that's enough to stop it. Violence it the Middle East goes back hundred of years and it's a religious division that I'm not sure any outside force can fix...but that goes into my own philosophy which is unimportant here.
Moving on. The rest of the poem after the Band-Aid line refers to celebration at home. It was a miracle: a grand victory so wonderful it made the blind read and the deaf dance...and give an old lady perky breasts. Surrealist poetry uses weird images, so I wanted to describe the celebration as being yellow (meaning kind of bright and energetic, happy), rather than fun, exciting, etc. However, I chose yellow because it's also a word used to indicate cowardice. I wanted the double meaning. It isn't to imply that our soldiers aren't brave. It's more to imply that US citizens have been scared into this war. It's more of a reflection on the people than the administration.
And then the last two lines, I already kind of went over...except for the knighting of the jester. President Bush has a tendency to give people - almost degrading - nicknames. He likes calling people by names that indicate they are below him. So, the King knights the jester to reward his bravery, but still calls him a Fool so that everyone knows who's still in charge.
It was also a deliberate choice to use a royal allegory. Kings are thought of as being absolute rulers and imperialistic...and I think that describes the current administration pretty well. Making Petraeus a court jester wasn't to degrade him, really, but more to show an unlikely person going against what he would do in a normal situation. (He wrote a book about Iraq, but his recommendations have been going against what he wrote.) I've used similar allegories before in both my "Emperor" poems: using a fictional monarch as a symbol of the president. It's probably not a rare usage.
Okay, done with that. I have fifty pages of Walcott's "Omeros" to read by Tuesday and since I'm going to Boston this weekend for Brand New, I better get going on that.
"I belong in the service of the Queen. I belong anywhere but in between." Counting Crows Rain King
Auburn
The faint smell of rain
gets sucked up my nostrils:
fell two days prior,
moistened the soil.
Threatening buzz of bees
circle above my head:
scares passersby,
lands on dying blossoms.
A hidden sun peaks
from between clouds:
burns my eyes,
but warms my skin.
A young fall breeze
blows over sunburned rooftops:
bites the tips of my figures,
brushes through my hair.
Grasping onto weak branches,
old leaves rustle and turn:
green to brown, green to brown,
and yellow, and orange, and auburn.
****************************************************
^ First poetry assignement for Creative Writing. ^
I'm taking an intro Creative Writing class this semester...mainly because the intro class is required before you're allowed to register for upper level creative writing classes. This was our first real assignment: a nature image poem. [There was an assignment before this and I wrote a two page short story that was good for what it was, but didn't really say anything sophisticated or intellectual. It was a fake memoir of a futurist country singer explaining how Kenny Chesney inspired her to become a musician. How that became the plot is a long story, but it was part of the assignment and not how I would have written it outside class restraints.]
Anyway, I'm not really a fan of writing nature poems and I think that comes across by how...bad...this is. I went back and forth about whether to post it here publicly, but since I haven't been writing a lot of poetry (with my short story monopolizing what little writing time I have), I figured I'd post - at least - the poetry I write for this class. I also really like the second poem I just wrote for this class and I actually want to post that one.
This poem was written last weekend on the way to Philly for the Brian Bonz show. I wrote it on Milo and emailed it to myself. Haha. (Hey...you see nature when you're driving around! It would have been harder to write if I'd been inside at my desk!)
We'll also be writing a short story and a play for this class and, depending on what kind of restraints are placed on us, I may post them here. In other words: if I can write a story and/or a play about what I want to write about and I like how it comes out, I'll post it. Haha. If we can write a story about anything, I'll probably use the story I'm in the process of writing so I'll have ample time to finish it while, also, telling my parents it's for school and not just me writing for fun while avoiding doing homework.
"I got an attitude of need. Help me stay awake: I'm falling...asleep in perfect blue buildings, beside the green apple sea. Gonna get me a little oblivion, baby. Try to keep myself away from me." Counting Crows Perfect Blue Buildings
gets sucked up my nostrils:
fell two days prior,
moistened the soil.
Threatening buzz of bees
circle above my head:
scares passersby,
lands on dying blossoms.
A hidden sun peaks
from between clouds:
burns my eyes,
but warms my skin.
A young fall breeze
blows over sunburned rooftops:
bites the tips of my figures,
brushes through my hair.
Grasping onto weak branches,
old leaves rustle and turn:
green to brown, green to brown,
and yellow, and orange, and auburn.
****************************************************
^ First poetry assignement for Creative Writing. ^
I'm taking an intro Creative Writing class this semester...mainly because the intro class is required before you're allowed to register for upper level creative writing classes. This was our first real assignment: a nature image poem. [There was an assignment before this and I wrote a two page short story that was good for what it was, but didn't really say anything sophisticated or intellectual. It was a fake memoir of a futurist country singer explaining how Kenny Chesney inspired her to become a musician. How that became the plot is a long story, but it was part of the assignment and not how I would have written it outside class restraints.]
Anyway, I'm not really a fan of writing nature poems and I think that comes across by how...bad...this is. I went back and forth about whether to post it here publicly, but since I haven't been writing a lot of poetry (with my short story monopolizing what little writing time I have), I figured I'd post - at least - the poetry I write for this class. I also really like the second poem I just wrote for this class and I actually want to post that one.
This poem was written last weekend on the way to Philly for the Brian Bonz show. I wrote it on Milo and emailed it to myself. Haha. (Hey...you see nature when you're driving around! It would have been harder to write if I'd been inside at my desk!)
We'll also be writing a short story and a play for this class and, depending on what kind of restraints are placed on us, I may post them here. In other words: if I can write a story and/or a play about what I want to write about and I like how it comes out, I'll post it. Haha. If we can write a story about anything, I'll probably use the story I'm in the process of writing so I'll have ample time to finish it while, also, telling my parents it's for school and not just me writing for fun while avoiding doing homework.
"I got an attitude of need. Help me stay awake: I'm falling...asleep in perfect blue buildings, beside the green apple sea. Gonna get me a little oblivion, baby. Try to keep myself away from me." Counting Crows Perfect Blue Buildings
Friday, September 14, 2007
Defiance
If you think you've got the time
then I think I've got the patience,
but I'm running out of steam:
it's not fatigue; this is defiance.
If you want me you can have me,
just kindly ignore all of the scars
I see my sanity is fleeing
and you're watching from afar.
If this pen and page are not enough,
then it's metal's chill and adrenaline.
And if it's not a peaceful night,
it's: "How did this happen?"
If I can breathe in one more breath
and take another big step back,
I can remember why it's worth it
and I can see all that I lack.
***************************************************
^ Partially written en route to Oneonta and then completed in class. ^
Yep, classes have started. I'm over it.
I've been sick, though I'm not sure it's actually sickness. I can't quite figure it out. Most of the time it seems to be triggered by anxiety, but not all the time. I'll be fine and then I'll suddenly feel like I'm going to throw up. Because of this, it hasn't been a very pleasent couple of weeks.
I have reading to do and then errands to run.
"Is this the way a toy feels when its batteries run dry?" Brand New Guernica
then I think I've got the patience,
but I'm running out of steam:
it's not fatigue; this is defiance.
If you want me you can have me,
just kindly ignore all of the scars
I see my sanity is fleeing
and you're watching from afar.
If this pen and page are not enough,
then it's metal's chill and adrenaline.
And if it's not a peaceful night,
it's: "How did this happen?"
If I can breathe in one more breath
and take another big step back,
I can remember why it's worth it
and I can see all that I lack.
***************************************************
^ Partially written en route to Oneonta and then completed in class. ^
Yep, classes have started. I'm over it.
I've been sick, though I'm not sure it's actually sickness. I can't quite figure it out. Most of the time it seems to be triggered by anxiety, but not all the time. I'll be fine and then I'll suddenly feel like I'm going to throw up. Because of this, it hasn't been a very pleasent couple of weeks.
I have reading to do and then errands to run.
"Is this the way a toy feels when its batteries run dry?" Brand New Guernica
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