Saturday, April 4, 2009

Poem

I'm having a hard time with the title.

I thought I would post this here, because I have some amazing students. And these amazing students actually helped me edit this poem.
Usually I'm really irritated with my students (every year) because they have a hard time being critical of writing. SO, I gave them something they couldn't wait to tear apart. My own poem.

I was surprised to find that they did a good job. Not because they don't write well. Because I actually made this into a way better poem because of them.
It still needs some tweaking, but I like how it's turning out.
They didn't like the word "crackling." But I couldn't find a suitable replacement. Poet's license I guess. Everything I came up with made it sound more and more like cereal.

Poem

When we argue in the car,
soon we fall into a silence
backlit by wheels spinning over concrete
~
~
~
air slips around our encased contention
the tunnel cuts the radio transmission
into a tune of electric chafe

Your head is facing the angle of the windshield.
You are watching the lines in the road
making their paths out of the dark.

I wonder if the direction of your face
Means you are waiting for my reply,

Being alone, together, crackles in my ears.

We’ve had this moment before
In many pieces

~ We’re standing in a wind, cliff side,
the waves cresting white over rocky pieces

~ hiking ahead of you,
clouds heavy in my rasping breath

~ our running soles scraping concrete,
a lopsided beat, at night

the static
scratches
my thinking.

7 comments:

Kristina P. said...

I love it! I can picture you being in the car together.

iMaLLheaRt said...

totally! glad the students did a good job!

Chowder said...

FYI I didn't have anything against "crackling". It was "backlit" that I didn't like. The poem keeps getting better. And I noticed that you still talk about your soles (solays). :)

The Crash Test Dummy said...

Coooool

How about cackles. :)

Being alone together cackles in my ears. hee hee

Damaris said...

I've been reading The Bell Jar, Sylvia Plath, and the protagonist is very critical of her boyfriend who can't write poems. Sylvia Plath writes well, the protagonist "writes" well. I've been really wishing I could write better.

I like this poem.

Holladay Photo said...

ooh..i love the poem.

Syl said...

I like the "crackles." It seems to reflect back to the "electric chafe."