I’ve lost track, but I think this is poem draft 88 for the month of April. Can I hit 100 by the end, the big finish? Here’s hoping. And then I’m going to crawl into a hole and die for two weeks, then slither out and revise for several more. I’ve stated that if I hit 100 drafts this month, I’ll be happy if I can pull out 10 which are decent enough to turn into Real Poems. Ten within one month seems like a respectable number.
The Oulipost prompt is another sonnet-y one, an irrational sonnet with the stanzas divided into lines equivalent to the first five digits of pi: 3, 1, 4, 1, 5. I tried to stay pretty true to form, pulling out whole lines of iambic pentameter (sometimes a bit long or short) from the Voice‘s weekly event listings, padded with a couple of filler words to keep the narrative structured and rhyme-ish, along with a questionable turn from “he” to “she”. The line break change actually doesn’t do much for me; I guess it’s supposed to create a different sense of balance among the parts of the poem, but if I had no line breaks whatsoever, I feel like it would read much the same. But I’ll let y’all be the judges.
Expectant Couple Named Artists-in-Residence
Although we’re never taken far beyond
analysis of sound and language, we
will have to introduce a bill to ban
this man in motion, doing stuff: maybe
he purrs instructions to the pregnant woman,
says no, it’s not a midlife crisis. He
will carefully study different kinds of voices.
In lyrics written with her mother, she
is kinder, gentler, but no less confusing:
a week of readings, talks, and master classes,
appearances by poets, scholars, the
approachably experimental. It’s
their seismic sense of interplay, what
they do with the specifics of his face.