Heather McHugh from Best American Poetry

And What Do You Get

"Eleven tons of hidden work are always lurking inside words."  Just by tweaking a little here and there, you can fully manipulate words to mean something totally different and unrelated.
     I didn't really know what poem to really talk about until the very last minute of class when someone brought this poem to light.  Every single poem that we've looked at so far either didn't make sense and needed explanation or had a mind of its own.  Until I saw this one.  Yes, it still has a mind of its own but unlike the others, it makes you think without hurting your head too much.  It takes baby steps in order to explain a simple concept and yet its quirks are still hard to figure out, if that makes sense.  For example,

     "Excise the er from exercise.  Or from
      example, take ex out: now it's bigger;" ...which makes "ample."

Simple, right?  Just a play on words.  But it takes it a step further like this,

     "to be lonely, take the amp out
      and replace it with an i." ...which makes "exile."

     Although I've figured out most of the poem, I can't help but feel like I haven't even begun to fully grasp it.  I feel as if there's more to it then just mixing the words around.  Now, I don't feel like explaining it to you, so I won't.  I'll just leave the rest to you.

Initiation Tool

     First thing's first, I'll begin with something simple.  I was inspired.  Inspired by Julia Cameron's, The Right to Write.  A corny title, yes, but the first chapter didn't take the long way 'round, instead it just went forward.  Although, somewhere deep down inside, I feel as if the word, "inspire" is a bit too much, it's just too out there.  I feel a sense of let down when I continue to say this word aloud, in my mind that is.  Too many people get inspired which then leads them into attempting to do whatever it was that inspired them, only to either stop half way and just simply give up altogether or just continue to dream about what could of been.  And that's probably why I'm here now writing away, or should I say, "hanging out on this page."  Whatever the reason may be, I like it.  I like where I am right now, writing away about stuff, but more the sense of just being here.  I like that I don't have to worry about time and how more wrong I could make this sound, so I won't.  Before I end this little journal thing, I should probably write a little more just to make it look like I did something worth grading, so I'll end this with a couple more long run-on sentences.  So, this is me tipping my hat at you, peruse at your leisure.
     On a small note, you should of made us read this book a long time ago, first chapter though, I hate reading long stuff; I feel so smart now.  I feel like if I continue like this for all my journal topics, I won't put them off until the last minute like I did this one.  Now, I will go back to where I was before I decided to write this.  Good day.

Minoru Yoshioka from Seibutsu

Still Life

     Some things are just better left to the imagination.  Which is why I have never fully understood poems.  From metaphor to metaphor, to an even more heavy abstract concept, all bundled into a little paragraph; there's just no end.  Yet, I always find myself reading one or two here and there.  You see, although I don't understand them, nor will I ever, I think it's the fact that you can say whatever you want with no definite form, that attracts many, that attracts our imaginations.  But I digress, the only reason I even chose this poem was because it was short and to the point.
     Yet, here I was striving for a quick read only to accomplish blankness.  I didn't expect it to be so hard to grasp and to understand.  Reading this poem really took my confusion to a whole other level.
  
     "The abundant decomposition of time
       surrounding, 
       before the teeth of the dead."

My mind is blown. I don't know where to begin, so I wont.
     I believe imagination is shown when the author describes the night sky as, "the hard surface of night's bowl."  I also really like how he describes that all the autumn fruits of this world are inside this so-called "deep bowl," so dark and so vast.  He also goes on to explain how each fruit falls asleep, one by one, all to the same melody of time, "collecting their weight."
     It made me think about how we all fall asleep.  How we all get into our beds and attempt to find a comfortable position, tossing and turning; but it's only when we calm ourselves, listen to our heart beat, and wait for each breath, that we really fall asleep.  At least that's all I got out of it.
     As I write to myself, I think I finally get why the author entitled this poem, Still Life.  But I guess some things are just better left to the imagination.

First Assignment

     What's going on, my name is Joshua Poeana, my friends call me Pookie. I'm an 18 year old dude who lives in Detroit, South Metro, Dearborn Heights, passed the blue bridge, stalk me. I grew up in a small home, four siblings deep, and I watched way too many cartoons as a kid. I was the goofy one in school who never got enough attention. So I find myself jotting down in my notebook, from long stories to quick poems. I usually only ever write when I feel inspired.

     I never really got the whole paper thing. I don't know why someone, let's say a teacher, would spend their whole day reading hundreds of papers on stuff they already know. I myself prefer the classics, the creative stuff so to speak. That's probably why I took this class. I don't know where it will take me, but as long as my next assignment isn't another research paper, I'm good.