Yep, been listening to Springsteen’s discography from 1973 to the present, in order. Once the video gets past the opening hype and settles into the song it’s great…
I first started writing poetry when I was sixteen, I think, and then wrote a batch in the 80s to mid 90s, and then some in the early 2000s, and then not much after that: my mind was taken up with graduate school. When I started my current job I was fortunate enough to be assigned a creative writing course at both the undergraduate and graduate levels, so when I taught my first section of Creative Writing: Poetry (ENG 253) in the Spring 2009 semester I started writing again. I have a sample syllabus from my graduate creative writing course posted to this website. This poem and, actually, several that follow this week, especially those that follow recognized verse forms, were written during that period. I like the wordplay in this short poem.
The Gyre The wisdom of passion is the wisdom of years, The wisdom of stars, the movement of spheres, Sharp twist of fate, sly turn of the screw, The gyre impaling my heart upon you. © James Rovira 2014
Let yourself feel it…
My selections for the last week of NaPoWriMo include a rondeau, a villanelle, a sonnet, and assorted free verse.
Today’s poem is titled after a pair of fictional characters that I created for a short story titled “The Terminal Love of Neal Liszt and Sobie Iht.” I think the first version of this poem, which was about twice this length, was written around 2002-3.
The Love Song of Neal Liszt for Sobie Iht a barely substantial image of a freckle-faced ghost a ghost with green eyes that haunted me with hope i gained substance myself the sudden faint shudder of an old longing, the sudden warm embrace of an old intimacy the sudden palpable presence of an old friend the sudden discovery of the soul you had once once then lost more words. a stream. dream images arose | i saw her in my dream am i awake or asleep? a wide moist smile, dark red, the color of blood, lips that you want to consume you and the love in just her eyes could stop your heart if it wasn't just a dream | i pinched myself for just a hint of my own substantiality i awoke. to more words a flowing river carrying me away i felt a heart beat | is it mine or hers? she dropped her face down into the longbrown cave of her hair and buried my soul in the caverns of her heart where it shone through her eyes where it shone like sunlight through crevices in rock where it shone like stars reflected against the deepblack face of God where it shone where i felt warmth. © James Rovira 2014
One of my earliest poems, previously published in Cafe Bellas Artes and The Valencian. I’ve revised it here into a haiku sequence.
Technological Existentialism Wandering numbly: hungrily yearning for, need- ing recognition. I seek transformation to high frequency emissions. Expanding circle flying light speed, landing upon chrome trees. Traveling through black wires, then Transforming to two technicolor dimensions upon a black screen. "What hath God wrought. What?": I am televised: therefore I am. © James Rovira 2014
from Song for America Ohio flat souled heart | broken on pity’s cold northern shores pauses | for caught breath. her green eyes flare pale tears | that blossom narcissus: bent passiflora. sunrise pants | as her hot dreams weigh down heavily | and rape what’s given. a leaf falls | lonely nested chill winds breaking soft for cold | yet to come. © James Rovira 2014
Yes, I’d posted this during my haiku week, back on day four. But I’m posting it again because it’s part of the collection that I’m running this week.