Argentina's Dirty War

35 years ago stares me in the face,
But we are anything but eye to eye.
I can't understand their pain,
I can't understand their suffering.

I can't look away from the man on horseback with the gun.
His shadowed figure is unwavering.
Did he shoot?
He is at once portrayed to be the most powerful and the most cowardly.

The protesters run toward him and his comrades, fearlessly.
Led by a man with one hand clenched into a fist and the other open to the sky,
They are unarmed.

The mural is anything but silent, cleverly cutting through the peaceful street and green trees.
It remembers what has been forgotten, overlooked, covered up.
It is the work of the people themselves, not the government.
It tells the true story, written on the walls of society itself.

Poetry Slam Response

          Tucked away on the corner of 4^th and Broadway in Lowertown, Saint Paul, the Black Dog Tavern recently hosted a poetry slam called “Nu Griot’s Gumbo Revolution.” The small wine and coffee bar was packed to the point where there was nowhere to sit or stand to see the local poets. Among the Minneapolis and Saint Paul natives performing that night was the once aspiring people’s politician, Marcus Harcus. Harcus read a few of his pieces, which ranged from three to four pages. Between each page break he was so passionate that he threw each finished page to the floor with great emphasis. Harcus focused on the huge gap between the rich and the poor present in today’s society. He read his poem titled “The Missing Class Ain’t the Middle Class,” but I was unable to find a copy of it at the slam or online. Essentially, Harcus talked about how the majority of Americans are living in poverty and that the comfortable middle class is nonexistent. He talked about how there was a lack of jobs even for qualified people, which brought several sounds of approval from the audience. Harcus' prose style equipped with long lines allowed him to elevate the intensity of his performance with each word, drawing the audience in closer and closer with each breath. His performance seemed bigger than the bar itself, covering issues so big and prominent.
          Even though I couldn’t find “The Missing Class Ain’t the Middle Class” online, (other than references to it on Harcus’ fan page) I found another poem written by Harcus about how history seems to have skipped over the era of slavery in its detailed volumes. Yes, Marcus Harcus wrote another long ass poem: http://nefermaathotep.tumblr.com/post/46223106839/via-marcus-harcus-wrote-another-long-ass-poem Harcus uses prose in his poem entitled “Getting Over Slavery & Getting Over Racism” to convey his thoughts on how we avoid talking about slavery in today’s society. A line from this poem that really struck me is in the first stanza: “Although they [Americans] don’t mind commemorating the better parts of our national history, things they can be proud of, they’d rather forget and downplay the significant influence and trauma of the ugly aspects, things that are deeply shameful, like historical oppression of the indigenous and Stolen African populations.” Harcus is very blunt and assertive in writing about this sensitive topic, showing his passion and mindset on the topic. I think the free prose style of this poem allows Harcus to display how he truly feels without the limitations of rhyme or meter, making it that much more meaningful.

            The poetry of Marcus Harcus focuses on issues of today’s society and what we can do to resolve them. His poetry has meaning and conveys concepts the everyday man can relate with, and for this I find his work very grounded and progressive. His performances of these poems only make them more powerful, and I am glad I went and witnessed his poetry out loud. 

Louis Jenkins Response

Being a writer who is most comfortable working within the bounds of a given structure, I was initially pessimistic upon hearing about Jenkins' more undefined writing style. However, after reading only a couple of his prose poems I was surprised by how much I enjoyed them.

One of the things I noticed and liked most about Jenkins' poems were the themes. He invokes self reflection from the reader about everyday topics such as living too fast and not enjoying the moment. In his poem "The Speaker," Jenkins examines the overlooking of the small things in life which can mean the most. He concludes the poem with the two sentences: "When the speaker has finished we gather around to sing a few inspirational songs. You and I stand at the back of the group and hum along since we have forgotten most of the words." He writes that we may have ideas of what is important but are not experiencing everything to our fullest potential. I think it is true that the important things can get lost in the busy shuffle of life and Jenkins does a really nice job of portraying this through his questioning in "The Speaker." Another example of Jenkins' causing the reader to look deeper into their lives is in his poem "Gravity." In this poem Jenkins writes, "If you look into it further you will discover that the water is not attached to anything either and that perhaps the rocks and the trees are not all that firmly in place." He is talking about the narrator's house but it can be connected to the bigger picture - not everything is as it outwardly appears. Upon closer inspection even the foundations of our perceptions can be inaccurate, something which can be easily overlooked with the wrong attitude. I think Jenkins succeeds in portraying ideas like this in his short prose poems and wonder if he gives himself any definite boundaries while he is writing them. I'm also curious to find out how Jenkins picks the topics for his poems. 

Video Poem of the Day

America In 4 Minutes

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GZDNUGMMxLk

The Team

Inside the locker room walls,

We celebrate together,

We suffer together,

We bond together.

Enduring the hardships of losses,

And the highpoints of wins,

We become a tight knit group

With a common goal,

To never lose again.

Our line mates become our most dependable friends,

From getting nauseous at practice with them

To getting to know all of their habits,

It is hard to find a closer trio in all of sports.

Inside the locker room walls,

We battle together,

We lose together,

We win together.

Routine

When I wake up I feel a collage of emotions.

Tired, angry, optimistic.

The sound of my alarm stabs into the quiet morning air,

My sanctuary is ruined, but at a good price,

A new day awaits me.

At school I sit in the classroom,

And watch the clock tick, each

Second slower than the last, until

It reaches the point where time stops all together.

When the bell rings I feel relieved.

I make my way to practice where I can temporarily

Relieve myself from the pressures of school,

And hide from expectations and society.

When I finally make it home,

I feel tired enough to fall asleep,

But know I have hours of homework waiting for me.

These are the nights when I question what it all is worth.

Saint Anthony Park

On the Northwest corner of Saint Paul in between Highway 280 and Cleveland Avenue lays my neighborhood.

Busy during the day, quiet at night, there is really no need for the rare patrol car.

Hockey creates a community here.

From pickup games at Langford Park during the winter to intense rivalries between Como and Highland,

There is always opportunity to prove yourself.

The men of the neighborhood stay up late under the lights to flood the outdoor rink,

Making it a point to make the ice smoother and harder than the day before.

The youth spend their whole winter here,

Whether it’s drinking hot chocolate in the warming house

Or idolizing the highschool boys who play all sorts of games on the big rink.

There really is no substitute for hockey in Saint Anthony Park.

Fall Days

The smell of fall is what gets me the most,

Pumpkins, apple cider, the dried leaves.

The weather brings sweatshirts and bonfires

And a festive atmosphere to the community.

I observe the grace and beauty of the transition,

Not just of the seasons, but of the people too.

I wonder if I will still appreciate this,

When I’m as weathered as the leaves that litter the hard ground.

I wonder if the novelty of autumn lies within my inexperience.

Surely the colors of October don’t dull with time,

The smells never fade,

The serenity is never exposed.

I hope bliss is not ignorance,

But rather is true and beautiful,

Undefined by time, I wish

Fall was forever. 

Chris Martin Poetry Response

My mind wanders, half in attempt to understand the poem, and half because it is somewhat led by the meandering ideas within the poem. Martin spins each idea with a creative twist that really enables imagination to take over, and is very unrestricting. Ideas come from within the run-ons of other ideas, which is very interesting but the reader can get lost if he or she isn’t paying attention.

And we the passengers

Convene momentarily, our anonymous lot

Suspended slant as if

Preparing to nosedive on some

Futuristic and ad-laden

Rollercoaster safely blasting

Through the patently everyday

Landscape of traffic.

This excerpt is from Martin’s “Surviving Desire” and is a great example of an idea that really takes off and runs on. It is about passengers on a subway and is ultimately a long metaphor describing the subway. I had to read it a couple times to understand that it was actually about the subway the whole time, because words like “futuristic” and the phrase “landscape of traffic” distracted me.

I think this style is refreshing in a world of poetry that requires dense analysis to understand each line. Rather than cramming a bunch of ideas into one line, Martin elegantly gives each of his ideas proper space to pan out and be whatever it can be.