Spring 2012 Lanthorn

One more post today...  This semester's Lanthorn came out this past week (making me sad Adam and I aren't the editors anymore!  But Steve and Zeke, this year's editors, did a good job), and I had two poems in it, which I thought I'd share here.  I also submitted a short prose piece, which didn't get in, but I was happy about the poems.

Returning

When I read the word “windmill”

I was instantly back in Brugge with you

walking in the sun along the river

coming upon it suddenly—

skeletal rather than picturesque

but we were excited anyway.

Coming Back to Pennsylvania from New Zealand in November
November never seemed this ugly before.
I haven’t seen the sun since I’ve been back (five days).
As if being overcast wasn’t enough
it poured yesterday, flooding the nearby covered bridge.
Even if it was sunny, the landscape would be the same—
all dull browns and grays

decaying leaves plastered to the ground
trees completely bare
fields of stubble stretching to either side of the road.
But by half past five it’s all been erased by darkness

leaving me in shock that night can fall so early.
And did I mention that it’s cold as?

A poem

I'm back at Houghton and recently had two of my poems published in The Candle, a short, monthly publication the current editors of The Lanthorn have started.  I thought I'd share one of them...

Geological Thoughts

When I decided that my thoughts were a braided stream,

flowing in a network of interconnected rivulets

around numerous bars,

I immediately realized

I’d been studying geology too long.

Poetry

I've been meaning to post some of the poems I've written for my poetry class for a while, and now that Mom's reminded me I'll actually do it. So here are a few; they're the ones I like best, and/or the ones that the professor liked.

This first one is, obviously, about the power outage I wrote about in the last post.

Power Outage

Total darkness below,

but above, the stars—

I never knew there were so many.

I could stand and stare forever.

When the lights came back on

most of the stars disappeared

and I can’t look at the night sky anymore

without thinking about all the stars I can’t see.

This one is a villanelle.

An Attempt

I tried to write a poem for you

to let you know how things could be.

(But not a word of it was true.)

I tried to show you something new.

I tried so hard to make you see.

I tried to write a poem for you.

I didn’t put in any blue;

of course there’s none, to you, from me.

(But not a word of it was true.)

I gave you more than just a clue—

I gave you the entire key.

I tried to write a poem for you.

I gave you what I thought was due

so that you wouldn’t choose to flee.

I tried to write a poem for you

(but not a word of it was true).

In this next one, the part about my wanting to go to Australia is true, but although there is a possibility that the program won't be offered until fall of 2012, it should be offered fall of 2011, meaning I will be able to go.

Hope

Turning in the paper

hoping for an A-, at least—

and getting it back with a B+.

Walking into the dining hall, starving

hoping there will be good pizza today—

but finding it a sloppy mess.

Getting excited for Australia

hoping the program will be offered—

then hearing it’s been pushed back another year.

Hearing rapid footsteps behind me

hoping it’s you, coming to apologize—

only to see a stranger stride by.

And one more.

Fog

There’s almost nothing to this fog

but it builds up between us

so that I can barely see you.

A new semester

Email to Mom, January 11 (first day of classes):

I'm a little nervous for my classes--Principles of Sociology has a lot of assignments, Modern and Contemporary American Poetry is just going to be hard because it's analyzing poetry, and for the poetry writing class we have to write a poem a week. We'll also be doing a lot of peer editing, and the professor was emphasizing the importance of reading poetry out loud, so it sounds like we're going to have to read our poems out loud to each other, which of course I don't want to do. But it still sounds like a good class. And the other classes seem good too. We're starting with Robert Frost for the other poetry one, and I'm really enjoying reading him.

Other random things (not from an email):

I had my first skiing class on Tuesday, which was hard and tiring but also lots of fun. I think I'm really going to enjoy it. I'm also working for the first time this semester, cleaning one of the stairwells in my dorm as well as cleaning floors one afternoon a week in the dining hall and being "salad runner" one night a week in the dining hall. The only one I've done so far is the stairwell, and it's really not bad. The whole time I think, "I'm making money, I'm making money," and I feel happy. ;)

The release of the Lanthorn

I really should be sleeping right now, but I'm too excited to go to bed without posting the news--one of my poems was published in the Lanthorn! It was released at a coffeehouse tonight, and during set up one of my friends noticed the books, opened one, and saw my name. Ever since I submitted I had been wondering whether anything of mine would be included or not, and finally founding out that something was made me so happy. Then, wanting to read something but not knowing what, another friend asked if she could read my poem. She did, and she did a great job. Here it is for all of you to read:

Lament for an Empty Ames
Oh, Lewisburg Ames, I remember the days
when you were full of merchandise;
when you supplied me with the things I needed.
And I remember how your parking lot was full of cars
and inside the customers shopped
never suspecting that your doors would soon be closed
and that everything you were selling would disappear.

When you announced that you were shutting down
I remember my family coming to you
and searching through the maze of your gutted innards
for roller blades.
I don’t remember if we found them or not
but I do remember the emptiness that filled you.
And at a sister store, in a different town
(she was closing too — you all were)
I remember how we looked for shoes
and all we could find was an ugly pair of leftovers.

Now, Ames, the letters of your name have been removed
leaving only their outlines;
a reminder of what you once were.
Your parking lot stretches large and empty, and you sit
your respect and dignity stripped away, like those letters
while up the road, only a mile or so
resides a Wal-Mart supercenter
well-fed and prosperous.

It's very encouraging having it published, even if it is in a very small publication. And one of the editors-in-chief told me how much she liked it; she even mentioned it in the introduction to the book. So maybe I really can write.

The focus shouldn't be on just me, though--there's lots of other great poetry and artwork included in the Lanthorn. And the coffeehouse was fun too; I enjoyed hearing people read their own work and that of others, and it was nice to just relax and hang out with my friends. :)

One Art

Last week, our writers' group read poems that we liked. This was one we studied for AP English last year; I didn't understand it at first, but after several readings and through writing about it I realized what she was talking about and actually ended up liking it a lot.

One Art
By Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

— Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.