My Wednesday night class is a poetry seminar taught by Laurie Sheck entitled "Experiment Escorts Us: Considering the Autobiographical Poem, Its Strengths and Weaknesses, Aternatives to it, And Attendant Questions of Genre and Genre-Bending." Got that?
So today, on a dreary, rainy Wednesday in New York City, I had the pleasure of reading hundreds of poems by Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton. After a bit I gave up on sitting in silence with a pencil in hand and turned to YouTube for some comfort, some voices from the Suicides Graveyard. Here, you can hear too, have some highlights. I would hate for you to feel left out...
And here, at last, is my favorite Plath: Cut
And for a bonus, here is my imitation of a Plath confessional poem:
Streaming water, steaming heat
washing, washing, washing away
words stuck on skin. Struck-
hands heavy with
highball glasses, smoke snaking through thick air.
Worlds of wonder, vanquished.
Lather forming, fingers pruning,
purging, purging, purging
an emerging voice
clogs the drain.
Stolen strands cling to heavy hands.
But I'm clutching air.
No comments:
Post a Comment