To my classmates: Thank you for your creativity and comments; for your effort and your inspiration.
I can confidently say I’ve never quite experienced a class like this before. Going into this class I was really unsure of what to expect. I never saw myself taking a writing class by choice. And I never saw myself enjoying it so much. I feel very fortunate to have taken a class like this one—a class where I was not simply being a student in a classroom, but a member of a community. I feel lucky to have met some great people and to watch not only my own work evolve, but that of my classmates as well. By even signing up for this course I feel like I pushed myself. Before this class, I hadn’t written poetry since high school, and even still it wasn’t something I had much experience with. Now, I feel like I’ve produced a body of work that I’m really proud of. Throughout producing and experiencing other people’s poetry over the course of the semester, I’ve really thought about poetry in new ways and from new perspectives. I’ve questioned what poetry is (and what it is not), I’ve thought about how to push poetry to its limits (if it even has limits), and above all I’ve experienced how poetry can be so diverse yet all so fruitful. Upon examining my work this semester and getting feedback from perhaps the most exceptional part of this class—my learning community—I realized that many of my poems this semester reveal key aspects of my identity. Many of my classmates mentioned the diverse, multimedia source texts I pull from and how each of these source materials say something(s) about “me.” Thus, I wanted my final folio to highlight these key parts of my identity that are revealed through my found poetry. Many of my source materials are pieces of media I have a personal connection to, and are quite special to me, and I wanted to give those texts a place to shine.
haircuts for new yorkers this poem is sourced from eavesdropped conversations i heard on the streets of nyc. new york is really special to me since it’s the state where i grew up, where all my closest family live, and where i dreamed of living for my entire childhood. focusing on my matrilineal ties to the city, the poem also expresses my gratitude for my mom’s and grandma’s experiences there. i really look up to my mom and grandma and wanted to dedicate this poem to them.
she got that curly hair and that smile; she’s cuuuute she gets that from her mama— the name of the game. her mama and her mama’s mama ate their breakfast uptown towards yonkers, and they took the train home every night. her mama took the train to work every day, saw the fire that was here, and built the skyline, with that curly hair and that smile. (how’d you do that?)
she was born here, her name, her reputation, her paycheck, were all homemade. she took the train into the city, fire shut up in her bones. what’s my name? i might as well hold onto it. I get it from my mama (and my mama’s mama). i know what it means. it’s 6:40-something, i’m on a brooklyn bound local 2 train and the next stop is clark st. how did you walk around this city like it’s a video game? i feel like i’m walking to the platform edge.
how am i doing? um, i’m good. i bend, i don’t break. it all looks fabulous, but with all the expenses it’s a taxing situation. i’m glad i’m good though. a twenty-something, homemade, just playing the lottery, walking around this city. i’m getting it done; it’s new york, so.
i thought about this for the past 2 years i don’t know what it means but it’s been way too long since i’ve last seen you. i miss seeing the fire that was here. oh, what’s your name? how do you hold onto it? do you hold onto it? nah, i’m still homemade, but let’s just go get our own.
i spy sourcd from a number of texts, this poem is built from a combination of dialogue from the 1927 Fritz Lang film Metropolis, the “City Blocks” image from I Spy Fantasy, and lyrics from Madonna’s song “Express Yourself.” this poem speaks to my major in and passion for film as well as my childhood nostalgia and (overwhelming) love of Madonna.
With my little eye... A soft evening sky. Milky white clouds, satin blue gradient, Thin silver sliver, everlasting radiant. Mighty metropolis, a pegasus perched, a teddy bear building, an ice cream search. Expressionist dreamland, a dove atop a tower, Bright ochre sunset, 8 o’clock every hour. The bicycle depths, one man in the dark. A highway leaves the city, a rubber duck parked. A great staircase, descends from higher ground, Moloch awaits, consuming unbound. The most obedient tool, mind is a threat, A brain like yours, should be able to forget. Arms and legs, chained to the chase, Labor Furioso, give the machine-man your face. Sweat and smoke, put to the test, Summoning dance, shadowy silhouettes. The saint Maria, queen on the throne, abandoned Eternal Gardens, one black cat alone. Brutalist Babylon, diamond rings, 18 karat gold, meaningless things. No they never last, neverlands above, Gold memory fades—do you believe in love? The Revelation, can’t come down, Nostalgic assuage, mediates heart and crown.
the oracle short and sweet, this poem is sourced entirely from words i used in my “Expressive Words” assignment in my Typography class. as a more visual and concrete form of poetry, the words of this poem are designed to actually reflect their individual meanings. this poem is reflective of my graphic design minor and interest in exploring visual forms of poetry.
THE ORACLE
Bizarre magnet, protect abundant ritual(s). Candle, tremble. Disappear sudden(ly). Angular tombstone, cuddle (me).
the offering this is a poem using lyrics from Lorde’s song “Oceanic Feeling.” this poem shows the deep influence that music plays in my life. i’ve sang for my entire life, done musical theatre, and played various instruments growing up. Lorde in particular has a special place in my heart—if there were life soundtracks, Lorde would dominate mine.
it’s a blue day; we can jump into the ocean. hold me. slide the knife under the skin. i think of all the living things:
the sun-— my little brother. he’s wicked. shimmering on the pyre. the angel-— my daughter. she levitates, flips, sleeps. the stars— my mother. did she have my disposition when she was a girl? time, time, time— my father. the future will reveal all.
i step into the ocean; that cloudy water. when it holds me i think about the waves; dusty, blue, silver. i’m grateful for this. offering my power, i breathe in, tune out, breathe out, tune in. oh, oh, oh, i’m taking it one year at a time ‘til i die.
night creatures this poem is sourced from two Geraldo interviews with the club kids of the early 1990s. in addition to making a video poem which connects to the creative production side of my film major, this poem reflects my identity as a member of the LGBTQ+ community. i’m a bit of a queer pop culture junkie, so this poem provided an outlet for me to explore my interest in 80s and 90s nyc club culture.
Picture this: The new night-people. The one with the Froot Loop skirt, the other one on the telephone (she’s got an important call), the it-twins, drug-addict, victim. Moms and pops—do you recognize your child? What’s this new look all about? I don’t quite know how to explain it, except to point out our “celebutant” of nightlife, one of the town’s best known night creatures; her name is Toni. (applause) She’s an artist who spends her evenings networking her way to ecstasy. She transforms night spots into decadent playgrounds. Currently known in her circles as the Queen of Midnight and one of the most colorful personalities you’re ever likely to meet. “This is who I am: My heroes are Dietrich, and Garbo, and Monroe. They’re flamboyant people, they’re fun, they’re artsy…
Everyone wants to be a movie star, I like being a movie star... What do you want me to tell you?” What is the club scene all about to you? “The club’s all about our society, which is a very elite society. We choose to accept Anything that makes money, of course. It’s not just about fun It’s also nifty to be given compliments and whatever else. I like the whole glamour aspect of it. Beauty is in the eye of the person who signs the paycheck. They’re disgusted but they still love me. For some of us it’s all about the art, and not about the drugs and not about the sex and not about all the other stuff That everybody seems to play it up to be. (applause)
I think that the club scene is about a group of people who felt ostracized who all get together and have fun and just appreciate what each other can do. Especially now because of the whole crisis a couple of years ago. You have to substitute something in there. I guess the club scene— it’s also a drug. It almost fulfills some type of need that you can’t fulfill in this day and age without risking your life. It’s more of an ecstasy, escapist drug. I want to be less flesh; I want to be more club. I’m tired of being a human being. It’s really exhausting. That’s what the club’s all about.” (applause)
Oh so is that why your style is so unique? The agony and the eXXXtasy. (laughter) This is Toni whom you just saw. Girl of the Minute, a ringleader of the night-people. She’s actually teaching a course on club etiquette. The bold, bare, boisterous— basics of nightlife. In addition we have a cast of thousands of these in-people, these night-people, these wanna-bes and never-weres. We dubbed these people “the night creatures;” professional night creatures, who follow in her very popular footsteps. (applause) I wish you were here, ladies and gentlemen, I wish you were here. It is terrific. (applause)
the membrane (a class like this) this is a rough erasure made from my final reflection in the beginning pages of this zine. i say “rough” because i took some liberties to add a few words and letters here and there. i wanted this poem to encapsulate my experience as a student in throughout the course of this class and serve as a closing “reflection” to this zine.
Before going into this, I expected myself. But I took a choice to re-see myself and enjoyed it so much. A class is one—a choice simply, but a student is room, is but a membrane, lucky to evolve. By a soft course through myself, I’ve produced a body. Now, I’m producing, experiencing, coursing in new ways. The membrane questions what it is not. I’ve thought about how to push through its limits (if it even has limits) and above all I’ve experienced the diverse fruits of perhaps the most exceptional part of me—my laminate—who realizes my ideas. Clammily she mediates—porous. I pull from and push through my fine folio. Parts of my identity slip through my sour material, but only the pieces that are quite special to me live in that shiny place.
found poetry (honr 3310) december 2021