Poets have always written odes of praise not to just what is lofty but also to the ordinary things that surround us, in order to see what such deep attention can reveal. This ode is a metaphor, where flute becomes man, and vice versa, in ongoing, illuminating, mysterious conversation. Poem selected by Matthew Zapruder.
Illustration by R. O. Blechmanode to the flute
A man sings
by opening his
mouth a man
sings by opening
his lungs by
turning himself into air
a flute can
be made of a man
nothing is explained
a flute lays
on its side
and prays a wind
might enter it
and make of it
at least
a small final song
by opening his
mouth a man
sings by opening
his lungs by
turning himself into air
a flute can
be made of a man
nothing is explained
a flute lays
on its side
and prays a wind
might enter it
and make of it
at least
a small final song
"Ode to Films"
ResponderEliminarAlways, it has been
projected on the screen
opposed to my bed
Always, it has been
Spielberg´s or Coppola´s
but it could be a
Scorsese´s film
Always, it has been
projected in front of me to
see their worlds
through their lens,
through their eyes
Always, it has a beginning
and an end but there
is always something else
ODE TO DANCING
ResponderEliminarMusic expresses feelings
Dancing represents the expression of the soul.
When one can do whatever one feels like.
Freedom. When the soul is at peace.
Of any kind.
Dancing defines us, yet differentiates us.
On stage, dancers can take
spectators to other places...
Make them cry
make them feel elated.
Dancers talk without speaking.
Dancers talk through dancing
yet some people become afraid of dancing.
Expressing.
Talking.
I particularly enjoy activities which are personal and show the differences among the class. It's really interesting seeing how everyone talked about something in particular they really enjoy doing, some odes were really good!
ResponderEliminarOde to my computer
ResponderEliminarOh my companion
My mighty comrade
With all your
Ups and downs
I love you so much
And although you've changed
Throughout all these years
You are still the same
We've been through
So many adventures together
Side by side
Hand in mouse
En masse
Night and day
Oh my companion
My mighty comrade
Please never forget
You are my one diskette
Ode to Mom
ResponderEliminarWhen I first opened my eyes
I was confused and floating
in the eyes of someone
I was yet to know
When I first bursted a tear
she was there to hold me
For my first laugh
It was her voice that cracked me up
For every memory
and all the love
For all the underrated affection
For being one of a kind
My mom will be
The last to cross my mind
"Ode to the last curtain call"
ResponderEliminarLights turn on, the day has finally arrived
The audience stands still, in a quiet room painted black
Anxiety and blithe, I can write about them both
Behind the red curtains, I am now where I belong
The gleaming proscenium invites me to fulfil my greatest pipe dream
My mind and body are now a present for her
I am no longer myself, I am now instead part of a bigger team
Costume and make-up set, everyone could notice I was just beggining to sweat
The fruits of my labour are now easily seen, hadn't I gone through castings and stuff, I wouldn't be standing behind the scenes
The play is now over, lights have been turned off
Bittersweet feelings while I say goodbye to the acting prof
I take the clothes away, no one could ever soothe away my pain
I am no longer her, "So long, farewell!", I simply hope your memory doesn't blur
I have a boundless enthusiasm to say that i loved the activity. It was interesting to heard others dream´s or interests through poems. It would be very interesting to repeat it another day. All being said, the poem i liked the most is the one written by Mari.
ResponderEliminarI agree with Maxi who actually extolled the virtues of these great activities. I suggest we continue doing these type of excersises, as we can recognize the dissimilarities among us and be able to enrich ourselves with every work. It is awesome how some of us could in fact become ode writers in no more than thirty minutes!
ResponderEliminarOde to ink-stained hearts
ResponderEliminardo not fall for a girl who loves words
if you are afraid of ink stains on your skin
and on your clothes
and on the sheets
she will try to describe how she feels about you
in six different ways
but none of them will fit
she will have trouble understanding something
unless there are words for it; make up a language
do not be offended if her written world takes precedent over this one
she is in there swimming through letters
trying to learn how to love you better
do not fall for a girl who loves words
if you don’t see them like she does -
currency, validation
the only true form of human salvation.