Yesterday, we kicked it off with a lovely anthology release celebration and reading at the Mission Historical Museum. It was, in one word, magical. Truly. We sat out on the lawn and had a beautiful little picnic and poetry reading as the sunset. The only way it could have been better? If there was wine.
Anyway, onto NAPO:
Today's prompt was to write a response to a famous poem.
I just scrolled through The Poetry Foundation's website for a bit until I came across a "famous" poet -- you know the kind, the ones we read back in high school.
So I came across Yeats, his poem, Politics.
And it made me think about all the creepy old men who stare at women, like the speaker in this poem. I don't know, I have an odd relationship with COM...they're everywhere. They're harmless. Sometimes, they're kind of sweet, but most always, they're creepy and make me feel uncomfortable.
And so, here's my response, a bit more, hmm, postmodern/feminist:
Creepy Old Men
How can I, a creepy old man
Standing there at the podium,
Fix my attention on anything
But the curl at the corner
Of his smile, the naughty glint
In the corner of his eye
As I, engrossed in the words
That roll off his tongue, grasp
At a single lock of my hair
And twist it around my finger.
He knows what he’s talking about,
Theory and literature. He’s read
Everything and recites knowledge
like a prayer to some distant god
I've never met, will never meet.
And maybe what he says is true,
But he has no idea what it means
to stand anywhere but there, to be
A tulip sitting in a vase of water,
Eager to slough her cerise petals
to the floor, wilting in quiet contemplation.
I want to be loved. Everybody does
To become body, to tell him
How it feels, whisper wisdom
In his ear and laugh together
At the irony of everything.
But I know what that look means –
He wants my silence.
He wants to feel young again.
He wants to hold me in his arms.