ReadWritePoem Prompt #97: Coin Paradox

When I first read this week’s prompt written by Nathan Moore of  ReadWritePoem.org, I thought I would borrow words from journal entries – I have a voluminous number of words in a ridiculous number of spiral bound notebooks which I horde for a someday biographer or perhaps a great, great grandchild fascinating by the ways of a middle-aged woman early in the twenty first century.

I know: unlikely.

Something tugged on my heartstrings, though, as I read my Artist’s Statement, the one I wrote for this years “Burn the Witch” all women’s art show which opened last Saturday here in Bakersfield.

I re-read it while standing at “The Wall of Infamy” and cried out of sadness and a bit of embarrassment because my writing was so raw, I felt like people would point at me, clucking their tongues, for my audacity in shedding any last semblance of propriety tucked into my underbelly.

I decided I would take that poetically written prose and slice it up to see if it had more to teach me. It did. Randomly I picked up these lines and added several other snippets to tie it together more formally.

For your reading:

The original:

My art this year reflects two paradoxical sides of the same coin. One side, burned, blistered, dirty with damage so thick it adheres to the coin, becoming the coin. The other is clean, crisp, moist, dewy, fresh – so shiny you close your eyes because it hurts to look.

My art, my life, combined.

Last Summer I sat on the prairie in South Dakota, the I-90 at my back, my children by my side, and miles upon miles upon miles of grassland, waving at me from all directions. Tears filled my eyes as I asked myself the never ending question, “What just happened?”

It took me several days to determine the congruity of that event with so much of my life and my life as an artist. Dreams – oh, so close to coming true… but not quite. 

Dreams – dashed before they take a complete breath.  Dreams – stillborn, dead –on – arrival. Dreams expected, planned for, marked on the calendar, anticipated and then, dreams mourned.

My art, my life, together. Dreams, stillborn.

  

Today’s offering, thanks again to ReadWritePoem.org:

Dreams planned

(Prepare to hatch)

Yellow sunray fingers

wave at us from all directions

I ask the never ending question

with my children by my side

Dreams - stillborn, dead on arrival?

Vacant silence

Windy absence

One side of the coin is burned

Dreams expected

Tears filled my eyes

Dreams mourned

How do they again appear -

Clean, crisp, moist, dewy fresh

(But not quite)

Miles upon miles upon miles of grassland

My art

this year reflects

My Life

It is burnt, dirty, damage so thick

Last Summer I sat on the prairie in South Dakota

Dreams marked on the calendar

Dreams anticipated

Dreams - dashed before they take a complete breath

Several days determine the congruity of that event

"What just happened?"

I-90 at my back

with so much of life and life as an artist

My Dreams, stillborn

My Art

Two paradoxical sides of the same coin.

Comments

[Timaree (freebird)]

What I see between these two is the first is a poem of despair and the second is a gleaning of hope appearing. I see that in the question this year rather than the statement last year "Dreams - stillborn, dead on arrival?" and here "How do they again appear - Clean, crisp, moist, dewy fresh (But not quite)". With the question mark in the first and the idea they are appearing again but with a bit of real, gritty life attached to them this time, I see the hope stirring.

I hope I am right. The only failed person (or dream) is the one that fails to get up again. Is that an absolute, no. Nothing in life is absolute but we can keep looking and looking at old dreams and taking a bit here and there to rebuild a new one out of the old.

This is something for me to think about, that's for sure.

[Julie Jordan Scott]

Thank you, Timaree. I don't see Stillbirth as failure, either. In fact, one of my most abhorred book titles is "When Pregnancy Fails"... a book about stillbirth... because I don't believe a stillbirth is a failure. It is a different outcome... anyway - I value your input so much... and yes, I can see the hope in the second poem, the actual outcome of the prompt from ReadWritePoem.org... more time has passed. More reflection... and in this creation, I had Divinity as a Collaborator in the random pulling of the phrases from the original work. I didn't steer the work, it unfolded as I reached into the pile of sentences, clips and phrases.

Again, thank you.

[Tammy]

Interesting prompt and outcome!

[Kim Owens]

This reminds me of William Burroughs poetry. I love the act of deconstruction followed by reconstruction. All the same bones, but the outcome is different and yet... still the same. I think our lives are always about our perspective and being open to seeing things from more than one view. I love your writing.

[Therese Broderick]

The poem is a very moving lament, and positioned directly after the prose selection, it is the wailing song that necessarily arises from the pitch reached by the prose. The repetitions (as if in disbelief) and the short lines effectively deliver the stunned (by sun, by a vast prairie wasteland, by disappointment) bewilderment of the speaker. The undescribed children present in the scene are the silent pressure of the future against the past and present -- the reason to go on, to keep hoping. A compelling poem.

[Therese Broderick]

P.S. I forgot to say how much I love your photos of the word scraps on the purple backdrop. Thank you for sharing that visual with us!

[Stacy]

This is Wonderful! I love how it turned out. The poem is something I can really relate to.

[rallentanda]

This is a sad.Somebody has arrived at the crossroads of life.A reality check about what is never going to be achieved.
But as you say in the poem there is the
brighter side of the coin which wouldn't
appear so bright if the other side wasn't
so blistered and damaged...it will all make sense eventually!A moving poem.

[Anthony North]

You did a great job in creating order from the confusion here.

[mark]

Wonderful job, Julie. Your poetry makes me think, reread and ponder things. This being no exception.

[gautami tripathy]

Like this:

"Yellow sunray fingers
wave at us from all directions"

Terma Rima: psychedelic pajamas

[Paul Oakley]

Julie, really like the way you bring nuance and ambiguity to play more fully in the poem. Especially:

"Miles upon miles upon miles of grassland
My art
this year reflects
My Life"

[David Moolten]

Great comparison of the children and the dreams as like children. It really makes fears and doubts palpable. The physical details and very concrete image of I-90 is a perfect counterpoint for the more ethereal language about dreams.

[Kimberlee]

I really like how you took your work and literally tore it apart and reconfigured it into something new. Ultimate recycling. :D I liked the repetition as well. Good job!

p.s. thanks for stopping by my blog for a visit. :D

[Tumblewords]

Nice - both. Two sides of the coin speak to new and old as well as ongoing since there's very little to be said for balancing on one's own edge. Enjoyed the journey.

[Cynthia Short]

I loved this, the truth, the realization and yet, throughout a glimmer of hope...it could be my autobiography!

[Linda Fraser]

It is amazing to me how experience and reflection gives you depth of character that helps you grow and blossom. I love your poem. It is a journey and a dream at the same time and so real.
Thank you for sharing, Julie.

[Derrick]

Hi Julie,

I agree that there is a sense of hope in the poem. The rearranging of the phrases hasn't made it too abstract and offers subtle differences, nuances.

[Marilyn]

an extremely powerful and moving entry. I do hope you will continue to dream....it provides hope. Thank you so kindly for sharing. Maer :)

[wayne]

really liked how this turned out....thanks for sharing

[Nathan]

I love the way you put both texts side by side so we can see how the lines grow and unfold in context. Your photos are beautiful too.

[leah]

Oh, Julie, what a beautiful way to deconstruct and rework your artist's statement to find more in the process.

[throwshiswords.wordpress.com]

I like the way you physically cut and pasted, a very tactile reworking that is so appropriate for such bravely honest material. Well done!

ps thanks for visiting my blog :)

[angie]

your words -- both ways -- are so deeply moving. took my breath away.

I am touched by the poem and the comparison of dreams and children. that is exactly what they are -- fresh...dirty...and waving at us from all directions.

and I LOVE your visual; thanks for including that!

[Julie Jordan Scott]

Oh, to comment back to each of you.

I have been delighted (and surprised) by the sheer volume of comments - this is the highest comment volume any poem of mine has ever received.

Raises the bar a bit more.

THANK YOU!