Poetry Response, Assignment Guidelines

ASSIGNMENT:
Construct two, three-dimensional forms that visually communicate your perception of the design elements and principles coherent in the written word. The primary material for both forms is paper. See below for a complete list of materials. Use non-representational imagery. Allow elements and principles to serve as visual metaphors. No symbols or cliches.

OBJECTIVE:
Provide an opportunity for students to apply their knowledge of design elements and principles  in accordance with their own personal perception.

MATERIALS:
Paper, ink (and/or paint, colored pencil, pastel), exacto, scissors, cut matt. Optional, needle and thread, gesso, gel medium. Paper type limited to white copy, white Rives paper (came in your kit) and/or tracing paper (available in the classroom).

Step 1:
Read the poems listed below. Poets are students of Professor Liz Robbins.

Step 2:
Select three poems. Number one being your first choice. I will post a sign up sheet in class. Sign up for your first choice. First come, first serve basis.

Step 3:
Brainstorm session with your poem group. Specific exercises have been developed to assist you with this process.  Details announced in class. Come prepared with a pencil, a sketchbook and an open mind.

Step 4:
Begin construction of your idea.

What to put on your blog:
1. In process pictures.
2. Professional images of the final solution. At least 3, include a detail shot.
3. Artist Statement.


There are six poems to choose from. an even number of students will be working with each poem. If your first choice is not available, be prepared to sign up for your second choice. Sign up sheets in our classroom (posted over the fire extinguisher, near closet door).

Gold Rush by Laney Burrell

Smog veils the city where

stars flower out of concrete

and dreamers come broken,

twirling, and starved

I feel unhinged, separate

from everything but you

We are homesteaders in

a golden state

The mountains, to me,

are a quartz bowl

That fills with tears and

we are underwater — unhoundable

Waltzing with woodwinds,

I try to recreate

this thicket we found

filled with thorns

Korea in Ruins by MJ Jeremiah

I’m only fourteen years old. Japan took over quickly. We moved to a new place. New language. New scenery. New government. New Mom. There was no time to mourn my last one. I am a child. There were other children too, younger than I. Parents aren’t always perfect. They were supposed to protect me. They were supposed to feed me. They were supposed to care. They were supposed to love me. Not make me become a physical shield for my younger siblings so she could not beat them. Not make me become a mom to my younger siblings so they would have one. Not make me currency. Not make me run. I ran so many times I lost count. The pavement recognized the pounding of my feet. I tried so hard. But I could not save them. I could not protect them from her. I’m sorry. I ran for the last time to my last hope for comfort. Seeking out a home. Deception masked my fate until the darkness came. A man came into my room. He locked the door behind him. That night lasted for thirty years. Some say I should run. But where would I run? Who would take me? Is it better to sell my body to machines and toil, filled with hot sweaty darkness and fume-filled smoke, than to sell my body to the hot sweaty darkness of men? Is there a difference?

T.  A P H R O D I T A by Seth McCormick

Pale half-moon partially 

eclipsed by sand: fractured clam shell:

subtle curve 

of marbled toe—I found her 

thus forgotten:

an ancient goddess, her bones 

sun-bleached and hidden 

beneath sea glass and

sea weed

surrounded by 

fossilized limbs of echinoderms

pared radially like rose petals.

I rebuilt her on my nightstand

stacked her ribs 

one upon the other like a ladder

my eyes climb each night

in search of eternity.

Seafoam stream of ejaculate, stunted breath

eyelids half-closed with pleasure: I worship her

and she comes

to me, illustrious, deathless

as a poem

for a moment pale bone made pink

with flesh and blood.

A vision too quickly dissolved 

flaccid in the dark. But limp 

in my hand

it's all I have to cling to.

The Words by Felicia Hunt

rotting in the back of your throat growing in size and intensity
but not in strength.
You cannot clear your mind

of his hateful presence.
The way he sucks your soul from your body
and forces you to watch
as you dance for him with no control. His puppet.
The rotting words build up in your mouth
choking the life from you. Suffocating
because you cannot pus the decomposing tissue of those words out. You want to scream
but you are a living corpse,
a human doll, his plaything.
His shadow looming over you
and casting you into a bleak pit so dark
you cannot see yourself.
He is a leach sucking the blood of life.
He is a flea hopping from victim to victim.
He is a virus infecting you
choking out the words.

R O M U L U S by Seth McCormick

I was not made for this world. 

Too much the animal,

Too much the human for it.

Feral, like the pig. Hungry.

My hands, dirty from rooting at the ground

Searching for truffles, tremble.

But like the suckling human child: mouth raw, 

Sore from biting at mother crone’s empty breast, 

And bleeding now, it grows slack.

My aging head heavy 

With antlers 

Inching higher hangs low.

My eyes, strained from staring skyward 

In search of god, exhausted, close.

Gatsby, Again by Laney Burrell

My courtyards are teeming with

violent flocks

They use my sugar and leaves,

but not for tea

And someone’s crashed

my yellow car

Ah, but surely they’ve all come to see

Trimalchio

	hollywood

 

separates me

What’s beyond

those dark letters?

I don’t remember

I never leave the hills

because before

I reach the green light,

it turns red.