[stylist] For what it's worth: Poetic prose post

Mon May 26 23:36:44 UTC 2014

Barbara,

-----Original Message----- 
From: Barbara HAMMEL
Sent: Monday, May 05, 2014 10:02 PM
To: Writer's Division Mailing List
Subject: Re: [stylist] For what it's worth: Poetic prose post

During this bit of conversation I have come to realize something. I am a 
very concrete thinker, hence the reason why I don't understand Bill's poetry 
because he is by no means a poor writer. My question is, is it possible to 
learn how to understand allusions and metaphors and symbolism. Well, I do 
get allusions, but symbolism is why I don't appreciate many poems, old or 
new. I passed up all those choices for poems in my poetry class because I 
just don't get it. Maybe if I could grasp symbolism it might add something 
to my writing. Unlike you, I get right to the point and have no problem 
exposing my bare emotions that way. But, your symbolism works very well for 
you and your imagery -- and Chris's is something I sure wish could master.
Barbara

Sent from my iPhone

> On May 5, 2014, at 5:03 PM, "Bridgit Pollpeter" <bpollpeter at hotmail.com> 
> wrote:
>
> I guess I assume the knowledge of some religious symbolism, forgetting
> not everyone is familiar with it. I use the crown of thorns like Jesus
> wore, the wound in the side Jesus was given while on the cross, I refer
> to my body as a vessal, an idea found in most religions, the earth
> requiring blood sacrifice as found in many past pagan cultures, a
> reference to Eden. I use these concepts and images to act as metaphors
> for my situation.
>
> Bridgit
>
> -----Original Message-----
> From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of Barbara
> Hammel
> Sent: Monday, May 05, 2014 4:00 PM
> To: Writer's Division Mailing List
> Subject: Re: [stylist] For what it's worth: Poetic prose post
>
>
> And, for what it's worth, I got none of the symbolism.  That part went
> over
> my head until your explanation.  I just understood the piece for what it
>
> was.
> Barbara
>
>
>
>
> Writing free verse is like playing tennis with the net down.--Robert
> Frost -----Original Message----- 
> From: Barbara Hammel
> Sent: Monday, May 05, 2014 3:56 PM
> To: Writer's Division Mailing List
> Subject: Re: [stylist] For what it's worth: Poetic prose post
>
> Now, I got this one right away, even before I read your description.
> You are vague, but not too vague.  Yet in some respects you spelled it
> out clearly. Barbara
>
>
>
> Writing free verse is like playing tennis with the net down.--Robert
> Frost -----Original Message----- 
> From: Bridgit Pollpeter
> Sent: Monday, May 05, 2014 3:01 PM
> To: 'Writer's Division Mailing List'
> Subject: [stylist] For what it's worth: Poetic prose post
>
> Wrote this a while ago. I actually forgot about it, but thought I would
> share it with you lot. I see it kind of, sort of being in the vein of
> Bill's and Chris's pieces, dealing with the earth and life in their own
> ways. Spoiler alert: Will explain it's intent afterwards for those who
> want it, smile.
>
>
> Sacrifice
>
> Holding our breath, we plunge into the darkness. Suspended, heartbeats
> bruising our soul, we are nailed to this action. The horizon is vertical
> and pale, divulging no secrets. We must wait, fettered to time.
>
> Signs of relief speak a secret. They whisper promises swelling our
> hearts. We're chambers unable to contain this jubilee, and yet we must
> wait. Secrets only told by touch. Our hands, our lips, our bodies shout
> in unison; a long awaited chorus.
>
> Sickness molds me into a vessel. I rejoice in the waves of nausea.
> Swirling dizziness is a precious gift. The tender, sore spots cause a
> smile to spread. My body radiates the secret. We count the weeks in
> silence, scared to commit this joy to words.
>
> Exhaustion weighs me down. A fuzzy, haze incapsulates me. Ross's warm
> hand strokes my back as the world sinks into the depths of my slow,
> steady breathing. I surrender to my captor. Our countdown almost to an
> end, I revel in this slumber to strong to avoid.
>
> Colliding with reality, the secret has changed. Held safe, warmth is
> love , but a crack breathes this secret back into the ether. Wetness is
> the kiss of betrayal. Eden's tranquility soiled by rebellion. A blood
> sacrifice is required.
>
> Wounds scabbed over threaten to release a payment. Circle of thorns to
> clarify this sacrifice. Like a wound in the side, blood pours this
> secret from my vessel.
>
> Author's note: I would consider this poetic prose, meaning it has a
> poetic lyricism about it, but is structured as prose. It does not hold
> to any poetic forms. This is nonfiction, though very much an internal
> dialogue with hints of scenes, or actions. It's about the joy of finding
> out you're pregnant but afraid to be overly joyful about it. In the end,
> there's a miscarriage, the sacrifice required. I briefly use some pagan
> and Christian symbolism. This is a much more emotive piece. I see it
> loosely relating to the archeology thread as blood is required as a
> sacrifice to the earth, that blood is needed for life, and I was called
> upon to make that sacrifice, hence some of the pagan symbolism, smile.
> It also has strong allusions to Christian symbolism too, though
> Christian and pagan symbolism agree a lot more than most want to admit,
> grin.
>
> Bridgit P
>
>
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