The Imitation Game Response Thread

[Tzara]

Responses to the July 2015 Challenge (The Imitation Game) will be posted as I'm able to get to them. Please be patient if your submission doesn't appear right away--I'm randomizing the order of the poems to make it a little less obvious who wrote which poem, proofreading each for (what I think may be) obvious errors, and doing some basic formatting to regularize the appearance of the poems. This all takes time.

I am assuming that all of those submitting poems would appreciate comments on them. There are a lot of different aspects of these poems that might invite comment--for example, who wrote each response poem, comments on the response poem as poem, comments on how well the response poem imitates the source poem, choice of source poem, etc. Please post all comments in the original challenge thread. I will ask the forum moderators to move any posts in this thread other than the response poems, in order to make it easier for people to read the entires. I will also be adding an index to this first post, to allow readers to more easily find a particular poem they are interested in.

I've been extremely pleased so far with the variety of sources and the brilliance and wit of the responses. Thanks to all who have participated and to those who either plan to participate or who simply want to read the responses.


Index to Challenge Responses

1. Imitating Bradbury
2. Imitating Yeats
3. Imitating Whitman
4. Imitating Milton
5. Imitating Wordsworth
6. Imitating McCrae
7. Imitating the Bible
8. Imitating O'Hara
9. Imitating Kipling
10. Imitating Creeley
11. Imitating Larkin
12. Imitating Shakespeare
13. Imitating Tzara (Me)
14. Imitating Shuttleworth
15. Imitating Crozier
16. Imitating Moore
17. Imitating Stevenson
18. Imitating Paley
19. Imitating Tennyson
20. Imitating Dunn
21. Imitating Knott
22. Imitating Mao
23. Imitating Rage Against the Machine
24. Imitating Schneider
25. Imitating Coleridge
26. Imitating Kipling
27. Imitating Tzara (Tristan)
28. Imitating Tolkien
29. Imitating Komachi
30. Imitating Hayden
31. Imitating Joyce
32. Imitating Williams
33. Imitating Brouwer
34. Imitating Brodsky
35. Imitating Craig
36. Imitating Heine
37. Imitating Stone
38. Imitating Atwood
39. Imitating Berrigan
40. Imitating Jong
41. Imitating Jeffers

 

[Tzara]

Challenge Response 1

Source Poem:

Darwin in the Fields
Ray Bradbury

Darwin, in the fields, stood still as time
And waited for the world to now exhale and now
Take in a breath of wind from off the yield and swell
Of seas where fill the clouds with sighs;
His eyes knew what they saw but took their time to tell
This truth to him, he waited on their favour.
His nose kept worlds far larger than a goodly nose might savor
And waited for the proper place to fit the flavour in.
So eye and nose and ear and hand told mouth
What it must say;
And after a while and many and many a day
His mouth,
So full of Nature’s gifts, it trembled to express,
Began to move.
No more a statue in the field,
A honeybee come home to fill the comb,
Here Darwin hies.
Though to ordinary eyes it might appear he plods,
Victorian statue in a misty lane;
All that is lies. Listen to the gods:
“The man flies, I tell you. The man flies!”


Source: When Elephants Last in the Dooryard Bloomed (1973)​

Response Poem:

Darwin aboard the Beagle
Tristesse2

Darwin, on the deck, looks back
At ever widening wake and, at last,
The islands grouped like so many from his past.
Now take in a breath of wind fresh from the swell;
Carried below like a memory to the cramped cell,
Sea-prison filled with Nature’s gifts.
His mouth trembling to tell the magnitude of knowledge
That only he can see, still tastes
Salt and tropical fruits as he seeks out maps of exotic wastes,
Charts and notes and thoughts.
More sick of sea than for home he filters out what,
To ordinary eyes, seems boring tome
Through which to comb for details of finches with minute distinction,
Leaves, both leathery and ferny, flowers doomed to extinction
Before the journey ends
And unlikely parallels.
Once home all this will bend belief,
Change mankind for ever
Sever relations,
Bring religious grief.​

 

[Tzara]

Challenge Response 2

Source Poem:

The Lake Isle of Innisfree
W. B. Yeats

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee;
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet’s wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.


Source: The Collected Poems of W. B. Yeats (1996)​

Response Poem:

Skyland
Angeline

I have lived here in these mountains so they must be home,
And I have a cabin set among the hickory trees:
Three farms flow across my road, the Sun is kind, the loam
Is sweet, birdsong warbles on the breeze.

And I have loved the quiet green that rises to blue sky,
The gray fog that wakes with dawn and drifts upon the tree line
Here where fireflies blink when evening time is nigh
And late when frogs chorus in the vine.

I came dreaming to the mountains in another year
Of love songs neverending of eyes filled up with Moon,
I've misplaced my peaceful center though it once was here,
It's out there unseen nor near nor soon.​

 

[Tzara]

Source Poem:

"Song of Myself," Walt Whitman​

Response Poem:

follows on
butters

breath deep, breath shallow,
breath pushed from moist bellows into
a future of skies
bluer than Agean seas and oceanic eyes;
skies
greyer than November attitudes,
blacker than lost years,
higher than expectation's cost,
brighter than high-hope's dawn; breath
lost to tender vapours,
tendrils of threading and twining
a-mingling with wisps and puffs
that emanate from beast and bird alike.

from all green and growing things
great acres of exhalation:
life-stuff
puffed
and sucked
by untold creeping creatures, killer whales;
by leeches, apes and parasites,
by sail-winged bats in blind caves;
by rabbits and by eagles,
by heroes, thieves and oafs;
by presidents and paedophiles,
by prisoners and popes.
breath

vast comings and goings;
great tidal ins and outs,
mass transpiration circling this orb
on the greedy drag of jet streams and
the gentle wings of zephyrs.
breath

from my mouth to your mouth -
great gifts given thoughtlessly.
my breath's caressed your pink and bubbling sacs;
i am intimate with you beyond imagining,
my gift transparent and without motive.
i take
as thoughtlessly as i give -
as you take
and give
as he and she and they and those
take
and give

in the reckless scant of life,
in the ripening of fat mangoes;
in soft membranous flap of gill,
through sparkling rill and hollow's faithful cling
where grow such foreign fleshy things
in thrash and meld of succulent structure;
the calling home of flocks to roost,
in pastures and in wolvish rowling howls;
thoughts fidgeting in pews and in
fingers dug so deep in soils all moist and cool,
life-death's perfumes commingle, darkly sweet.

i feel

the breath of nations flow;
creation knows i follow
with weightless thoughts wheresoe'er they go,
knowing no boundaries other than life or death.
breath
crosses o'er

and i know that i must breathe my last
before i breathe my first again;
that dying things expel their gusty last before
their gasp of lusty first again
and life flows on --
death follows on
and are but one as
breath,
both in and out,
follows on.​

 

[Tzara]

Challenge Response 4

Source Poem:

Paradise Lost (Link is to Book 1), John Milton​

Response Poem:

DesEsseintes

Introitus

Of Cinderella, and her sisters two,

(On whom th’ancestral virtue scorned to sit

As one who in a public house relieves

Himself by squatting o’er the filthy seat

He scarcely dares to touch); and of her looks

Untrammelled yet by men nor womankind,

Which graced that greatest treasure of her home,

Surpassing far the duller jewels which lay

Unwinking on her sibling’s duller breasts;

And of her scorning of the Prince, who sought

Her hand (we say, though meaning so much more),

In favour of that second Helen, fair

Cordella, sister of that greater lord

Of Afric far, whose presence at the Ball,

Though fondly sought, did’st yet begin that path

To ruin, scorn and so much shameful pleasure –

Sing, Muse, that did’st inspire the lovely songs

Of Sappho, and exalted so the isle

Wherein she wrote that even to this day

Its very name describes Cordella’s love

For Cinderella, and the latter’s love

For her – and draw on this my feeble song

That it may fitly scribe that happy time

When fairy-tale first ‘scaped its constant theme

Of heterosexual love and wedding feasts

That ere too many lines are yet transcribed

My readers may have set before their eyes

As true a tale of love as any song

Or story could describe – in short, this tale

Begun in shame and shattered family pride,

Yet ending (though indeed it lives on still)

In mutual happiness and public joy.



Actus Primus



The early-rising solstice summer sun

Found Cinderella kneeling at the grate.

In rags and tatters clothed, she yet returned

The sunlight’s gaze as ancient Roman lords

Accepted fertile lands, fast-flowing streams

And gold and silver as their rightful due

From lesser kings and foreign potentates;

Just so did Cinderella tribute take.

As if the very sun were set afire

And hung in heaven’s blazing firmament

That she might thus its riches duly note;

Incorporating every glowing ray

And every dancing mote in her own form

To such effect that when the sun withdrew

His vitiated corse behind a cloud

The dismal garret grew not more obscure

But pulsed with light which centred on her face.

Her pride and confidence (thus not in doubt

And ranged with her unrivalled pulchritude)

Led strangers to the house to wonder why

Her sisters (on whom Mother Nature’s hand

Had sat less kindly; and whose manners too

Lacked Cinderella’s charm and graceful poise)

Might govern her as harshly as they did.

In fact, though through her mother more imbued

By far with noble wit and grace was she

Than either worse-born sister – still did they

Her temperament and disposition rule

To such extent that to their every whim

She had perforce to bend; without the kind

And constant interventions of her Pa

Her life itself – though even with this aid

Her place was no more valued than a slave’s –

Had yet been forfeit. So, upon this day,

With which our long-postponéd tale begins

Our heroine was found upon her knees,

Engaged in scrubbing at the age-worn dirt

That marked the floor around the household grate.

So busy with this thankless task was she

So loud as well the scrapings of her brush

That several rapid knocks upon the door

Passed by unheeded; whereupon again

The servant of the Prince (for it was he)

Raised up his sturdy cane against the door

Belabouring the oak with sterner teak

To such effect that one might even think

Beelzebub himself was at the gate.

Now even Cinderella, far away,

Was startled by the noise and ran downstairs,

Conceiving even as she hurtled on

That such a racket, and at such an hour,

Must import news of greater novelty,

Than all the frequent gossip-laden tales

Which easily engaged the simple minds

And simpler interests of the neighbourhood.

In light of Cinderella’s lonely state

The daily correspondence of the world

Still passed her by; in all her twenty years

The daily post had brought her not a note.

Yet still she hoped; especially because

The usual letters would not come for hours.

The servant, not a party to these thoughts,

Was just about to raise his stick once more,

When suddenly the heavy oak drew back,

And Cinderella shyly peered outside.

“I bear an invitation from the Prince.

He wishes your attendance at the Ball,

The yearly SunDance Ball; at which your age,

Your heritage (and dare I say your looks)

Command your presence. Furthermore, he adds,

That if the cost should prove prohibitive”,

(This last attended by a curious glance

At Cinderella’s pitiful attire),

The King himself will supplement your funds,

So eager is the Prince to see you there.”

With this, the servant smartly clicked his heels

(The leather shoes, of good and supple calf,

Each sewn and stitched by Church’s finest hand,

Supplied him by the Prince, whose whim it was

To clad in such fine raiments all his men

That servants might thus understand at once

Not only his desire to treat them well

But their complete subservience to him;

These shoes at once had Cinderella seen,

And in them the reflection of her clothes,

Which dreadful sight had made her so ashamed

That only with the servant’s final words

And promise that her dress might be obtained

By funds beyond her own pathetic purse

Had she thought that she would indeed attend

And thence began to ponder whither she

Should turn for the provision of her gown,

And if it in the High Street must be found

Or if she might presume to have one made…)

And was about to turn away to leave

When Cinderella, comprehending not,

His foppish sleeve did grasp to make him stay,

And asked him if the Prince’s Royal Command,

Did truly mention her and only she,

“For”, as she pointed out, “my sisters two

“Were surely meant by this – they are the ones

“Who constantly attend such gracious balls,

“Whilst I concern myself with nothing more

“Than helping with their manicures and hair –

“In short, I lack experience in such things

“And certainly would not adorn the scene,

“In such exquisite glory as would they –

“Still less know where to stand or how to dance…”

At this the servant interrupted her.

“I grow impatient with your modesty,

“This unbecoming modesty which hides

“Your charm, your wit and undisputed grace

“Which with your beauty have commended you

“To th’attention of my noble lord the Prince,

“And whose disparagement and too faint praise

“Indicts his taste and thus diminishes

“Those qualities which he in you discerned

“As signs of gentle pliability.

“Perhaps I should return and tell him, then,

“That Cinderella scorns his kind regard

And chooses rather to immerse herself

“In tasks beneath her dignity and note.”

Though disconcerted somewhat by his tone,

(And further by the Prince’s noisome faith

In ‘pliability’ as measurement

Of how a noble lady should behave

If she should crave the notice of a man)

The glory of the ball, and greater still

The glory of her sisters’ absence too

Demanded she respond – “I meant not that

“Good gentle man – I shall indeed attend

“And please inform your master of my joy.

“My joy and gratitude he shall observe

“And I shall strive to make him always glad

“That in his noble disposition he

“Did please to notice one of little note.

“Good man, I may not tarry any more.

“My heavy daily tasks are much delayed

“The clock will strike the hour of seven soon

“And I have much to do. Tell me but this;

“At what hour, and upon which glorious day

“Am I thus summoned to the Prince’s Ball?”

Her ignorance might be excused by one

Less haughty and peremptory in style

Than he who faced her now – nevertheless

She reddened as she realised her mistake

And looked at th’invitation once again.

“The details you will find upon the card

“Which I have lately given you – the note

“There at the bottom which demands reply

“You may ignore – I will myself pass on

“Your pleasure to my master straightaway.”

With that he turned upon his charming heel

And strode away, nose wrinkled in disgust

As in the corner of his eye he saw

The droppings from the farmyard’s crawling beasts

Had smirched his charming stockings to the knee.

Unconscious of this, Cinderella smiled

And clutching to her breast the precious card

She skipped her way back up the winding stair

Picked up her cloth again with beating heart

To recommence her task with hope renewed.



(End of Act One. Act Two will deal with the jealousy of the two sisters, their attempts at sabotage and their father’s attempts to mediate, and will end with the arrival of the Alexander McQueen voucher from the King for Cinderella’s dress. Act Three will cover the purchase of the dress, the revealing of Cinderella to the world as a creature of shining beauty – like heroines in Hollywood films taking off their glasses and shaking their hair loose – and will end with Cinderella’s arrival at the Sundance Ball. Act Four will begin with Cinderella being introduced to the Prince and dancing with him, but constantly watching Cordella and vice versa. During a break in the music, they begin talking and Cordella persuades Cinderella outside for a fag and a snog. They will – of course – fall instantly in love, but the Prince will come looking for Cinderella and in her confusion to escape she will lose her left Jimmy Choo boot, which will be taken up by Cordella. Act Five will describe Cordella’s search for Cinderella, the King’s proclamation of death on Cinderella, the countermanding of this by Cordella’s father at the U.N. Security Council meeting, Cordella’s finding of Cinderella and their joyful marriage in Hawaii.)​

 

[Tzara]

Challenge Response 5

Source Poem:

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud
William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.​

Response Poem:

Down in the Troldrums
UnderYourSpell

I trundled cloddish as a Troll
That floundered over hill and vale,
When all at once I saw a knoll
and on that bump there stood a pail.
Over there yonder by itself
Not even balanced on a shelf.

As I approached the lonesome bucket
It rattled in a mournful tone,
But having feet my size, oh fuck it
I dislodged a rock with my toe bone.
Down it clattered, clanged and crashed
And all within it splished and splashed.

I groaned frustrated, fraught and clumsy
At what I'd done with my big feet
And blamed ancestors (Pa and Mumsy)
I never would be lithe and fleet.
Away it sped to distant parts,
Careering, splishing, squelch and farts.

Now I wander lack of lustre
Far and wide I seek my goal.
Investigating with my duster
Cleaning messes from each bowl.
Still I've never found my vessel
Not on knoll, or hill, or trestle.​

 

[Tzara]

Challenge Response 6

Source Poem:

In Flanders Fields
John McCrae

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
​

Response Poem:

In Solid Rows
UnderYourSpell

In solid rows the Gravestones stand
their march is stark across the land
each one a Mother's bitter blow
grown from greed politicians sow,
a wind of hate righteous fanned.

Always the youngest to command
and lead across the bloody strand,
meets just like him the enemy foe.
In solid rows.

Throughout the history at hand
no lessons learnt, no death is grand,
these wasted lives will never grow
to manhood underneath the mow.
Grassed over see the gravestones stand.
In solid rows.​

 

[Tzara]

Challenge Response 7

Source Poem:

Excerpts from 1 Corinthians 13

If I speak with the tongues of men
and of angels, but do not have love,
I have become a noisy gong,

and if I have faith that moves mountains,
but have not love, I am nothing.

When I was a child, I spoke like a child,
thought like a child, reasoned like a child;
but when I became a man,
I did away with childish things.

Faith, hope, and love, abide by these;
but the greatest of these is love.​

Response Poem:

Love is a Verb More than a Noun
greenmountaineer

more than a Modigliani
reclining nude in a painting.

Notice how the sound of the L
isn't explosive, nor the V.
You barely can hear a vowel.

It rolls off my tongue like lavender.
Love is gentle. Love is kind.

But if I grind my words
like a prick fucking a cunt
that jolts like lightning and thunder,

and if it's only a trip that I share
with another and another,
in time, I am nothing, My Dear.​

 

[Tzara]

Challenge Response 8

Source Poem:

[Lana Turner has collapsed!]
Frank O’Hara

Lana Turner has collapsed!
I was trotting along and suddenly
it started raining and snowing
and you said it was hailing
but hailing hits you on the head
hard so it was really snowing and
raining and I was in such a hurry
to meet you but the traffic
was acting exactly like the sky
and suddenly I see a headline
LANA TURNER HAS COLLAPSED!
there is no snow in Hollywood
there is no rain in California
I have been to lots of parties
and acted perfectly disgraceful
but I never actually collapsed
oh Lana Turner we love you get up


Source: The Collected Poems of Frank O'Hara (1995)​

Response Poem:

[Kimmy K has broke a heel!]
Angeline

Kimmy K has broke a heel!
I was playing solitaire and whoosh
the wind blew in scattering my day
I thought it might be preordained
but only my cards blew so
it wasn't a total loss though the wind
wasn't slowing and I needed to start
dinner but my ennui was calling when
suddenly I see a headline on my screen
KIMMY K HAS BROKE A HEEL!
There is no joy in Calabasas
nor water in California
I've not been to Calabasas
but I've stumbled plenty
and also been a perfect heel
but it never made the evening news
oh Kimmy K call Christian Louboutin
right away​

 

[Tzara]

Challenge Response 9

Source Poem:

If
Rudyard Kipling

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!​

Response Poem:

Reach high
UnderYourSpell

Never believe in life's suppression
or take to heart the words of fools,
remember always each hard lesson
they will help you learn the rules.
False love will burn the strongest
and just as quickly fade and die,
participate to be the worthiest
gain the tools with which to try.
Reach high for the stars my son,
then the world will come to you
suppressors turn away and shun
always to your heart be true.​

 

[Tzara]

Challenge Response 10

Source Poem:

A Marriage
Robert Creeley

The first retainer
he gave to her
was a golden
wedding ring.

The second—late at night
he woke up,
leaned over on an elbow,
and kissed her.

The third and the last—
he died with
and gave up loving
and lived with her.


Source: Selected Poems (1991)​

Response Poem:

An Affair
EllenMore

The first seduction
was how he kissed
her loneliness
with deft words.

The second was his wish,
in a long note about art,
for her photograph.
Any one.

The third, the last,
was how he drifted off
like desert sand. That is really
when she began to love him.​

 

[Tzara]

Challenge Response 11

Source Poem:

Coming
Philip Larkin

Light, chill and yellow,
Bathes the serene
Foreheads of houses.
A thrush sings,
Laurel-surrounded
In the deep bare garden,
Its fresh-peeled voice
Astonishing the brickwork.
It will be spring soon,
It will be spring soon --
And I, whose childhood
Is a forgotten boredom,
Feel like a child
Who comes on a scene
Of adult reconciling,
And can understand nothing
But the unusual laughter,
And starts to be happy.


Source: Collected Poems (2004)​

Response Poem:

Howling
Tristesse2

Sound, clear and chilling,
Close but lives away,
Carries through the mist,
Through trees and time,
Stopping breath en route.
After, in silence more raw
Than before, heartbeats
Drum against bone.
Distances expand yet
Wilderness draws closer
Wildness draws closer –
And I, city-bred and jaded
Ignorant of this
Feel like a child finding
A secret long hidden
And, knowing it was mine
Now and forever,
Start to be happy.​

 

[Tzara]

Challenge Response 12

Source Poem:

Sonnet 18
William Shakespeare

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimmed;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st,
Nor shall death brag thou wand’rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to Time thou grow’st.
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.​

Response Poem:

Odour of June
UnderYourSpell

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more wet and twice as annoying.
The trees that dripped their leaves in May
Speak now of June your perfume cloying.
The crashing thunder portrays your voice
Till birds shall drop from crumpled wings,
As your snores now make my heart rejoice
No more to hear those strident vocal rings.
What once I looked upon as sweet and coy
Your simpering coquettishness at every whim
Was not just only girlish, youthful play
I now perceive at last my god you're dim.
As long as you still take breath, alas
I must survive your chronic problem, gas.​

 

[Tzara]

Challenge Response 13

Source Poem:

salaciously, snowmelt said to ocean
Tzara

salaciously,
snowmelt
said to
ocean:

i may
just be
a rivulet
now,

but when
finally i thrust
into your
welcoming bay

it’ll be
a freshwater
torrent,
baby

bet you
won’t be
so pacific
then


Source: Literotica​

Response Poem:

suggestively, summer said to spring
Tristesse2

suggestively
summer
said to
spring:

I must
be just
a dream
now,

but when
we meet
in subtle heat
your freshness

will dissolve,
easy to
undress you,
baby

then you
won’t be
so wound up
will you?​

 

[Tzara]

Challenge Response 14

Source Poem:

Sestina
Ciara Shuttleworth

You
used
to
love
me
well.

Well,
you—
me—
used
love
to...

to...
well...
love.
You
used
me.

Me,
too,
used...
well...
you.
Love,

love
me.
You,
too
well
used,

used
love
well.
Me,
too.
You!

You used
to love
me well.


Source: The New Yorker (November 29,2010)​

Response Poem:

Conversation
UnderYourSpell

You
really
were
always
useless.
Fuck!

Fuck
you;
useless.
Really
always
were.

Were
(fuck)
always?
You
really.
Useless.

Useless?
Were
really?
Fuck
you
always!

Always
useless?
You
were!
Fuck
really?!

Really,
always?
Fuck!
Useless.
Were
you?

Really useless, always were.
Fuck you!​

 

[Tzara]

Challenge Response 15

Source Poem:

Onions
Lorna Crozier

The onion loves the onion.
It hugs its many layers,
saying, O, O, O,
each vowel smaller
than the last.

Some say it has no heart.
It doesn't need one.
It surrounds itself,
feels whole. Primordial.
First among vegetables.

If Eve had bitten it
instead of the apple,
how different
Paradise.


Source: The Blue Hour of the Day (2007)​

Response Poem:

Orgasms
EllenMore

My union loves your union.
I love our many lays,
my sighed O, O, O,
each vocal shriller
than the last.

Some ask What about the heart?
This doesn't need one;
just of itself
it feels whole. Primeval.
The Fruit of Experience.

If God had seen fit
to provide this bliss in Eden,
it truly would have been
Paradise.​

 

[Tzara]

Challenge Response 16

Source Poem:

A Visit from St. Nicholas
Clement Clarke Moore

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds;
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Gave a lustre of midday to objects below,
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny rein-deer,
With a little old driver so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment he must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"
As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the housetop the coursers they flew
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too—
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack.
His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly
That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight—
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”


Source: The Random House Book of Poetry for Children (1983)​

Response Poem:

UnderYourSpell

Twas the night before Christmas
and all through the gutter
nothing was heard
not even a mutter.

A drunk Santa was slumped
on a bench fast asleep
his hands on his tackle
dreaming of sheep.

Then out in the street
there arose such a clunk
the crashing of bottles
had awoken the drunk.

He sprang to his feet
but his legs were like lead
so he fell on his ass
and broke wind instead.

As he staggered away
somebody stammered
he's nice enough sober
but not when he's hammered.​

 

[Tzara]

Challenge Response 17

Source Poem:

Pirate Story
Robert Louis Stevenson

Three of us afloat in the meadow by the swing,
Three of us abroad in the basket on the lea.
Winds are in the air, they are blowing in the spring,
And waves are on the meadow like the waves there are at sea.

Where shall we adventure, to-day that we're afloat,
Shall it be to Africa, a-steering of the boat,
To Providence, or Babylon or off to Malabar?

Hi! but here's a squadron a-rowing on the sea--
Cattle on the meadow a-charging with a roar!
Quick, and we'll escape them, they're as mad as they can be,
The wicket is the harbour and the garden is the shore.​

Response Poem:

UnderYourSpell

Six of us cavorting in a bed
five and a broad just passing by,
suction from a beauty giving head
a perfect sight from where I lie.

What new adventures now await,
to deviate or just stay straight,
To Lesbos, Amazon or Greece?

Aha! I'm thrown upon my front
and challenged with a might roar,
made uneasy by the shunt
a scream escapes, my God that's sore!​

 

[Tzara]

Challenge Response 18

Source Poem:

A Cloud Like a Tower
Grace Paley

A cloud like a tower
nothing pillowy about it
Gaudi must have seen that
structure before descending
to Barcelona where
he raised his own with rounded
shoulders that
looked sharp .. how?


Source: Fidelity (2008)​

Response Poem:

A Cloud Like a Lover
Tzara

A cloud like a lover
something pillowy about it
gaudy with curves and wisps
of vapor like tangled
hair wet from her shower
I rushed home to raise
my own rounded one
from sleep ..now?​

 

[Tzara]

Challenge Response 19

Source Poem:

The Charge of the Light Brigade
Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!" he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismayed?
Not though the soldier knew
Some one had blundered:
Their's not to make reply,
Their's not to reason why,
Their's but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.

Flashed all their sabres bare,
Flashed as they turned in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wondered:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right through the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reeled from the sabre-stroke
Shattered and sundered.
Then they rode back, but not,
Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came through the jaws of Death
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!​

Response Poem:

Harrods' January Sale
UnderYourSpell

Half price sale, half price sale.
Half price sale now on!

Away through the doors of Harrods
stormed the six hundred.
"Forward the Chelsea Brigade
charge for bargains!" She said.
Into the Lingerie Department
stormed the six hundred.

"Forward the Chelsea Brigade!"
Was there a assistant not dismayed?
Although the Doorman knew
someone had floundered.
His is not to pick her up,
his not to face the C sized cup,
his not to get that close up.
Into the Department of Lingerie
stormed the six hundred.

Knickers to the right of them,
Knickers to the left of them,
Knickers in front of them
flew overhead and rebounded;
stormed at with verve and swell
bodily they slammed pell mell.
Into the aisles of Death,
into the Department of Lingerie,
stormed the six hundred.

Smashed all the waiting shelves bare,
smashed each shopper standing there,
elbows in use not safe or fair.
Seeking a bargain, while
all around the Store resounded
like the fury of all hell let loose
to cursing, screams and much abuse.
Piccadilly and Kensington
reeled from the elbows profuse
shattered and grounded,
then they fell back, but not,
not, the six hundred.

When will the material fade?
Was hemming checked for how well made?
When all around the Store resounded.
Honour the price they paid!
Honour the Chelsea Brigade!
Outstanding six hundred!​

 

[Tzara]

Challenge Response 20

Source Poem:

Sweetness
Stephen Dunn

Just when it has seemed I couldn’t bear
one more friend
waking with a tumor, one more maniac

with a perfect reason, often a sweetness
has come
and changed nothing in the world

except the way I stumbled through it,
for a while lost
in the ignorance of loving

someone or something, the world shrunk
to mouth-size,
hand-size, and never seeming small.

I acknowledge there is no sweetness
that doesn’t leave a stain,
no sweetness that’s ever sufficiently sweet.

Tonight a friend called to say his lover
was killed in a car
he was driving. His voice was low

and guttural, he repeated what he needed
to repeat, and I repeated
the one or two words we have for such grief

until we were speaking only in tones.
Often a sweetness comes
as if on loan, stays just long enough

to make sense of what it means to be alive,
then returns to its dark
source. As for me, I don’t care

where it’s been, or what bitter road
it’s traveled
to come so far, to taste so good.


Source: New and Selected Poems (1994)​

Response Poem:

The Five Stages of Grief
greenmountaineer

I. First Denial:

The twitching, the Tylenol, the pain,
the extra two fingers of single malt scotch,
it must have been that racquetball match.

Station break:

30 seconds of Handy Wrap,
followed by Mr. Clean.

Then comes spleen
as Angry as hell must be:

Back to the six o' clock news
counting all the body bags,
arriving Dover Air Force Base.

Goddammit! It's Jimmy down the street!

Then there comes the Bargaining:

Domino diplomacy.
Let them bang all the desks they want
in Paris, Hanoi, or Saigon.

Bang, bang, you're dead instead

to be followed by que será,
será,

Resigned

all the president's men

before Acceptance brings
truth, provided I choose to see.

It wasn't cancer,
a maniac, or car.
Another two fingers,
it still isn't sweet.​

 

[Tzara]

Challenge Response 21

Source Poem:

Death
Bill Knott

Going to sleep, I cross my hands on my chest.
They will place my hands like this.
It will look as though I am flying into myself.


Source: Never Lend Your Umbrella to a Submarine and Other Poems (2005)​

Response Poem:

Empathy
Tzara

When I weep, I cross into a place where the rest
Of humanity wraps around my body
Like fleece warming a freezing sheep.​

 

[Tzara]

Challenge Response 22

Source Poem:

Militia Women
Mao Zedong

Early rays of sun illumine the parade grounds
and these handsome girls heroic in the wind
.......with rifles five feet long.
Daughters of China, with a marvelous will,
you prefer hardy uniforms to colorful silk.


Source: The Poems of Mao Zedong; translations, indroduction, and notes by Willis Barnstone (1972)​

Response Poem:

Meshuge Women
Tzara

You see them at dawn, with their Louboutin heels
and Edorado handbags--sturdy girls,
though a bit used overnight--
making their way lurchingly toward home:
a Williamsburg condo, a Park Slope apartment,
the Elle Tahari dress that was bought on sale at Saks
a bit torn.

No five-foot rifles had they found. Nor love,
of course. Just some comfort with someone named Gerald,
who sells discount insurance on the Internet and
whose fingertips alone could color silk.​

 

[Tzara]

Challenge Response 23

Note: The order of the source and response are reversed at the request of the author. Also note that these are "songs" rather than "poems."

Response Song:

It Takes Two to Ghost Dance
Magnetron

I've traveled this trail of tears so many times before
Always ending with a crying shaman left behind
Holding the bag and waving a white flag
Here I am not as a lawman just a layman
Giving you a taste of your own medicine
Man, do you hear what I'm saying
When I say that

Apache servers make for poor spirit horses
Charging spicy buffalo wing style
Across a battlefield littered with bull shitters
Impaled by their own disdain dipped arrows scrolled
Dull witted keyboard warrior knives they wield

While you fancy yourself a Sitting Bull
Renegade with feathered flowing black mane
Parading the pain of expired decades
Bandwidth consumed in tipped over teepee discourse
Voice hoarse from course correcting wrong way history

Strong
Five Hundred Nations divided
Supposedly stripped of Choice
What the hell do you expect from such forced perspective?
Dwelling in selective memory of collective generations
Fashioning the clay of a young impressionable soul

Talking about you
He With Ego Burning Like Sun
Turning a war painted cheek to the One
Numb
Becoming blind to Him
Deaf to his song
Up the creek without a canoe paddle
How your Ancestors' fate was sealed

Rocked and reeled
Claiming the role of circumstantial victim
In battle with forces beyond human control
Donning a hand me down headdress
Conning yourself
Perpetuating
Prolonging
The Long Darkness

Grasping

Stretching

Reaching for you
Are the shadowy fingers of the Wendigo
Vision of blood splattering across the snow
Lingers
If only you would learn to let go
If only you could

Empty your heart of contempt for the White Man
Abandon fixation upon some score uneven
Wheel of Time turning about freely forward
Is the revolving door of government entity
Never coming back around this way again
Dead
Buried in the ground
Minions and Masters who committed atrocity
Overlooked in your ignorance
Head pre-occupied with chants
So oblivious to the obvious

It takes two to Ghost Dance

It takes two to Ghost Dance

It takes two to Ghost Dance

It only takes one to Hate

A state of mind
Fate
Commiserate with your own kind
Live out your days on reservation
Dumb
Deaf and blind
In larger paradise Great Spirit designed​

Source Song:

Renegades of Funk
Rage Against the Machine

No matter how hard you try, you can't stop us now

No matter how hard you try, you can't stop us now

We're the renegades of this atomic age
This atomic age of renegades
Renegades of this atomic age
This atomic age of renegades

Since the Prehistoric ages and the days of ancient Greece
Right down through the Middle Ages
Planet earth kept going through changes
And then the Renaissance came and times continued to change
Nothing stayed the same but there were always renegades
Like Chief Sitting Bull, Tom Paine
Dr. Martin Luther King, Malcolm X
They were renegades of their time and age
So many renegades

We're the renegades of funk
We're the renegades of funk

We're the renegades of funk
We're the renegades of funk

From a different solar system many many galaxies away
We are the force of another creation
A new musical revelation
And we're on this musical mission to help the others listen
And groove from land to land singin' electronic chants like
Zulu nation
Revelations
Destroy our nations
Destroy our nations

Now renegades are the people with their own philosophies
They change the course of history
Everyday people like you and me
We're the renegades we're the people
With our own philosophies
We change the course of history
Everyday people like you and me
C'mon

We're the renegades of funk
We're the renegades of funk

We're the renegades of funk
We're the renegades of funk

Poppin', sockin', rockin' puttin' a side of hip-hop
Because where we're goin' there ain't no stoppin'
Poppin', sockin', rockin', puttin' a side of hip-hop
Because where we're goin' there ain't no stoppin'
Poppin', sockin', rockin' puttin' a side of hip-hop
'Cause we're poppin', sockin', rockin' puttin' a side of hip-hop
Poppin', sockin', rockin' puttin' a side of hip-hop

We're the renegades of funk
We're the renegades of funk

We're the renegades of funk
We're the renegades of funk

We're teachers of the funk
And not of empty popping
We're blessed with the force and the sight of electronics
With the bass, and the treble the horns and our vocals
'Cause every time I pop into the beat we get fresh

There was a time when our music
Was something called the Bay Street beat
People would gather from all around
To get down to the big sound
You had to be a renegade in those days
To take a man to the dance floor

Say jam sucker (jam)
Say jam sucker (jam)
Say groove sucker (groove)
Say groove sucker (groove)
Say dance sucker (dance)
Say dance sucker (dance)
Now move sucker (move)
Now move sucker (move)
Say jam sucker (jam)
Say jam sucker (jam)
Say groove sucker (groove)
Say groove sucker (groove)
Say dance sucker (dance)
Say dance sucker (dance)
Now move sucker (move)
Now move sucker (move)

We're the renegades of funk


Source: Renegades (2000); cover of "Renegades of Funk," by Afrika Bambaataa and Soulsonic Force, lyric by Afrika Bambaataa, 1983.​

 

[Tzara]

Challenge Response 24

Source Poem:

The Patience of Ordinary Things
Pat Schneider

It is a kind of love, is it not?
How the cup holds the tea,
How the chair stands sturdy and foursquare,
How the floor receives the bottoms of shoes
Or toes. How soles of feet know
Where they're supposed to be.
I've been thinking about the patience
Of ordinary things, how clothes
Wait respectfully in closets
And soap dries quietly in the dish,
And towels drink the wet
From the skin of the back.
And the lovely repetition of stairs.
And what is more generous than a window?


Source: Another River: New and Selected Poems (2005)​

Response Poem:

The Impatience of Ordinary People
Trixareforkids

It's a kind of madness, is it not?
How we rush, well, everything
How much we value speed
How we feel idle in between
Hurry and Scurry. How we never feel
We're where we're supposed to be.
I've been thinking about our impatience
Of how it came to pass
That time is money
And why no matter how fast
We press ourselves forward
We never seem to have enough
Of either to spend
And instead lament
How both have gone out the window.​