In one of my
earlier poems, “Butterfly,” my writing is for the most part literal: “His sneakers echo in the empty mall./ Only
the theater is open now./ Part of him chickens out. He thinks to call/ it off, but at this point
is not sure how.” It’s like I’m telling
a story—very narrative-driven—and it’s only in the final couplet where a
metaphor emerges: “That first date led
to another and soon/ the butterfly emerged from the cocoon.” And it’s a clichéd metaphor at that.
In a newer poem,
“Nothing,” I again explore a gay relationship, but this time it’s less cutesy
and less narrative-driven. I make use of
more striking visual metaphors: “You stand, showering./ Naked. A scarecrow/
with no crows to scare,/ no crops to protect.”
Phrases like “your raw skin bleeds… I keep on scrubbing” are less
literal and more metaphorical, and I think, more effective. Comparing “Nothing” to “Butterfly” is like
night and day. Other poems I’m most
proud of now included “Wishes” (“girls resembling flamingos/ with long,
stiletto legs/ and bright, warm coats above”) and “Helpmeet” (“But then you
smiled with/ fruit juice dripping/ from the corner of your/ apple lips, your
mouth a/ yawning hollow”)—poems that have definitely benefitted from my professor's stewardship, the workshops with my peers, and my own deepening understanding of
poetry.
one of my favorite parts of that class was seeing everyone grow and improve.
ReplyDeleteI think your poems were always amazing, what I saw grow most from you was confidence.
we need to keep in touch, if not only so I can keep reading your incredible work. :)
Thanks, Austin. We should definitely keep in touch. You're one of my favorite people from the class.
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