| InterBoard Poetry Competition | |
| Honorable Mentions, July 2008 | |
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DROWSE Bernard Henrie (Poets.org) Sunburned water lilies, a dozen birds fly up stunned. The cat moves room to room, stops. Plums flicker out. Shiftless radios turn off. Afternoons fall deaf. Judge Tony Barnstone’s comments: “I enjoyed the poem’s small ambitionsjust a little sketch, some atmosphere, some sound pyrotechnics, spare words and no words to spare. The cat and the plums and the ambition evoke William Carlos Williams in his Imagist/Objectivist phase, but the atmospherics I think recall more the small, gorgeous poems of Jean Follain. It’s hard to write a good Imagist poem. A Chinese shi hua (poetry talk) says it best: Plain and Natural: First master elegance, and then strive for the plain style. Nowadays many people write clumsy, facile poems and flatter themselves that they’ve mastered the plain style. I can’t help laughing at this. Poets know that simplicity is difficult. There are poems that illustrate the rigor the plain style demands: Today as in ancient times Plain and natural lines are best. |
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AFTERTASTE Brenda Morisse (Wild Poetry Forum) She sways to this half-tone day, staggers like smoke on a tight rope of discontent. The depth of forever passes for lilies in this muckheap. She has no head for the world and its free-for-all needlework of bill collectors and spiteful windows. The floor is cluttered with bottle caps and cans, so she drapes the sofa on the ceiling and hovers cross-legged and side-by-side with the overhead. If you ask me, she isn’t a saint although she’s very photogenic. Whoever heard of a pin-up saint hawking pilsner? Her mother nagged her to marry rich, but her heart was never a cash register. It’s always been the beer: sweetish, malty Munich and the drier, hoppy Franconian. Her shoebox is filled with bits of broken jewelry: rhinestones and paste, pot metal and silver. Can openers. Hardware softened by careless spools of wires, head pins, eye pins, disheveled bracelets, wrong-way earrings. Orphans in this box have a way of tugging at heart strings. The ring is broken in. Remember when they were head over heels, before life warped the metal, and marriage became too hard to wear? The sum of her memories is tied in knots. I heard she was run out of town, a bartender with stigmata. It’s not hygienic. Our St. Pauli call girl resists know-it-all-gravity and the attraction it mandates, contradicts spiked heels, prods her to wear a bra. Pompous gravity, bombastic gravity, she says. I will walk on water, I will stop time. I levitate. Get over yourself! She is younger than her adult children. She prefers polka dot baring midriff tops. Mardi Gras without Lent. Judge Tony Barnstone’s comments: “I was tempted to make this poem a winner because of its utter wildness, its relentless flow of metaphorical and surreal jabber, its swerving, unexpected rhetoric. Sometimes that craziness leads to a kind of mental disorder, mixed metaphors, a semantic slippage of adjectives that seem not exactly exact or exacting but certainly interesting. Add some sort of turn to the poem so it develops more, can or renew the few cliches (tugging at heart strings, head over heels), and this one could be a real keeper.” |
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SLEEP Tom Allen (Poets.org) As when an old moose with wolves hanging from his ankles and rump and wolves grabbing for his face bulls his way bleeding to the edge of the lake and with all his last strength inch by inch fights to get deeper in until the wolves have to let go and at last he stands up to his nose in red water and watches the pack wandering helpless on shore falling back into the trees watches with eyes from which terror is draining Judge Tony Barnstone’s comments: “The extreme, elaborate metaphor is one that tempts one to say, ‘hold on, now’ but ultimately works as a bravado move and makes this small poem work powerfully, with each short, packed line struggling down the page like the bull moose deeper into the water. Whew! And I thought I had sleep problems!”
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About the InterBoard Poetry Competition |
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