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One of the things I learned last month is that feathers shed a lot. The debris made me think of grade school art classes:
I've been dipping into The Best American Poetry 2011 a couple of times a week the past couple of weeks. The poem that has resonated the most with me so far is Mary Ruefle's "Provenance," which begins, "In the fifth grade / I made a horse of papier-mâché / and painted it white / and named it Aurora..." (That part I don't relate to so much, but I was fully hooked with "I did not want to give her anything," and the last three lines -- yes, yes, and yes.)
Ruefle's own website looks like a lot of fun -- among other things, it features some of her "erasure books," in which she alters other people's volumes with deletions and additions.
I've been dipping into The Best American Poetry 2011 a couple of times a week the past couple of weeks. The poem that has resonated the most with me so far is Mary Ruefle's "Provenance," which begins, "In the fifth grade / I made a horse of papier-mâché / and painted it white / and named it Aurora..." (That part I don't relate to so much, but I was fully hooked with "I did not want to give her anything," and the last three lines -- yes, yes, and yes.)
Ruefle's own website looks like a lot of fun -- among other things, it features some of her "erasure books," in which she alters other people's volumes with deletions and additions.
