a/n: the assignment was to walk through the museum of art, find a piece of art that spoke to you, and then to write an ekphrastic poem about said artwork. Below the poem is the photo I wrote about.
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boys will be boys
from Bill Owen's Suburbia Photography Collection
peacock train of shattered glass,
the ribbed shards that curve like upturned wrists
scattered around the community recycling center,
tendons and bones of light refracted.
three boys break bottles, jugs on a sunday afternoon –
they're doing their part for ecology.
the boy scouts will give them a merit badge.
but what is it
about shattered glass
and boys. something whole and cold
burst to friction and bees,
an entire hive of playground insults.
the broken vow of dark coke glass,
light's abandoned hermit shells,
whole civilizations hinging on the simplicity
of vessels
that can hold liquid.
maybe it is dad's work boots,
and the safety goggles they wear, or
the fact that the shouts of glass cannot be repaired,
taken back. they are irreversible, like boyhood.
or are we all gods with our hands
wrapped around the bottleneck
of creation, forming fractal
galaxies out of the silence
of unbroken bodies?
as they break whiskey jugs
and wine bottles, recycling the fragments,
the glass is the cool hand of
a mother against their foreheads,
fevers, flushes, phantoms
before bursting and ringing
into daylight.
Points:
Time spent:
Canary word: Present
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Original Text:
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Hey Kylan! Your poem is amazing, but I think you knew this already! Anyway, something in the picture caught my eye and you didn't actually mention it in the poem... but I think you can! Basically, this picture is for amber glass only. So, I think it would be really cool if you could use this imagery.
Beer, on the other hand, is usually in dark amber bottles. Just so you know! 
Also... um... dark coke bottles? Those aren't in amber glasses. And, I know this is terrible, but I used to pick up tons of recycling for money, so it kind of annoys me, lol. Coke bottles are in clear or light green bottles.
Kylan –
How you managed to derive a poem out of *that* picture, I have no idea. But inspiration comes in the strangest of forms, so who am I to question this.
But glass. Let’s talk glass. I was interested in what you’d come up with here since the possibilities for glass as a metaphor are endless. Glass as a means of vision, sight and blindness, opaqueness, world views, a way of life, as a screen for experience and memory. But also – glass as an embodiment of fragility, necessary fragility at that; something we all need as water, air, but also something incredibly breakable, akin to life. I was curious as to whether you’d mix the motifs here.
And this poem. I am trying to decide if it spoke to me but didn’t sing to me, or if it sung to me but didn’t speak to me. As a whole, I’m uncertain as to whether you’ve got enough to string you throughout – although, admittedly, you have very non-repetitively managed to convey the image of broken glass (which I liked), but the sandwich filling in between…left me uneasy. Bitsy. Details that set the scene well – ‘peacock train…part for ecology. / the boy scouts will give them a merit badge…friction and bees…hive of playground insults…light’s abandoned hermit shells …dad's work boots, / and the safety goggles they wear… a mother against their foreheads, fevers, flushes, phantoms / before bursting and ringing/ into daylight.’ but failed to connect on a deeper level with the reader’s subconscious in the same way that other parts do. I want to connect with every bit of this, not just parts of it. I guess you could be clever and argue that since ‘fragments’ is a theme here, you can mimic theme with semi-disconnected style, but I’d reply that it’s not even properly semi-disconnected – it’s mostly coherent, it’s beautifully coherent with little oddities that jump in in places. It’s got a very smooth, surrealist, contemplative kind of feel to it, something entirely more fluid and peculiarities stand out more than usual as a result since they make me pause where it’s entirely unnecessary to pause.
Some lovely lines –
Glass and upturned wrists, glass and ‘tendons and bones.’ Cutting oneself. The fragility of life. You make it beautiful.
The stillness of this instant is breathtaking. But 'burst' is entirely too skittish a word.
Destruction and power from fragility. Creation. Which is which. Must we destroy to create? Ha- boyhood is irreversible. Actions are concrete, but at the same time, experience itself is so breakable.
There is a whiteness to this poem. What I meant before about fluidity – this poem is mostly like a whitewashed wall, a seamless rain. That, I think, is why the specks of colour did little for it. Too spontaneous and frisky and unnecessarily jarring, when the real feeling here is in the whiteness.
And here, I would very much like to clamp my hands over my ears. A white rain is how this poem falls, and it ends with the rain vanished and replaced by an entire marching orchestra, bagpipes and all. I think you were aiming for a surprise-ish ending; however, I think you could be so much more powerful with a last, final word in the rain.
Overall – a good exercise. Somewhat predictable, but then, I have read much of your writing – even so, charming because of its very familiarity. Probably not at all what you need to hear.
Navi
I love your command of language and word choice. It really does make for a remarkable poem.
This was another great piece- the ending seemed a bit abrupt to me, but sometimes when you're done, you're done. Understandable. I loved the descriptions you gave, and the tone you conveyed. It completely fit the picture, and never wavered from its path.
Very nicely done.
-Coral-