Just so you know, not all of my poems are autobiographic, so don't you go sympathizing with me just because I produce depressing poems. I can write sad little lines while on a sugar high, which I think is a pretty clear indication of the relationship between my mood and the mood of my writings. Garrison Keillor wrote a book from the perspective of a teenage girl- don't mix me up with my insane subjects, okey doke? Especially if you're reading my angsty books.
Well, now that that's settled, I post a poem. No, I did not do the things the narrator has. Knock that off, you!
Untitled
The poisoned apple, you would knowingly eat
Wrap it in a layer of caramel, stab it onto a stick
And shake ten or twenty sprinkles over it like confetti
Treating the occasion like a grand celebration
You, who would have made of Jack the Ripper a great friend
And the Boston Strangler, your closest ally
Who would throw party after party, to allow John Wayne Gacy Jr.
To enter into your home bedecked as a clown
If you could, you would find seclusion, lock yourself away
In the most haunted house in a city with the most violent of histories
You sleep in graveyards as though you belong there
And claw at the ground and scream to be let in
Every day, you smoke a pack of cigarettes atop the roof
Of a building condemned these past ten years
At risk of collapsing and chock full of asbestos
And you stare straight at the sun for hours and hours on end
On the coldest night of the year, you stand naked
Beneath a sky that weeps large shards of ice
And a moon that promises to bring out vampires and werewolves
You walk slowly to the middle of the road
Then run down its length until you reach the highway
But the road is icy and everyone has stayed at home
So you stand there, shivering, for as long as it takes
And in the silence and the moonlight
And all those flickering stars of eyes
With no one else around for miles
Save those who are asleep
You wait
And what am I left to do?
Is it enough to allow you to encase yourself in a tomb of ice?
Would it be better if I sold my car and used the money to buy a handgun
And a box of 8 millimeter bullets
Aim my new possession carefully and let you fall beautifully red to the pavement?
Should I take you to a place of refuge and help you
Exorcise your sorrow like an evil spirit
As great as the devil himself
A Satan who took the form of a beautiful woman
And acted more like a succubus than a Prince of Darkness
That creature, who so fervently avoids the light
Take you to a rehabilitation center because you have become addicted
To the idea of escape
And the memory of a love long gone
Should I try to repair all of the damage done to everyone
Try to win myself a Nobel Peace Prize
Attempt to raise you from your tomb like Lazarus
And call you forth again to live a zombie
Or part the Red Sea to help you understand
That in this world, there are still miracles
Seek out the next solar eclipse and promise you
That the moon blocks out the sun so that the world
Can altogether dwell in darkness with you
And wish nostalgically for warmth
Find the smallest monkey in the world or the largest crab
Take you to ride on the back of an elephant or a camel
Listen to the greatest soprano sing the sweetest aria
And watch the most sure-footed ballerina defy gravity
In a manner both graceful and profound
Read to you from my favorite book, when the small boy
Questions again and again and again, why?
“Why was my father shot?” And “why am I alone?”
Because it is so much more tragic when associated
With one who is too small to even ride the Ferris Wheel
Go on a visit to the cancer ward at the local children’s hospital
So that we can witness someone too young to have learned to speak
Go gentle into that good night
Because no one had taught him yet how to fight the reaper of souls
Perhaps if you had visited the Holocaust Memorial
Looked at that pile of shoes that went up to the ceiling, a very tall ceiling,
And continued onward and upward like the Tower of Babel
Poking God in the eye and asking, “How the hell could you?”
Or looked at the gate of Auschwitz and read
Arbeit Macht Frei
Work makes one free?
How many were ever freed, I wonder
Or, perhaps, if you experienced this moment just passed
when I had no trouble, me, the most untalented of spellers
in depicting the name of Auschwitz with my clumsy fingers
And when my spell check,
Quickly riled to attack me by so many words and names,
Let the word Auschwitz pass by unmarked by that red, squiggly underline
What am I trying to say?
There are monsters in this world and they are always human
And they are always pretty in some way because we all are
They tell you jokes that make you laugh for years
Or wear provocative outfits that you cannot expel from your fantasies
Or write books that sit for months on end atop the New York Time’s bestseller list
And are damned good at pretending to love
Or maybe they do love, I don’t know
But all I know is that you are in such pain as I have only experienced once
When I stripped off every piece of clothing on the coldest night of the year
And sat atop a mound of snow while everyone for miles slept
And cried myself to sleep
See how we survive.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
I promise I'll update soon, but...
not tonight!
Here's a quote to keep you warm!
"I was born when you kissed me. I died when you left me. I lived a few weeks while you loved me."
- Humphrey Bogart
:( or <3?
Here's a quote to keep you warm!
"I was born when you kissed me. I died when you left me. I lived a few weeks while you loved me."
- Humphrey Bogart
:( or <3?
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
This is Bad!
... is it VERY bad?
Gotta love ReBoot for keeping things fresh ^.^ I'm rewatching it, yet again. Should be an Olympic sport.
<3
Gotta love ReBoot for keeping things fresh ^.^ I'm rewatching it, yet again. Should be an Olympic sport.
<3
poem in the wee hours of the morn
e.e. cummings lower case esque
not Forgotten but stowed away
i stand on the most pointed part of my toes
and reach upward, stretch myself until i am ten feet tall
and my shadow darkens the entire room
making the grey cat’s eyes glow green
like tiny wayward fireflies
i can just reach the box with my fingernails
and jump, bumping my face against the shelf
bringing the memories crashing down
braining myself with my lengthy past
and stowed-away passions
the photographs flutter downward
and the cat leaps after them like butterflies
gnawing at my image ten years ago
when i truly believed that i would become famous
and smiled in that knowledge
an eraser given to me by someone i thought i loved
ironic, come to think of it
the drawing that a stranger discarded
and i happily recovered from the trash bin
a thousand things floating from the tiny box
and lists, plans for my bright future ahead
now here, and so very dark
the faded, black and white photograph of my grandmother
seems to call me a failure
for being so lackadaisical to the importance of dreams
but, how could i forget my ambitions?
the first great love of any little girl
as aching as the new bruise on my forehead
as real as the cat playing with my memories
and barely reachable from the tip of my toes
and the painted nails on my long fingers
oh no, those wonderful thoughts,
they do not belong to the Forgotten
like those tiny, squared-in faces believe and express
but perhaps have been stowed away
just a little too long
copyright Amanda Martin 2009
not Forgotten but stowed away
i stand on the most pointed part of my toes
and reach upward, stretch myself until i am ten feet tall
and my shadow darkens the entire room
making the grey cat’s eyes glow green
like tiny wayward fireflies
i can just reach the box with my fingernails
and jump, bumping my face against the shelf
bringing the memories crashing down
braining myself with my lengthy past
and stowed-away passions
the photographs flutter downward
and the cat leaps after them like butterflies
gnawing at my image ten years ago
when i truly believed that i would become famous
and smiled in that knowledge
an eraser given to me by someone i thought i loved
ironic, come to think of it
the drawing that a stranger discarded
and i happily recovered from the trash bin
a thousand things floating from the tiny box
and lists, plans for my bright future ahead
now here, and so very dark
the faded, black and white photograph of my grandmother
seems to call me a failure
for being so lackadaisical to the importance of dreams
but, how could i forget my ambitions?
the first great love of any little girl
as aching as the new bruise on my forehead
as real as the cat playing with my memories
and barely reachable from the tip of my toes
and the painted nails on my long fingers
oh no, those wonderful thoughts,
they do not belong to the Forgotten
like those tiny, squared-in faces believe and express
but perhaps have been stowed away
just a little too long
copyright Amanda Martin 2009
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Mega-Update
So, I had the thing on Friday-- the awards ceremony. For beating the other guy for the Asian Studies award (Albert Mann Award). Hrm. So, they called my name for a "National Award", the JASSO, which is international, but did not call me for the Albert Mann Award... which is the one that actually gets you on stage to receive your pretty medal. V. embarrassing but more for them than for me?
So, I tried to have gumption (I am woman hear me roar but only once a month...) and went up to get my durned medal. Apologies, etc. But I dooo have my damn medal and I wore it this morning for graduation.
...which was today. Tralala. Very boring. I met up with a gal I met in my Human Rights Leadership class, so that was nice. I should update this later to make it less boring....
this is all for the moment then
Updated 6/16
You couldn't really hear much at graduation because the feedback was CRAZY. You could hear the echo like a second or two after the actual speaking, so it was impossible to tell what anyone was saying. The only things I really heard were "Obama," "village, "Seattle U," and "revolution." What can it mean?
Went to Kidd Valley afterward as a major treat but, alas alack, sweetness and saltiness is never as good as you remember it being. Freeing myself from my diet for a few days wasn't as liberating as I'd hoped. I think maybe the fact that it's only for a few days kinda casts a shadow over the whole thing. Or maybe food is just food and isn't ambrosia. Sigh!
The party on Saturday was pretty great but I think I drank a wee bit too much. Everyone kept bringing wine! Which meant that I was really sleepy all day on Sunday, throughout the ceremony and afterward. Everyone was extremely generous with gifts- thank you!
Also got a new kitty on Saturday (see how non-chronological this is? What is wrong with my crazy brain?). He is named Seeley-Booth, after Seeley Booth, the foxy detective.
Seeley Booth:
Seeley-Booth:
I think that's about all... sorry for the crappy writing. I can't sleep because Seeley is up at all hours (and stuck in my room for now) attacking things! Eeeeek!
<3
P.S. finished Jekyll and Hyde, which was pretty predictable if you know ANYTHING about the story at all. Now reading (sorta... haven't much started) Edwin Drood by Dickens. Wish me luck!
So, I tried to have gumption (I am woman hear me roar but only once a month...) and went up to get my durned medal. Apologies, etc. But I dooo have my damn medal and I wore it this morning for graduation.
...which was today. Tralala. Very boring. I met up with a gal I met in my Human Rights Leadership class, so that was nice. I should update this later to make it less boring....
this is all for the moment then
Updated 6/16
You couldn't really hear much at graduation because the feedback was CRAZY. You could hear the echo like a second or two after the actual speaking, so it was impossible to tell what anyone was saying. The only things I really heard were "Obama," "village, "Seattle U," and "revolution." What can it mean?
Went to Kidd Valley afterward as a major treat but, alas alack, sweetness and saltiness is never as good as you remember it being. Freeing myself from my diet for a few days wasn't as liberating as I'd hoped. I think maybe the fact that it's only for a few days kinda casts a shadow over the whole thing. Or maybe food is just food and isn't ambrosia. Sigh!
The party on Saturday was pretty great but I think I drank a wee bit too much. Everyone kept bringing wine! Which meant that I was really sleepy all day on Sunday, throughout the ceremony and afterward. Everyone was extremely generous with gifts- thank you!
Also got a new kitty on Saturday (see how non-chronological this is? What is wrong with my crazy brain?). He is named Seeley-Booth, after Seeley Booth, the foxy detective.
Seeley Booth:
Seeley-Booth:
I think that's about all... sorry for the crappy writing. I can't sleep because Seeley is up at all hours (and stuck in my room for now) attacking things! Eeeeek!
<3
P.S. finished Jekyll and Hyde, which was pretty predictable if you know ANYTHING about the story at all. Now reading (sorta... haven't much started) Edwin Drood by Dickens. Wish me luck!
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Am too tired
to write before going to bed. Thus, I leave you with Neruda. This poem has been enchanting/haunting me all week:
A Dog Has Died
My dog has died.
I buried him in the garden
next to a rusted old machine.
Some day I'll join him right there,
but now he's gone with his shaggy coat,
his bad manners and his cold nose,
and I, the materialist, who never believed
in any promised heaven in the sky
for any human being,
I believe in a heaven I'll never enter.
Yes, I believe in a heaven for all dogdom
where my dog waits for my arrival
waving his fan-like tail in friendship.
Ai, I'll not speak of sadness here on earth,
of having lost a companion
who was never servile.
His friendship for me, like that of a porcupine
withholding its authority,
was the friendship of a star, aloof,
with no more intimacy than was called for,
with no exaggerations:
he never climbed all over my clothes
filling me full of his hair or his mange,
he never rubbed up against my knee
like other dogs obsessed with sex.
No, my dog used to gaze at me,
paying me the attention I need,
the attention required
to make a vain person like me understand
that, being a dog, he was wasting time,
but, with those eyes so much purer than mine,
he'd keep on gazing at me
with a look that reserved for me alone
all his sweet and shaggy life,
always near me, never troubling me,
and asking nothing.
Ai, how many times have I envied his tail
as we walked together on the shores of the sea
in the lonely winter of Isla Negra
where the wintering birds filled the sky
and my hairy dog was jumping about
full of the voltage of the sea's movement:
my wandering dog, sniffing away
with his golden tail held high,
face to face with the ocean's spray.
Joyful, joyful, joyful,
as only dogs know how to be happy
with only the autonomy
of their shameless spirit.
There are no good-byes for my dog who has died,
and we don't now and never did lie to each other.
So now he's gone and I buried him,
and that's all there is to it.
Translated, from the Spanish, by Alfred Yankauer
Pablo Neruda
A Dog Has Died
My dog has died.
I buried him in the garden
next to a rusted old machine.
Some day I'll join him right there,
but now he's gone with his shaggy coat,
his bad manners and his cold nose,
and I, the materialist, who never believed
in any promised heaven in the sky
for any human being,
I believe in a heaven I'll never enter.
Yes, I believe in a heaven for all dogdom
where my dog waits for my arrival
waving his fan-like tail in friendship.
Ai, I'll not speak of sadness here on earth,
of having lost a companion
who was never servile.
His friendship for me, like that of a porcupine
withholding its authority,
was the friendship of a star, aloof,
with no more intimacy than was called for,
with no exaggerations:
he never climbed all over my clothes
filling me full of his hair or his mange,
he never rubbed up against my knee
like other dogs obsessed with sex.
No, my dog used to gaze at me,
paying me the attention I need,
the attention required
to make a vain person like me understand
that, being a dog, he was wasting time,
but, with those eyes so much purer than mine,
he'd keep on gazing at me
with a look that reserved for me alone
all his sweet and shaggy life,
always near me, never troubling me,
and asking nothing.
Ai, how many times have I envied his tail
as we walked together on the shores of the sea
in the lonely winter of Isla Negra
where the wintering birds filled the sky
and my hairy dog was jumping about
full of the voltage of the sea's movement:
my wandering dog, sniffing away
with his golden tail held high,
face to face with the ocean's spray.
Joyful, joyful, joyful,
as only dogs know how to be happy
with only the autonomy
of their shameless spirit.
There are no good-byes for my dog who has died,
and we don't now and never did lie to each other.
So now he's gone and I buried him,
and that's all there is to it.
Translated, from the Spanish, by Alfred Yankauer
Pablo Neruda
Friday, June 12, 2009
Wah! Delicia Fay is Following Me!
On Twitter. Here is the message of PROOF:
Date: Fri, 12 Jun 2009 20:57:28 +0000
From: Twitter
To: ajm32@u.washington.edu
Subject: Delicia Fay is now following you on Twitter!
Parts/Attachments:
View|Save 1 OK ~12 lines Text
View|Save 2 Shown ~90 lines Text
----------------------------------------
[twitter_logo_header.png?src=mail]
[arr2.gif]
HI, AMANDA MARTIN.
Delicia Fay (deliciafay) is now following your updates on Twitter.
A little information about Delicia Fay:
[DeliciaFay_400_normal.jpg] 2011 followers 660 updates following 2011
people
The Twitter Team
Turn off these emails at: http://twitter.com/account/notifications
---App. though, she followers all who follow her, which makes me a little less special. Anyway she is Felicia Day's alter-ego/evil twin who inhabits the same body/nemesis. I think... it's all a little confusing. In any case, I am being followed by a gorgeous redhead, and what isn't awesome about that?
<3
Date: Fri, 12 Jun 2009 20:57:28 +0000
From: Twitter
To: ajm32@u.washington.edu
Subject: Delicia Fay is now following you on Twitter!
Parts/Attachments:
View|Save 1 OK ~12 lines Text
View|Save 2 Shown ~90 lines Text
----------------------------------------
[twitter_logo_header.png?src=mail]
[arr2.gif]
HI, AMANDA MARTIN.
Delicia Fay (deliciafay) is now following your updates on Twitter.
A little information about Delicia Fay:
[DeliciaFay_400_normal.jpg] 2011 followers 660 updates following 2011
people
The Twitter Team
Turn off these emails at: http://twitter.com/account/notifications
---App. though, she followers all who follow her, which makes me a little less special. Anyway she is Felicia Day's alter-ego/evil twin who inhabits the same body/nemesis. I think... it's all a little confusing. In any case, I am being followed by a gorgeous redhead, and what isn't awesome about that?
<3
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