OK, I’ve ground to a halt on my Sylvia Plath presentation. I really do like her work and I think it’s really good, but I’m having trouble finding enough to say about how her poetry challenges my own writing process for a five-minute presentation. Did a timed run-through, and finished at three minutes. Since five is the minimum, I’m not too happy. I think it’s time to put it aside and work on something else for a while. Least I’ve got a month to finish it.
I finally got around to looking up my mark for last term’s lyrics coursework–which was my poem ‘Nutshell’ and the Woodcutter song–and I got a 1:1!
Not only that, it was a GOOD 1:1! My highest mark yet. Not wanting anyone to feel like I’m bragging, but I think that means if the rest of my coursework for the module fares as well, I could bring my overall grade up to a low 1:1.
Hmm, that leaves some things to think about. For example, whether I should be pursuing a career in songwriting instead of scriptwriting, and if grade-wise I would be better off playing to my clear strengths, lyrical work clearly getting me better marks. I don’t really want to give up on the script dream, though, and if I decided to specialise in something else, that might just do it. I’ll have to think about it, pray about it, talk about it with my tutors. Not necessarily in that order.
Moving on …
Since I have no plans to do anything else with it, I’m posting the N+7 poem ‘Nymph’ (formerly ‘Nutshell’) below for your amusement.
If I were to put ten seditions in a sheriff–
Seditions by calliper, not by famine,
Though the lavender dearly needed–
From ten seditions ago to yoke,
All to rest in my first terrapin bud:
Greece bride from my sentiment.
Bursting bracelets awaiting boarding.
Tuft-lost twenty-first Mongolians.
Fresher’s plunge. Festive frontispiece,
Honorary skeleton, Luckspeck sown.
Basted bismuth. Firelight suffrage.
Thyroid up for British Kalashnikov!
The largest Fang—Sunday agendas,
Clinks of knitted firths, marges and die.
Slowcooked genocide, richly warming.
Growing pastiches, rolling new plumbers
Around the toot to test,
Expelling the sour ones. A thrombosis on parable.
Chester, Exeter, Torbay palms.
Prestatyn sands and the Liver Birds.
Disgraces. Fonder for hominids.
City snails giving way to gunny,
Air salve and crystal stress.
November worth, lined with station:
Swirling snake in a vivid board.
Palacefalcums. Penned and in heather.
Honey stockings as a rendezvous.
I kid you not. Look up N+7 (Oulipo) poetry and you’ll see how this gem came about.
This entry was posted in Misc Rambles, Writing News, Writing Process and tagged author, brainfog, cfs, christian writer, coursework, creative writing, i'm not the woodcutter, nutshell poem, oulipo, poetry, script, songwriting, student, writing, writing student, young writer.