"In Search of You in Search of Freud" - LoisLane05's Found Poetry W/O
Apr 05 '04
The Bottom Line Forget about that Surrealism Write-Off! Now this is surreal.........
After much procrastination, I’ve gotten the results of what happens when you do a very surreal poetic exercise. In this case, what we have here is the result of participating in the lovely Jennifer’s Found Poem Write-Off!
You can read this link -- http://www.epinions.com/content_3814039684 -- for detailed rules and a list of participants. But I’ll say right here that a “Found Poem” is essentially a poem found from a list of words and phrases, such as the index of a poetry book, or the song list from a CD, stuff like that.
In my case, I used an old poetry book I had lying around from Canadian poet Evelyn Lau, called Oedipal Dreams (which is not in the Epinions database, although there are other Lau works there). I took a lot of liberty with this exercise in that I embellished Lau’s titles with many of my own words. I’ll say right now that I had a lot of fun with this experiment, and while you may (or may not) think I spent a lot of hard time with this poem, I, in fact, only worked on this for about an hour, at most.
Such exercises really assist in making the creative juices flow. After writing this really strange poem, I realized that I have the makings of a short story here, its premise being something that I never would have thought of on my own, but would be really exciting to write about...... what do you think?
(By the way, Jennifer’s rules stated that this be posted under Humor Poetry, although I think the only laughs in this poem are unintentional.......)
(All the bolded text -- including the poem’s title -- are titles from Lau’s book, and are in the order of the respective poems in her book)
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In Search of You in Search of Freud
I am here, lamenting
All The Lost Hours that will never be refunded
Half of which I thought only of you
While the other portion I spent Touring the Wind
My skin cracking from its cool air while I was
Waiting for a Ride Out of Here
But the ride never arrived,
and my days were spent
Coming and Going
between my miserable real life
and in The Second Waiting Room,
within my imagination, where I was waiting for you
Every night that I sleep
I have at least one Dream about you
It’s Only an Abreaction
Seen in my dream’s eye
.... but never dare reveal to the public’s.........
Now it’s Eight Months Later: His House
Your new boyfriend’s house.
You live with him, and help make the Payments
Even as it makes Bruises
Within the caverns of your purse
You whisper to yourself
“I hope that The Other Woman he’s seeing every week
Is more than just him Meeting His Analyst
That would be so sad if that’s the only woman he can spend time with --- “
So --
Is this Your Ending or Mine
As I curl up
In my Isolation Rooms
Going ever so mad.
I’m Thinking of Leaving
When it’s Over
When my wounds heal
I Never Promised You that I’d forget you
Into the Blue Room I’d enter
Making Projections about things......
..... your future and mine.......
*
*
*
*
Last Year, it was a Tuesday Afternoon
The grass we walked on was a rich Green
Our Hearts were calm, when we were together
We were waiting for your Father,
who used to live on 547 East 21st
It was Moving Day -- he had bought a house from a Freud,
at 20 Maresfield Gardens
(I didn’t catch the first name)
But you and I,
We Thought Ourselves Ummoveable
I kissed your closing Eyelids as you blinked
I believed that you were like me
One who preferred The Smaller Life
Unlike that rich businessman across the street from us
“Who Died of an Apparent Suicide Late Last Month”
Unable to handle the stress of a life without simplicity............
But Coming Home that night
You spoke that you were Not Staying
..... you wanted to use the Telephone
and call your friend.......
*
*
*
*
Years later, I’m Waking in Toronto
Early in the morning, I’m Dressing Up
to meet a woman at The Restaurant
She’s only Nineteen
But her body would give me pleasurable Needles
during the last twenty-eight February Dawns
She says to me “New Horizons U.S.A.!”
But we’re still here
Making so much noise that the guy downstairs thinks
There’s a Monkey on the Ceiling
But even so ----
It’s a Room of Tears
Night After Night
Thinking about that Indian Summer, 1991
when it was just you -- above all of those other Ladies --
walking alongside me during our Afternoon #1
and all the other afternoons that followed.......
.... and now I’m The Madman
A totaled, emotional wreck.......
END
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..... any comments about this poem would be nice........ I know I'm quite happy with it, and hopefully you got a few laughs out of it.......
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Alice, a story in nine parts, posted on Sept 24, 2008 - http://www.epinions.com/content_5241348228
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