Miscellania

Politics of love poetry syllabus Week 1 - 2 Identity How are our identities formed and sustained? How does love poetry reflect conceptions of "I" through poetic techniques or traditions? Reading: I am a Strange Loop Week 3 How have women writers used their identities in writing love poetry? How does a feminine identity entail multiplicity and how are some identities "inherently political?" Reading: Irigaray, excerpts from "The sex which is not one", selected poems from British women  Romantic Poets anthology Week 4 Continue analyzing the inherent politics of identities and of some identities in particular. How does poetry and even specially love poetry work as a historical mapping of political climates and oppressions of marginalized groups and identities? What poetic techniques assist with this? Reading: continued exploration of British romantic poets, highlighting poetic techniques they use and how these are representative of class, ...

Hey there, my previous poem post seemed to be a success so I figured I would share another. I have written over 10 poems this summer (which is actually half the requirement for thesis, but not all 10 are good obviously!) But I thought I'd share this one, written on week 5. Easy Sun (Week 5) There is a skinny cat blinking slow stretched out in a triangular patch of sun. At an earlier hour, this kind of heat would pull the driveway to a taffy -- a perfect quicksand for green plastic soldiers. But it is late afternoon-- golden hour The way my skin feels after soaking in million year old light. I want to fill my tub with your heat so that when I sit upright the steam continues to rise from my knees. I feel sweat form on the small of my back my sunburn itches and I blink slow. This is one of my favorite songs lyrically but I always love MewithoutYou, especially when I'm working through anything emotionally or mentally. Th...

Vessel My fingertips prune once I break the skin of the water’s surface. The pulp of a peach against the white-calcium smile of a claw foot tub. My spine rounded by the hull of my bath, I sink. Lower into the groan, breathe into the deepening. The peaks of my breasts stand stoic as bare floating islands. I capsize, my palms ripening and chest tightening. ”Comadrona, ahora.” M. Mazzaferro 2015

I wish I could pretend I was some sophisticated film lover who pairs their wine with the right foods. But I'm not. More often than anything I watch a film based on who is in it -- this is the reason why I watched a very depressing movie about Mark Ruffalo being a sex addict. It was like an anti-rom com. Anyway, I do LIKE movies. I just have really poor taste in films. This is why when Jazmyn has a film to watch for an Independent Study, or class, or fun I am always down. She has good taste. Anyway, yesterday I was procrastinating going to the gym and I saw an event nearby on Facebook for a short film showcase. It was at the theater nearby that I've been meaning to check out so I decided to go-- plus, it was $5! The films were great! It was cool to recognize some of the actors from around town. Although I have to be honest, being the film noob that I am, I was especially excited for this vegan strawberry milkshake I got: I also met a couple from Minnesota who actually...

North & South We are North and South, respectively. You are stoic, rocky terrain. All corners and edges, the buttoned collar pinned below your adam’s apple, your throat’s summit. I am soft clay fields, yielding and sinking. The kind of humidity that unties itself, a wet you’re not quite sure you’re feeling, near-steam. You are resilient pine and I am sloping dogwood. I am the choking heat and brutal burning sun. You are brittle biting cold and white paper blank sky. But we can reach stretched fingertips-to-toes and I will pass you a bit of me. Will you exchange with me? Lend me your shorebirds, dutiful aviators guided by sun-compass as it sets over us. I will save the dots of my lower-case i’s and send them to you scattered across a blackboard sky. Though the distance stretches between us, I am wrapped in you as a cold breeze drops evening temperatures. Your composure once bouldered, is collapsed sand beneath me. Our differences...

Anytime I describe my senior project / thesis hopeful to someone, their response is usually: a.) Woah that's a really cool project. b.) Woah that's a hell of a lot of work / a big question to try to answer. c.) A, followed by B. This reaction is totally valid. And that is why "thesis" is in big bold ambiguous quotations. My thesis project began when I took African American Literature I & II courses with my favorite (& recently retired! Woo!) professor at Mount Holyoke. In the latter of the courses I became enamored with writing from The Harlem Renaissance, which came as no surprise because this was the unit in which we read the most poetry. But I was confused. When we read men, (Of the Harlem Ren.) we read their poetry. But when we read women, we read their prose. Sure, my  class read some poetry (because my professor is the best) but there was so much poetry by men and a significantly lesser amount of women's poetry. What's up with that? I kn...

It seems the best way to do this update is to post a whole bunch of pictures. I'll go into some more detail about my writing, my internship, and that sort of thing after this spam of pictures. Here goes! I flew into Jax on June 21 and began my adventures staying with Jazmyn's family. Our AirBnB place is from June 28 - August 11, so we spent some nice quality time relaxing with the family. They are so sweet and warm and I have a special bond with Boomer, the fluffer pictured above.  Then we moved into our place! (Living Room) (Our Private Bathroom with a CLAWFOOT TUB) (My sleeping quarters) (The kitchen!) (The backyard - view from the hammock, ahhh) This place is so so beautiful. It has amazing character and it feels like home. There are three other guests staying here besides our host. There is a pilot from Germany, an accountant from Ireland, and a Jacksonville transplant. Ok, moving on to some more fun stuff: Food. Now I...