Straight No Chaser

Lost Ground

aaron, i've slipped back to thirteen. it's nada's fault, which i know because i've been stalking the "most viewed" page, and when i saw, my immediate instinct was to visit her blog, and i did, which i guess makes it equally my fault.

"god," says my roommate, loudly and out of nowhere, "has the rhythm and the rhyme, to blow your mind, every time."

if she doesn't shut the fuck up.

mia, i've been listening to "boogie wonderland" on repeat all morning, in the hopes of drowning out various other noises, and i have to change my answer. it's this and "can't hide love," they're my favorites.

of all six or seven things i learned this semester, one is that i find the pantoum and the cinquain detestable as poetic forms. even seasoned poets can't make them sound good, except i sort of liked the honorée fannone jeffers one.

my (naturally untitled) attempt:

"I first hear Naima on my grandfather's lap.
She oozes from the needle, like all good things,
As he, stern-faced instructor, explains:
This is music. This is woman. She is you.

Oozing from the needle, she crackles and snaps,
The way he does when I spill or drop or stumble.
This is music, this is woman, she is you, he says,
Though I am gangly and staccato, inferior.

Years hence, I spill and drop and stumble,
He lies in a grave, shifting and turning,
Because I am gangly and staccato, unlike Naima
Whom he loved for her honey-oiled grace.

In his grave he shifts, disapproving,
His slumber undone by my adolescent screech.
His thoughts are of Naima's honey-oiled grace,
And mine, of my future--a woman someday?

My grandfather's slumber cannot stand my screech
Just as I, on his lap, could not abide her.
I mourn for myself--never less a woman--
And for my stern-faced instructor, eternally shamed."

i don't know, though, maybe you need to know the song. which, if you do, then you know. it's a lot to live up to. a lot.

i'm so depressed!! if the world ended today, i would not care!!!