ipfreely(+branden+hall)

code intro quote: code

I did not know what to say, my mouth

had no way

with names,

my eyes were blind,

and something started in my soul,

fever or forgotten wings,

and I made my own way,

deciphering

that fire,

and I wrote the firts faint line,

faint, without substance, pure

nonsense,

pure wisdom

of someone who knows nothing,

and suddenly I saw

the heavens

unfastened

and open,

planets,

palpitating plantations,

shadow perforated,

riddled

with arrows, fire and flowers,

the winding night, the universe. And I, infitesimal being,

drunk with the great starry

void,

likeness, image of

mystery,

for myself a pure part of the abyss,

I wheeled with the stars,

my heart broke loose on the wind- pablo neruda

ODE : their are many people who i look up to one of them is my godfather who is more of a grandfather to me i want to have traites like him he is strong, quiet, smart, and has a very good work ethic he took care of his family by taking three jobs could i be able to do the same things for my kids? i guess i will have to see

sonnet: oh branden is so cool that he fell into a well and bumped his head on a blue rock wow when will he learn that he should watch where he is go ing and not fall in wells but what ever. no one thinks he will learn he has not yet so he may not ever learn. i hope he does cause as you know this is the one and only spectacular <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">and amazing branden hall in a well.

<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">i was raised by : <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">i was raised by my mother. <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">i was raised by my grandmother <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">i was raised by my god parents. <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">with out these people raising me together i wouldnt be the type of person i am today <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">i have a strict family growing up <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">i have a family that loves me while punishing me <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">i have a funny family <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">i have a boring family <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">i have a family that cares about me <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">i have a family that is mostly supportive <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">i have family willing to think outside the box <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">i have a family that makes very good foodd <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">i have a family that is very close <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">i have a family that goes out every saturday <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">i have a family that cooks food every second sunday <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">i have a family that watches movies together <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">i have a family that argues <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">i have a family that gets sad <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">i have a family that has drama <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">i have a different type of family.... mine

poem of my choice: minimalist (mediocre) <span style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande',Tahoma,Verdana,Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 1.7em;">this is all

<span style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande',Tahoma,Verdana,Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 1.7em;">i could

<span style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande',Tahoma,Verdana,Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 1.7em;">come up with

<span style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande',Tahoma,Verdana,Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 1.7em;">nothing more <span style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande',Tahoma,Verdana,Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 1.7em;">-derreck del barrio

<span style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande',Tahoma,Verdana,Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 1.7em;">my own poetry? <span style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande',Tahoma,Verdana,Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 1.7em;">i think that my own poetry sucks. Its not good. in my sonnet i wrote about my self falling in a well. i cannot write creative poetry without feeling cheesy and i am also terrible at following the rules of poetry. when i write poetry i try to avoid cheesy lines, terrible endings and bad subjects. of corse when i look back at some of the work I've done this quarter i see that i didn't do a good job of it. in my " i was raised by" poem i had a very cheesy line that i thought was good at the time. this is helpful and it has helped my writing.

code In 200 years they won't remember me, Salvador And they won't remember you, so let's skip the part about He will live with us forever. You may get a footnote for being the only Marxist To gain power in Latin America via parliamentary means; And the only sucker not to throw his enemies in jail. You knew the power of the large land-owners, ITT, The Army, U.S. Anaconda, the small frightened businessmen Easily manipulated, the shop-owners who could go either way And yet you didn't lift a finger to silence them. You continued to defend the bicameral system of government Until they bombed your palace and you shot yourself in the mouth. Answer me this, Now that you are a bunch of hairs on a blood-stained sofa: I want to know why you killed yourself. Because this was a very un-Marxist thing to do. Because neither was this the way of a gradualist With short graying hair and glasses, and a face like a prominent surgeon's, Who, knowing this would happen, could have easily arranged for The secret tunnel, the private plane, the unmarked car In which you, huddled in grandmotherly wig, might begin To write your memoirs. Was it too horrible to think of Speaking at New York rallies to pockets of émigrés, Forming shadow cabinets, and lunching with Juan Bosch Or Andreas Papandreou, swapping stories over wine about Where you were when the shit hit the fan? I'm being vulgar, forgive me. I would rather believe in your doggish retreat Than the flamboyance of today's headlines which gloat: MARXIST REPORTED TO TAKE HIS LIFE. Even they are a little unsure. They leave room for the graduate students Of the left, working in the carrels of libraries For 100 years to discover the link, The way it all fits together: Lumumba, King, Kennedy, Allende, CIA.

And it may turn out that my government actually murdered you But what's the good of knowing that? We know too many connections already, and they only satisfy The pedantic urge that makes the world a crossword puzzle. Salvador, I'm sorry, I don't know what to say any more. Take back the bullet, it was a mistake, it redeems nothing.

Today I look at the faces of passers-by and I think: It figures. The banks have the money to buy counter- revolution, This wino has no money. He's nice enough, so is That girl in the flamingo summer dress on wobbly heels. It's September 12, possibly the prettiest day of the year. The blue has never been so pure around the chimneys— "Almost like—a cartoon!" says the dental hygienist, Grasping for a metaphor. I never said it even to myself, Before today, but just between you and me, And I don't want anyone else to hear: Senor. It looks as if they have got us by the balls. These faces in the street, how can they take power? How can they rule?- phillp lopate code code your closest friends feel the time has come to tell you that every Thursday we have been meeting as a group to devise ways to keep you in perpetual uncertainty frustration discontent and torture by neither loving you as much as you want nor cutting you adrift

your analyst is in on it plus your boyfriend and your ex-husband and we have pledged to disappoint you as long as you need us

in announcing our association we realize we have placed in your hands a possible antidote against uncertainty indeed against ourselves but since our Thursday nights have brought us to a community of purpose rare in itself with you as the natural center we feel hopeful you will continue to make unreasonable demands for affection if not as a consequence of your disastrous personality

then for the good of the collective- phillp lopate code code "BE YOUR OWN MASTER!" says the Vedanta Society sign. Why not?…In the park Some clouds roll over me like Greenland on a map. If I wanted to I could imagine I was flying over The Greenland coast and gazing down at the white fjords. Instead I'm lying on the grass, listening to city sounds. They come to me in three-dimensional form, Like a loaf of Wonder Bread. Baby carriages squeak Near the middle. Cars humming through Central Park, Somewhere near the back of the loaf. What sound would be the end-piece, the round brown sliver? The unzipping of airline bags. Or a glove thwacked By a rookie pitcher who falls apart In the eighth inning. The manager takes the ball silently, Like a man who has eaten a full loaf of bread And has a stomach pain. Don't glamorize silence. There is nothing profound about quiet, it is usually Only the universe holding its stomach. Delmore Schwartz must have been a great talker. They say he put most of his talent into his life But I don't know, I think his prose is pretty great; He made a better storywriter than a poet. I could write a thousand-page biography Propounding that stance, and interview all the old rummy Critics who are powerful now; They would let their hair down about Delmore, And the final crackup. The reason I'm thinking of Delmore Schwartz is that He wrote a poem about city parks. And it wasn't that successful, It went on for about twelve pages, but I admired him For writing a poem with so little point, And so much prosy description. I think he was trying to Eulogize normal middle-class happiness on a Sunday afternoon, And how he felt out of it. But that wouldn't have Taken twelve pages…He was probably being ironic About the people's happiness, and secretly thought They weren't happy. He wrote it about the same time Robert Moses was carving out his parks empire By forcing the Long Island millionaires to give up their privacy So that the middle class could get to the beach. Of course it was also supposed to benefit The poor slum-dwellers, but how many of them Ever made it to Sunken Meadows? Or Jones Beach? What's strange about parks—innocent greenery— Is that no one ever suspected them to ruin New York. Yet what finally gutted the city were the parkways Moses built, slashed through all five boroughs Quiet lower-middle-class neighborhoods bulldozed For cars to get to the picnic grounds faster, Or the Hamptons— A life of paperwork capped by a summer home. But I can't blame them: I'd like a summer home myself! I don't really believe New York is dying, no more than The universe is dying. I have no stake in seeing This poem end pessimistically. I'd like to leave people with a good feeling. Robert Moses, Delmore Schwartz. Two ambitious Jews, like myself. They tried to be their own masters… It's hard to imagine New York going under On a slow summer day like today Without even a loud noise to mark it Like the Empire State Building keeling over And everyone running to the scene of default. The helicopters will be standing by, Ready to take us to Greenland. A special airlift for poetic men of letters, A jumbo Boeing crammed to the teeth, And you can't get in if your name isn't Listed in Poets and Writers Directory. "So long, New York School of Poets!" I'll stay behind, tending the weeds And sleeping in deserted Central Park. Soon I'll be hearing about the Godthaab School: Their seemingly infinite talent for "chatty brilliance," Buddhism, and marathon readings. I'll shake my head and sigh: What are Anne and Michael doing now? How was this year's big Halloween party, Or do they even celebrate Halloween in Greenland? Maybe they're into solstice holidays, like Midsummer Night.

code 1) this poem starts off with a person from the CIA talking to himself on why would a marxist kill himself? the poem starts out interestingly with phillp locate going straight to conversation with himself. He goes into detail by telling the back story of the marxist and how he ended up killing himself. he wonders why he did it. people would not remember him anyway in 200 years so why kill your self. the flow of this poem is like getting interviewed by a CIA agent. it fells like I'm reading a book from the CIA agents head.

2) phillp lopate makes the stanzas in this poem extremely short. This makes the reader read more slowly adding a comical effect with the words. the poem itself is towards a female reader at an intervention. the way he has the poem set up is very funny because he doesn't have to explain to the reader where he is at but from the words and the way he is talking. He has a very calm tone as any person would have in an intervention. there is no point to this poem, there is no deep meaning ,this poem is purely comical.

3) === This poem starts off in the middle of a conversation somewhere in New York. The writer Phillp Lopate uses his words to make the reader see the image of a man talking to you about New York. Phillp lopate doesn’t have one tone that he uses during to poem he is constantly shifting the flow from calm to hyper to anger and then back to calm again constantly during the poem. At one point in the poem he goes off into a side story about a poet named Delmore Schwartz who lived in New York and wrote short stories as well as poetry. He tells the similarities of delmore Schwarts, robert mosse and himself "two ambitious jews like myself. They tried to be their own master...". he left the sentence there because both Schwarts and Mosse were both very successful in their early career but were critiqued in later works. Phillp locate could have been saying that even though the critics of new york loved him now in later years they might turn on him.===