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Quiet/Disquiet:

Renga Poem | By Marlene Effiwatt, John Bosworth, Michael Overstreet, Claire Dockery, Sara Gilmore, Timmy Straw, Bri Postlewait, Michaeljulius Idani

 

fly collector, train

catcher not all

follicles feed even                                           Effiwatt

 

to exodize the ear

in middle distance                                           Bosworth

 

blue sheathes

ambered grain --        

furrows of droughted hours                     Overstreet

 

glaze and fade

my pasture power                                           Effiwatt

 

stray flute floods

the booth dissolves

in hidden waves                                              Bosworth

 

& now sugar ants

eager plant-envy                                             Effiwatt

 

blowing smoke in two

the house got god

black, a symphony                                          Effiwatt

 

your reverb tends the margins

I can dance with                                               Bosworth

 

debt candle—white

painted entombed wasp

(emphasis)                                                          Effiwatt

 

but time is mulch when promised

water                                                                     Overstreet

 

this time around, sound 

bends closer

to its immolation                                             Bosworth 

 

cashew milk been

gone moreover                                                  Effiwatt

 

tape-reel’s hiss a burning

creek from which you ember

chords of rain                                                    Bosworth

 

and let the listener

be chorus, too                                                   Bosworth

 

Quiet/Disquiet - Communal Renga

 

wind sighs

in concert with silence

bloating the morning                                      Dockery

 

in every labor

in every plain                                                        Saraann

 

the fact unfinished

a newt

floating in the flooded quarry                         Straw

 

satellites adrift

swollen stars pulsate                                       Postlewait

 

rot walnuts, the birds

not hungry down in

humming memories                                          Postlewait

 

of the drowning

grains in chorus                                                 Saraann

 

the cicadas shell

hangs off the sharp edges of

a cave’s gaping mouth                                    Postlewait

 

morning saw

reverse lullaby curling                                    Saraann

 

ghosts like fathers

came and went like cricks

in the neck like crickets                                 Straw

 

moss mottles the rock face

whispers growing                                           Dockery

 

into sky, where their hands

were never for proof

afraid                                                                      Saraann

 

to name

the face that meets in ev’ry face                     Straw

 

humble and height

their anxious stalks

stirring over earth                                           Saraann

 

up the valley

little comings chatter                                     Postlewait

 

shells crack underfoot

memorials

fractured                                                                 Dockery

 

darkness disappeared 

hidden in plain sight                                      Idani

 

a dissolution so complete

as to take

the wind with it                                                 Saraann

 

yellow silent shade

turns on and breaks                                         Postlewait

 

their light

just reaching us now

passing in glance                                               Saraann

the surface of 

our bathing rage in deed                                 Saraann

 

tended fields

chaff and husk

still alive and in chorus                                   Dockery

 

veins radiating outward

verdant and true                                              Idani

 

nit picked over

the apples

bruised and sweating                                   Postlewait

 

florated spines

loaded and loaded                                               Saraann

 

aspens mask naked

guilt with a glitter

leaves cling to sunlight                                   Dockery

 

only hints of life

that will never return                                      Idani

 

lean into the sage

hidden in dune grass

a nest, no eggs                                                   Postlewait

 

leaves fall to declare

their opposition                                               Dockery

renga night (5).jpg

Renga 

Bref

Intro

This renga of 36 verses/links, composed by four poets in three different cities over the span of a week, observes and engages our shared disrupted world.  We realize our making of renga in English is outside of the traditional Japanese structural setting (gathering at one place, synchronous writing with a scribe, etc.), though our practice of renga empowers us collectively to respond and act in this ever-changing/escalating moment. We join through renga, especially in this time of social distancing/quarantine and rampant racial/state violence against Black lives, as a means of communal building, support/care and conversation. Together, we reflect, feel and witness each moment we live.  

 

Guidelines

Our circumstances of writing this renga in English and asynchronously lead us to loosely follow the guidelines of kasen renga. Using kasen renga as a base we came up with these guidelines: verses (haiku) 10-15 syllables, links (couplets) 7-11 syllables. Use images/associations of: moon, flowers, clouds and time twice. 36 verses and links, nine per poet.

Bref

Renga Poem | By Jorrell Watkins (JW), Abby Ryder-Huth (AR), Claretta Holsey (CH), ‘Gbenga Adeoba (GA)

Wind anew

leaves, through our headphones

tassels twist (JW)

Bent knuckles, we turn

see flecks of day in trees (AR)

One bud, then

another swept sea --

we grass, a-grin (CH)

We bend the pines, feel

the air, furtive, blow through (GA)

Spring again--

the waves carry bright

leaves beyond. (GA)

Shadows hold tight the bee,

two hands -- let it loose. (CH)

Eyeing bloom

sun greets moon with light

guides us home (JW)

In stains crossing us

dusted, a bright stamen (AR)

Starlights on

the horizon--we

are still here (GA)

Facing the night

with or without rest (JW)

My eye a looking

glass -- moon

hides her blank face. (CH)

Many wintry nights,

there is nothing to see (GA)

Hours print

on walls, fade-- hands skim

the water (AR)

Baby owls re-

sound, alarm. (CH)

A feathered

being, a small box of

sounds in flight (GA)

Churning cirrus

puffing contrails (JW)

April showers us

silver -- scene cut

the rain, drops short (CH)

See the puddle,

the bend of roads ahead (GA)

Stretched deeper,

the crevice where I

dropped a stone (AR)

Dandelion shaken -- she

knots the shed stem (CH)

Quiet field

Wild flowers sag windward

She passes (JW)

We will be here when

they are in full bloom (GA)

Crescenting

up to find the day

galactic (AR)

I pulse and breathe

Moons away (JW)

Sky exhales a second

wind. bent trees

bare, as thread (CH)

In between the wound light

where green broke out (AR)

Starlings scat

I dial down Al Green

Lighter tunes (JW)

Thumping the streets

Tomorrow's bright voices (JW)

Sea laps over -- moon

a shock

of blood -- red eye (CH)

See the gulls, too;

they come in waves (GA)

When some are

heaving with sky

others rain (AR)

Horizon line -- my earth

speaks only two tones (CH)

Black or brown,

I break the earth, or

it breaks me (GA)

Minutes of grass

rushing in pieces (AR)

Towards some site

Where found kin gathers--

Candles, fists (JW)

Then in mornings, all

the names for light (AR)

 

 

Reflection Statements:

 

CH:  We have learned to distrust stillness. We say, “the calm before the storm” where, already, noise and shadow turn everything uncanny. I hoped, in renga, the haiku’s traditional stillness would speak disquiet.

 

GA: I found the Renga to be a ritual of faith, a different kind, and an invitation to be present with others on a page, alert to our singular music.

 

AR: Japanese is full of homophones. Renga (連歌) is a poetic form, and renga (煉瓦) is a brick. I thought about brickwork and poetrywork. How does a collective hold together and not fall down? 

 

JW: Crafting renga in this virtual space across places/times was restorative for my sense of "now" and presence. I feel more connected and closer to peace. 

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Mark Rothko

No. 14, 1960, 1960

 

Mark Rothko’s search to express profound emotion through painting culminated in his now-signature compositions of richly colored squares filling large canvases, evoking what he referred to as “the sublime.” One of the pioneers of Color Field Painting, Rothko’s abstract arrangements of shapes, ranging from the slightly surreal biomorphic ones in his early works to the dark squares and rectangles in later years, are intended to evoke the metaphysical through viewers’ communion with the canvas in a controlled setting. “I'm not an abstractionist,” he once said. “I'm interested only in expressing basic human emotions: tragedy, ecstasy, doom, and so on.”

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