Twelve American Sentences

First dark; lichen breathe after water — no wind; dawn on seed tendril.

Garden bough, bird can listen summer, the sun ancient and animal.

Warm vine when you cycle, happy gentle wild spirit: behold my bright.

River like light; lonely life with only winter cloud shade secret blue.

Quiet watch, grow shine above soft wild — feel fresh fall, to thrive how squirrel.

Soon spring, beneath deep almost air that will let cold blossom climb rock, root.

Sweet rose always why insect walk through leaves, tree breeze, thick mountain mosses.

Deep dawn blankets gentle flower garden; how shine stone or river rock.

You wander that summer sanctuary, grow happy — wet mountain moon.

Cover for love make prairie night sweet secret they see above wild cloud.

Bee murmur give bloom a soft rustle, as thick sun colour rose vivid.

Almost dusk here, bird watch — this daffodil and grass rest: green harmony.

The Sunday Mini-Challenge at 'imaginary garden with real toads' asks us to be inspired by the poetry of Marilyn Chin. Among others of her extraordinary poems, we were directed to her Twenty Five Haiku. I noticed they were in fact American Sentences, a form of haiku devised by Allen Ginsberg for Westerners — but with a vivid intensity I had not seen before in any American Sentence. 

Mine are not haiku (or even American Sentences) as I'm used to writing them — i.e. in-the-moment observations of the external world — and they are not meant as imitations of Chin's remarkable work. I am sill exploring the Magnetic Poetry site, so these are composed by selecting random words and using scenes from my imagination. This time I used the Nature kit.

First Steps on a New Path

We four women, old friends and new,

drove to the Castle in Spring sunshine.

‘You are a Way Shower, aren’t you?’

said my newest friend, making me glad.

We stood in the smoke from a big pot

of burning eucalyptus leaves.

The Elders told us the true history

passed down through the grandmothers.

‘We came from the stars, but we were made

here, long ago, the first people.

‘This land is far more ancient than you know

because you have been told lies.’

The custodian of the land we stood on

declared us adopted.

Now we too have responsibilities
to the land and to the truth.

We all closed our eyes while Priscilla sang
the Song of the Beginning.

31 Poems in 31 Days (from Poewar / Writer's Resource Center). Prompt: syllabic verse.  Each verse of this poem is a 17-syllable 'American sentence' (a form devised by Allen Ginsberg) divided into two lines. I am also trying for something I call 'ghazal-type' in that it's somewhat discontinuous, with gaps in the narrative, like a ghazal (indeed a quasi-ghazal). Hence this is my 'ghazal-type 17-2' invention. (I already invented 'ghazal-type 17-3' — and yes, I know it's a cumbersome label, but at least it gives some indication of what it purports to describe.)

Shelter from the Storm

A rain day, one

I watch from indoors

though later I must go out.

Last night I called dragons

into the temple — four,

one to each quarter.

Breathing together

in circle, we women 

built a pillar of light.

My friend goes home

to sell her house and move

because the floods are coming.

My little cats love storms

and gaze from the top step

under the porch roof.

April PAD Challenge 2014, day 9: shelter

A New Form:

Each verse is an "American sentence" a 17-syllable form invented by Allen Ginsberg as a Western type of haiku. For this poem I wanted something slightly discontinuous like a ghazal, but with fewer constraints, and the American sentence seemed to lend itself to that end. I had thought of using couplets as in the ghazal, but each sentence fell naturally into three lines — which of course is more haiku-like.

Over at dVerse at present, Gay Reiser Cannon invites us to invent and name our own forms. This is a derivative form, but since it gives me something I've been seeking for years — something looser than a ghazal, more of a quasi-ghazal, which still creates that connection/separation between stanzas with an overall theme — and as I plan to use it again, I'll claim it and name it Ghazal-type 17-3. This may sound a bit clumsy, but allows for me to find more "Ghazal types" in the future.

         

I look up: American sentences Aug. 2013

I look up at the full moon through a cobweb shining from roof to tree. 20/8/13

A dangling leaf begins to turn on its stem: imperceptible breeze.  22/8/13

Not far out of town, the rainforest still edges roads and covers hills.  28/8/13

I pull over, close my eyes, meditate ... falling leaves hit my car, thump. 28/8/13

After the election, Australia boards a train to nowhere.  8/9/13


Submitted Nov. 2013 for dVerse Meeting the Bar: American Sentences

Cobwebs and flames: American Sentences Feb. 2012

Cobwebs and flames tattooed on his legs belie the calm look on his face.  15/2/12

My heart always lifts when I hit sea air; I grew up on an island.  17/2/12


Submitted Nov. 2013 for dVerse Meeting the Bar: American Sentences