As The Poem Exists Now, Middle

Our big rehearsal is Saturday and we'll try to complete choreography that day. So I've reached a workable version of the poem, one that i think is alright and will work well in juxtaposition to the movement.

My biggest concerns were getting too caught up with the narrative, so i have decided to put a short version of the story in the program. I know everyone won't read it, but I think it takes the pressure off of the making the poem coherent as a story, poetic, and movable. As the poem exists now- (note the title change and the shift in emphasis in the middle.

Love and War Return Home, Hand in Hand

I know that the traveler must dissolve nostalgic threads
of personal history and go ahead with no baggage,
no determined route; that the so-called hero
is one who has mastered her own dissolution;
that she’s not a conqueror but a surrenderer, . . .
-Gretel Ehrlich, a match to the heart

I. Rich Square, North Carolina Juche 47 (1958)

He leans only his head through the door jamb.
Boy, don’t even think about school today.
There’s tobacco to be topped,
and the south field needs worming.
Announcements often worked
as Daddy’s version of Good Morning.

That afternoon in the fields,
he caught me staring at beyond.
Don’t Ever Leave
came out Keep worming son.
Nothing’s over there you can’t find here,
except women, trouble, and strife.

Later, I was taking the hornworms
to feed the turkeys when I found him half in,
half out of the barn. It took death
to make him indecisive, but at that moment
I knew I was done with eighth grade.

Then, I figured Rich Square
for the loneliest place in the world,
so I aimed to join the Army
and find something to do
and some folks to do it with.
There’s not much to a decision though
when you look around and all you see
is alone and alone and alone.

II. DMZ, South Korea Juche 54 (1965)

Every time I went to sleep,
all I dreamt about was me
getting one of those boys killed.
One night, I led them a step too far
and McFrances, with the sick daddy,
set off a landmine. The next night,
my mind wandered on watch
and it was an enemy’s knife
at Parham’s throat. While I was writing
his dream mother, explaining everything
I’d done to make her boy dead,
the CO shook me awake. Good morning
merry sunshine. Just heard ya’ll
are next off to Vietnam.

What I thought I was walking to
I can’t say, but just so you know,
the line you step over
to get to the other side
isn’t a real line at all.
You would think they might make it one
so you could stop
and consider what crossing it means.

III. Pyongyang, North Korea Juche 69 (1980)

Imagine my surprise to find I wasn’t alone.
Those three were a comfort to me at first.
We were all just boys,
and it was like a sleepaway camp
and when the fun was over,
our daddies would come gather us home.

One of us would distract the minder
while the others snuck out,
Abshier made a pretty fair version
of macaroni and cheese, and when
the North Koreans made a movie,
we got to play the evil Americans.

But eventually, we were four men
against a general, a country, and a whole philosophy.
By the time a bodyguard whispered
Americans have landed on the moon,
none of us believed it,
thought they must want us to imagine
a country that could send a man
to a place so far,
a land so desolate,
but wouldn’t come to reclaim us.

Alone and alone and alone and then,
Hitomi, kidnapped to teach Japanese
to spies. She is your project they said.
You must teach her Korean
just as we taught you.
You will do it for the Dear Leader,
who takes care of you,
who takes care of us all.
And I started to, I tried,
but one night she pulled me close
and said We must remind each other
of where we are from. Together,
we can remember.
So each night in Japanese I whispered
Oyasuminasai. Goodnight, my love
she would croon in return.

IV.Camp Zama Penitentiary, Japan Juche 93 (2004)

Thirty days is a long time for something
a boy did forty years ago. And they are right.
If they let me go, it’s only more
of you boys will try to leave. But son,
how you made it four days in the desert
carrying nothing is beyond me.

I won’t speak for you, but this is where I was always walking.
I didn’t quit a war. I gave myself over,
chose in a backwards way, and tomorrow,
when I am freed, I will not only put my back
to the Army, to America,
but I will also walk directly to Hitomi.
If she will have me, I will tell her Good morning.
Ohayoogozaimasu I believe she will tell me
and we will turn to leave together,
departing towards a home,
surrendered, hand in hand.

I've also written a Googlism poem about the idea of "middle" for the middle part of the program. (Yes, there is a beginning and end too.) It is below.

Middle; A Googlism Poem

I am one of the middle-hearted.
Middle of Bagdhad, middle of the night.
Middle is the subject through which the end influences the beginning.
Middle is on the left.
Middle is what I have become.

Tanya's Blog Of Complaining About Her Poem

is what this feels like it's turning into. So rehearsal was last night and we spent maybe 45 minutes or so working on the beginning shape of the dance for the poem. This involved me talking about what I envisioned the performance looking like (I would be on stage and reading live, the dance would run longer than each section read, there would be one central dancer and other dancers on stage for some of the sections, etc.) and then reading the poem aloud to the dancers there, one of whom immediately suggested the shape and a light structure for the dance.

This involved a square shape, using the four corners of the stage and having the consistent theme of one dancer lying down, static. The "down" dancer would change in each corner and all 4 dancers would move from section to section in a clockwise manner, ending at the front of the stage on the right. We discussed what was going on at the heart of each section and they generated a word or idea for each section to guide their movements. The cue to move to the next section would be the "down" dancer standing up and moving.

So reading the poem, (here's where the complaining starts) i discovered the voice is all wrong. i wanted it to sound like jenkins since he has a very distinct dialect- very nc country mixed with an almost esl (english as a second language) feel to it- and while i think it kind of works on paper, it is not working at all when read aloud. That' s a blessing and a curse. The voice as it was is a hard one to talk about anything "bigger" with- it's not a philosophical or reflective voice, so it's hard to move beyond narrative. I think I do in the "line isn't marked" section and I think that sounds natural, but it isn't happening elsewhere.

I also realized that the poem is way too bogged down in narrative. I have to work on that balance and i think changing the voice will help move away from that for the above reasons. But mostly i realized this poem is still at least 2-3 drafts away from working. I think spoken word pieces (although this poem will also exist on the page as we are producing a chapbook for the performance) need big endings, and moments bigger than themselves, as well as some narrative cohesion to work. right now, this poem isn't either an on the page poem or a spoken word piece. it is neither fish, fowl, nor good red meat and i need to commit it to one side or the other.

i also learned from watching the dancers that this poem is about loneliness and alienation and what it means to move beyond that. i need to center that at the heart of the poem as well. which probably means it also needs a different title.

In My Head, On The Page

I haven't written in a bit, but I have been working on the poem, really spinning and revising more than I usually do with a poem. I think that is partially because it is an occasion poem. I can't write it as it comes to me. I have to grind it out to hit a deadline. That's different from my usual writing method. With work and other things, I usually do a lot of writing and planning in my head before I put pen to paper and then fingers to keyboard.

For this piece though, I am writing and throwing away and revising, all with a sense of not liking the work until it gets several drafts in. Below is what I like enough to post now, but it still feels several drafts away from working. I am thinking of trying this working method for my 6 week break though. Sitting at the desk and grinding something out, whether I have anything formed or not. I'll let you know.

The poem as she exists now. The pyongyang section stopped there, but there will be more.

Those That Don’t

I. Rich Square, North Carolina Juche 47 (1958)

Boy, I best not catch you up at that school today.
There’s tobacco to be topped and the south field needs wormed.
Announcements were Daddy’s version of Good Morning.

In the field, when he caught me
staring at beyond, You Are My Life
was Son, there’s those that do
and those that don’t.
Which you gonna be?

I was carrying hornworms to the turkeys
when I found him laying half in,
half out of the barn, and I knew
I was done being in the eighth grade.

Then, I believed Rich Square
to be the loneliest place in the world,
so I figured to join the Army
and find me something to do
and some folks to do it with.
All I could see from North Carolina
was alone and alone and alone.

II. DMZ, South Korea Juche 54 (1965)

The worst thing I could imagine
was getting one of those boys killed
on night patrol. One step too far-
it’s landmines. Let your mind wander
for a moment and it’s the enemies’ knife
at your throat.

Then, I heard it. We was the next group to Vietnam.
Son the CO said If you won’t stand
in front of the communists and keep them
from your girl back home, who will?

But I had no girl or anyone else waiting for me.
My last night in the US Army, it was Hughes
in my tent with a can of beer and a picture.
Sarge, I know she’s stepping out.
What do you think I should do?
But the Army don’t allow you to say
Hellfire if I know. I ain’t kissed a girl
and I’m afraid I’m gonna die before I do.

So I told him to write her a real sweet letter
and then I wrote a note of my own.
I’m sorry for what I done it said.
Send my boys back home, especially Hughes.
We’ve all got troubles. Goodbye.
And I set to walking.


III. Pyongyang, North Korea Juche 69 (1980)

Just so you know, the line you step over
to get to the other side
ain’t no real line. If it was,
I might have stopped, but I never knew
where I was until I got there.

The poem has a diffrent voice now. Fatherhood and masculinity seems to be a part of it now, which should be very interesting since the dance troop is all female. I'm interested to see how the end will work, if it can tie together some things. Tomorrow night is rehersal and the beginning of choreographing for me.

tanya