April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
This quote was sent to my igoogle yesterday, and it really struck a chord with me.
Which I think I am going to write about in my other blog, A Year About Smoking.
But to talk about this poems in a literary way, I would like to say:
I like the not-so-typical take on April. When I think of a poem about April, I don't think about April is the cruellest month. It is a very refreshing take, and I like literature that does that: gives me a different perspective. This quote makes me want to pick a month and write about in a surprising way. Now, I have not read The Waste Land. (I would like to and have tried but have been intimidated by its length.) So in its broader concept, this reference to April may not be so surprising, but for now I like this quote for what it has to say isolated from The Waste Land.
I like that it ends the first three lines with verbs, and I like the choices he makes: breeding, mixing, and stirring.
I also love this imagery: Lilacs out of the dead land and Dull roots.
I have not been working on the exercises in In the Palm of Your Hand not since my post Raw and Naked Prose Poems,
but I am hoping April will stir my dull roots.
I just finished my twenty-two page poetry lesson plan for my grad class, so yesterday I was depleted.
However, it was a creative process about writing imagery and metaphors and I have this definition of imagery settling around in my head:
Language that appeals to the senses. Descriptions of people or objects stated in terms of our senses.
Also settling, is that same website's list of figurative language,
and this poem that I included in my lesson plan:
Looking Down in the Rain
In the big puddle
at the bus stop
I see the city standing
on its head.
Tops of buildings
move under my boots.
A wavery red light
The school bus
orange as a pumpkin
wobbles in on its roof
In the puddle
I see small faces
and yellow leaves swimming
-Barbara Juster Esbensen
These poetic ingredients are may be breeding, and I hope that soon they will be mixing and stirring my dull roots.