Z is for ... ZUT ALORS!

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So today is the 30th of April, which must mean that it's the twenty-sixth day of the A to Z challenge.  I've decided to share my love of writing through this challenge, and hopefully introduce people to the world of Oulipo.  I first heard about Oulipo when I was at university, and I was fascinated by their approach to writing that I decided to delve deeper into the world of experimental writing.

In a nutshell, this group of writers likes to assign constraints to their work in order to push creative boundaries.  Not only is this fun to do (the process of writing something with a constraint really does open the mind), the results are brilliant.

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Z is for ... ZUT ALORS!

Oh my goodness, this month has gone quickly, so I thought I would end this challenge with an exclamation!  I know there isn't really a direct translation for this phrase, but it would be along the lines of 'gosh darn it', but it's fairly obsolete (imagine an English speaker saying "zounds"!).  My modern day word is 'wowzers'. 

Now I chose the French 'zut alors' over the English 'zounds' to fill the Z spot as I've been blogging about the Oulipo over this last month and they are, in the main, French men.

I hope you've enjoyed reading about the various constrains that these authors and poets invented and developed, and that you'll give one (or more than one) of them a go as a way of broadening your writing horizons.

So I will leave you with one final constraint that doesn't begin with Z (as I can't find one that begins with Z!).

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Souvenirs d'un Vieil Oulipien (Remembrances of an Old Oulipian)

"The technique consists of breaking up a word into its syllables, each of which is then used as a rhyme.  The last line of each stanza ends with the complete word."

Oulipo Compendium ed. Harry Matthews & Alastiar Brotchie (London: Atlas Press, 2005) page 67.

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A-Z April Challenge
From the 1st to the 26th day
A permanent blogging tattoo
Stopping procrastinators being lazy
Working our way from A to Z*

Leaving readers' mouths and minds agape
With posts as colourful as a mandrill
Throughout the month of April

Thank you to Arlee, our valiant marshall
Building connections, akin to a henge
A positive result for a challenging challenge

*English people, please forgive me for using the Americanised 'zee' pronunciation instead of 'zed' for Z, but I couldn't find any words that ended with 'zed' or a similar sounding syllable.

V is for ... VEUILLEZ TROUVER CI-INCLUS

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So today is the 25th of April, which must mean that it's the twenty-second day of the A to Z challenge.  I've decided to share my love of writing through this challenge, and hopefully introduce people to the world of Oulipo.  I first heard about Oulipo when I was at university, and I was fascinated by their approach to writing that I decided to delve deeper into the world of experimental writing.

In a nutshell, this group of writers likes to assign constraints to their work in order to push creative boundaries.  Not only is this fun to do (the process of writing something with a constraint really does open the mind), the results are brilliant.



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V is for ... VEUILLEZ TROUVER CI-INCLUS

"This first section opens with an account of a dog whose owner, while speaking to someone else, noticed the animal unexpectedly sit up as if called.  He realised that he had inadvertently spoken the dog's name: the familiar sound had been formed by the last syllable of one word fusing with the first syllable of the next." 

Oulipo Compendium ed. Harry Matthews & Alastiar Brotchie (London: Atlas Press, 2005) page 87.

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Basically 'veuillez trouver ci-inclus' translates to 'please find enclosed', and it is a method of writing one thing, but hiding other things within the text.

I wrote this poem, and hid the names of five Oulipians (Italo Calvino, Georges Perec, Raymond Queneau, Jacques Roubaud, Harry Mathews) within the text.

Peek-a-boulipo

A piece of your prose poses as literature

yet your poetry, knowingly, doesn’t keep pace

and, tho’ slated, snaps back at back handed

attacks with matter of fact tactics and flat

classics that hang their hats at the feet

of the satirical poet.

A long winded, strong worded, extended

song of comical venosity that ferociously

sickens those who have written pretty gritty

lyrics and jaw gelling villanelles which

whisper eccentricity and eclectically

prosper, possibly.

A classless vast array, mundane refrains

of pain and hate and razor blades, lacking

sanguine nouns and catchy sounds yet

splurge active platitudes on a surge of

shameful clichés; a half-arsed, slap dash,

mish mash of crap.

A blue rant in red and black, alack, alack,

a fanatic lament, anticlimactic in sentiment,

unlike the true bold statements of those in

the know – the Oulipo – who marry method

with madness and make a mathematic mess

with expressive finesse.

A satisfying aftermath using sassy chaps, fancy

tracks, actual tags and the practicality that

originality isn’t criminal.  Fascinate, stimulate,

educate, postulate and experimate until your

brain aches and your inane tastes evacuate

and make page space for me.

**
(and here are the answers if you didn't spot them!)

Peek-a-boulipo

A piece of your prose poses as literature

yet your poetry, knowingly, doesn’t keep pace

and, tho’ slated, snaps back at back handed

attacks with matter of fact tactics and flat

classics that hang their hats at the feet

of the satirical poet.

A long winded, strong worded, extended

song of comical venosity that ferociously

sickens those who have written pretty gritty

lyrics and jaw gelling villanelles which

whisper eccentricity and eclectically

prosper, possibly.

A classless vast array, mundane refrains

of pain and hate and razor blades, lacking

sanguine nouns and catchy sounds yet

splurge active platitudes on a surge of

shameful clichés; a half-arsed, slap dash,

mish mash of crap.

A blue rant in red and black, alack, alack,

a fanatic lament, anticlimactic in sentiment,

unlike the true bold statements of those in

the know – the Oulipo – who marry method

with madness and make a mathematic mess

with expressive finesse.

A satisfying aftermath using sassy chaps, fancy

tracks, actual tags and the practicality that

originality isn’t criminal.  Fascinate, stimulate,

educate, postulate and experimate until your

brain aches and your inane tastes evacuate

and make page space for me.

et a lo cal veno = Italo Calvino

jaw ge per ec = Georges Perec

ray mund guine no = Raymond Queneau

ge ac rue bo = Jacques Roubaud

arry math us = Harry Mathews

S is for ... SNOWBALL

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So today is the 22nd of April, which must mean that it's the nineteenth day of the A to Z challenge.  I've decided to share my love of writing through this challenge, and hopefully introduce people to the world of Oulipo.  I first heard about Oulipo when I was at university, and I was fascinated by their approach to writing that I decided to delve deeper into the world of experimental writing.

In a nutshell, this group of writers likes to assign constraints to their work in order to push creative boundaries.  Not only is this fun to do (the process of writing something with a constraint really does open the mind), the results are brilliant.



*****

S is for SNOWBALL

"A form of rhopalic verse, this procedure, already practised in Classical times, requires the first word of a text to have only one letter, the second two, the third three, and so on as far as resourcefulness and inspiration allow." 

Oulipo Compendium ed. Harry Matthews & Alastiar Brotchie (London: Atlas Press, 2005) page 228.

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The text I used was 'The Tyger' by William Blake, but you can write original snowball poems; you don't need to translate a pre-existing text.

Snow-Tyger

O

in

the

wood

Tyger

burned

nightly

brightly

perfectly

abominably

symmetrical

O

do

not

cage

Tyger,

framed

freedom,

creation

formation

discovered

inquiringly

O

no

man

made

Tyger,

hammer

furnace,

immortal

patriarch

mastermind

untouchable

O

so

the

Lamb

lives

calmly

because

designer

generates

voluminous

individuals

O

he

the

Lamb

Tyger

shaped,

various

separate

character,

cultivated

attentively

R is for ... RIME POUR L'OEIL

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So today is the 20th of April, which must mean that it's the eighteenth day of the A to Z challenge.  I've decided to share my love of writing through this challenge, and hopefully introduce people to the world of Oulipo.  I first heard about Oulipo when I was at university, and I was fascinated by their approach to writing that I decided to delve deeper into the world of experimental writing.

In a nutshell, this group of writers likes to assign constraints to their work in order to push creative boundaries.  Not only is this fun to do (the process of writing something with a constraint really does open the mind), the results are brilliant.



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R is for ... RIME POUR L'OEIL

"A rhyme that satisfies the eye but not the ear, like through, though, and rough." 

Oulipo Compendium ed. Harry Matthews & Alastiar Brotchie (London: Atlas Press, 2005) page 150.

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Time Regime
I stare at the clock as the hands move from hour to hour
and without warning they stop dead on the four
I keep my eyes fixed but the time doesn't move
and I find myself drifting off on a lament of love
A man appears in the corner of the room, gesturing 'come'
and for once I forget the place I call home
The clock's hands spin and rest at one
and I glance at the man, but he has gone
I walk across the room to where he once stood
and feel a strange sensation, a change in mood
The sun sends forth its light and its heat
and as my heart pumps I begin to sweat
A voice whispers but I can't hear what it said
and although I know I should feel it, I'm not afraid
The voice whispers again and I follow its lead
and as I wander into the darkness I wonder if it's all in my head
I raise up my wrist and squint at my watch
but the numbers and my senses don't seem to match
The voice leads me through hallways into a tomb
and an alarm rings so loud it sounds like a bomb
A new clock appears, the hands near the five
and I wonder how much time I've got left to live
The voice tells me 'days' then 'hours' then 'minutes'
and my throat closes and my voice dies and I become mute
I scream 'help' in my head but my pleas are in vain
so I drop to my knees in order to make a bargain
I raise my hands and hold my breath and wait for death
to drag me to where I belong, down beneath
Time passes and I wait for Fate to choose
her punishment of bullet, poison, or noose
The voice returns to tell me what to do,
how to behave, what to think, and where to go
I've lost my freedom and I've lost my mind
My life disappears from view on a gust of wind
I look at the clock, and I've forgotten my past
as the hand hits the three, the compass point east
A flash, a light, the room turns blinding white
and I become one of the time master elite

Photo credit: sshingler / Foter.com / CC BY-NC-SA

Colours of the Coast

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As many of you will know, I belong to Lowestoft Library Writers' Group.  Over the past few months we have been working together to produce an collection of our poetry and short stories.  A few years ago we put together an in-house anthology, solely for the pleasure of the members of the group.  However, this time around we wanted to have something a bit more professional looking.

After I self-published my two books through Createspace, I suggested that we do the same with the anthology.

So here it is - Colours of the Coast.  It's available from Amazon (USA and Europe) for £5.50.  Copies will also be for sale from Lowestoft Library, at their monthly book sales.  All money raised from the sale of this book will go towards the Friends of Lowestoft Library, who help, support, and promote the library within the community.  It can also be borrowed from any Suffolk library.  

The book contains poems and short stories about the local area of Lowestoft (and surrounding towns and villages), with each piece accompanied by a local photograph.  

We hope to produce two anthologies per year, so keep an eye out for our next one later in the year.

O is for ... OSCILLATORY POETRY

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So today is the 17th of April, which must mean that it's the fifteenth day of the A to Z challenge.  I've decided to share my love of writing through this challenge, and hopefully introduce people to the world of Oulipo.  I first heard about Oulipo when I was at university, and I was fascinated by their approach to writing that I decided to delve deeper into the world of experimental writing.

In a nutshell, this group of writers likes to assign constraints to their work in order to push creative boundaries.  Not only is this fun to do (the process of writing something with a constraint really does open the mind), the results are brilliant.



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O is for ... OSCILLATORY POETRY

"Oscillatory poems are minimal works based on the principle of opposition or complimentary. ... Each poem is a quatrain; each line contains a noun followed by an adjective (or past participle).  Both nouns and adjectives follow in parallel the pattern

1. word
2. antonym of word
3. synonym of word
4. antonym of word."

Oulipo Compendium ed. Harry Matthews & Alastiar Brotchie (London: Atlas Press, 2005) page 79 & 80.

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Here is my attempt.  I will admit that I found this one the most difficult to do, and I'm still not sure if I've done it right.  I have followed the example in the book, so I hope I'm on the right track!

Ah - I think I know where I was going wrong.  The information states that it's a "noun followed by an adjective" which it would be in French (they would say 'un ciel bleu' [a sky blue] rather than 'a blue sky').  So in English, these oscillatory poems would be an adjective followed by a noun.  Phew, that took a while to work out!

dark trouble
illuminated contentment
dim disorder
radiant ease

tuneful voice
cacophonous silence
melodic call
discordant suppression

certain endurance
doubtful irregularity
assured patience
unfixed interruption

feeble dream
healthy reality
decrepit fantasy
strong existence

If you want to give this a go (and I think you should), you can find synonyms and antonyms of words at www.thesaurus.com.

N is for ... N + 7

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So today is the 16th of April, which must mean that it's the fourteenth day of the A to Z challenge.  I've decided to share my love of writing through this challenge, and hopefully introduce people to the world of Oulipo.  I first heard about Oulipo when I was at university, and I was fascinated by their approach to writing that I decided to delve deeper into the world of experimental writing.

In a nutshell, this group of writers likes to assign constraints to their work in order to push creative boundaries.  Not only is this fun to do (the process of writing something with a constraint really does open the mind), the results are brilliant.



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N is for N + 7

"A method invented by Jean Lescure that 'consists' (in Queneau's terse definition) 'in replacing each noun (N) with the seventh following it in a dictionary.' " 

Oulipo Compendium ed. Harry Matthews & Alastiar Brotchie (London: Atlas Press, 2005) page 202.

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Again, you can either choose a well known text to work with, or you can play around with something you've already written.

The text I used was 'The Tyger' by William Blake.  I used the following dictionary: Collins English Gem Dictionary ed. J. B. Foreman (London: Collins, 1971).

If you're going to try this, it's best to use a small (preferably a pocket) dictionary, as there will be greater diversity in the words.  There is an N+7 generator here, but I like the process of thumbing through a dictionary to find my words.

You don't *have* to replace the nouns with the 7th following it in the dictionary; you can replace them with the 13th, or the 26th.  You can even go backwards if you want.  And if you're feeling brave, you can replace the verbs (V) and adjectives (A).  It's entirely up to you. 

The Tyrant

Tyrant Tyrant burning bright,

In the forts of the ninon;

What immortal hanky-panky or facsimile,

Could frame thy fearful syncope?

In what defiles or slaps,

Burnt the fists of thine facsimile?

On what wisecracks did he aspire?

What the hanky-panky, dare seize the fist?

And what shrievality, & what artillery,

Could twist the sirloins of thy hecatombs?

And when thy hecatomb began to beat,

What dread hanky-panky? & what dread fellow?

What the handsel? what the chalk

In what fuselage was thy brand?

What the aperçu? what dread gravity,

Dare its deadly tête-à-tête clasp?

When the statistics threw down their spectres

And watered heel with their tees:

Did he smile his wound to see?

Did he who made the Lanary make thee?

Tyrant Tyrant burning bright,

In the fort of the ninon:

What immortal hanky-panky or facsimile,

Dare frame thy fearful syncope?

*****

Just for fun, here is a brilliant N+7 (or should I say N-27 and A+12) from A.F. Harrold.

L is for ... LIPOGRAM

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So today is the 13th of April, which must mean that it's the twelfth day of the A to Z challenge.  I've decided to share my love of writing through this challenge, and hopefully introduce people to the world of Oulipo.  I first heard about Oulipo when I was at university, and I was fascinated by their approach to writing that I decided to delve deeper into the world of experimental writing.

In a nutshell, this group of writers likes to assign constraints to their work in order to push creative boundaries.  Not only is this fun to do (the process of writing something with a constraint really does open the mind), the results are brilliant.



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L is for ... LIPOGRAM

"A text that excludes one or more letters of the alphabet." 

Oulipo Compendium ed. Harry Matthews & Alastiar Brotchie (London: Atlas Press, 2005) page 178.

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When I was at university I was taught by Phil Terry, who was the person who introduced me to Oulipo.  I read his Book of Bachelors (a collection of lipogrammatic short stories) and was inspired to write my own.  I don't think my thesaurus has been used as much as when I was writing these.  Excerpts from these stories can be found here, here, and here.

Here's a quick lipogrammatic poem.

abcdefhijklmnopqrstuvwxyz

A poem void -
it lacks a vital implement
but is not annoyed
when it partakes in experiment
with a zealous temperament

Universally enjoyed
and individually content
One letter unemployed -
it boasts fractional torment

without quirky accent

K is for ... KAN'T FIND A KONSTRAINT BEGINNING WITH K

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So today is the 12th of April, which must mean that it's the eleventh day of the A to Z challenge.  I've decided to share my love of writing through this challenge, and hopefully introduce people to the world of Oulipo.  I first heard about Oulipo when I was at university, and I was fascinated by their approach to writing that I decided to delve deeper into the world of experimental writing.

In a nutshell, this group of writers likes to assign constraints to their work in order to push creative boundaries.  Not only is this fun to do (the process of writing something with a constraint really does open the mind), the results are brilliant.

*****

K is for .... KAN'T FIND A KONSTRAINT BEGINNING WITH K

I know I'm probably cheating here, but I looked, and searched, and hunted, and explored, and rummaged and investigated, and I just couldn't find anything.  So I thought I would use this page to share a constraint that I invented.  Ok, maybe I didn't invent it.  I'm sure there must be more people who have done this, but I haven't come across any.  Maybe someone can point me in their direction.

Anyway, I haven't given this constraint a name, but I guess it could be called 'Periodically Speaking' or something like that.  I know that doesn't begin with K, but this is a cheat post, remember!

So, you take a pre-existing text (or you could write something original if you're feeling brave) and you use the periodic table of elements to rewrite the text.

http://www.livescience.com/25300-periodic-table.html

My name, Rebeccah, periodically speaking, would be: ReBeCCaH

Re (Rhenium)
Be (Beryllium)
C (Carbon)
Ca (Calcium)
H (Hydrogen)

Not all of the words can be spelled letter for letter, but it's possible to make combinations of letters to make sounds (or similar sounds), rendering the word phonetically recognisable.

So my surname, Giltrow, would be: GeLiTaReW

Ge (Germanium)
Li (Lithium)
Ta (Tantalum)
Re (Rhenium)
W (Tungsten)

Simples, right?!

As usual, I took 'The Tyger' by William Blake, and turned it into ThEr TiGa WILiYAm BaLaKEs.

TiGa! TiGa! BiRnIn BrITe
(Tyger! Tyger! Burning bright)

In ThEr FeRhEsTeS OF ThEr NiTe,
(In the forests of the night,)

WHAt IMoRhTl HAmNd ORh I
(What immortal hand or eye)

Cd FRaIMn ThY FeArFAl SYMoTeRhY?
(Could frame thy fearful semmetry?)

IN WOTh DySTaNd DyPbS ORh SKYS
(In what distant deeps or skies)

BURhNd ThEr FeIRh OF ThYN IEs?
(Burnt the fire of thine eyes?)

ON WOTh WINGeS DyDb He AsPaYRe?
(On what wings did he aspire?)

WOTh ThEr HAmNd DyIr SeISe ThEr FeYRe?
(What the hand dare seize the fire?)

AnMd WOTH SHoAlDyAr, & WOTh ArTh,
(And what shoulder, & what art)

Cd TaWISTh ThEr SINeWS OF ThY HeArTh?
(Could twist the sinews of they heart?)

AmNd WHeN ThY HeArTh BaGaN Ti BeAt,
(And when thy heart began to beat,)

WOTh DyRaDb HAmNd? & WOTh DyRaDb FeUTb?
(What dread hand? & What dread feet?)

WOTh ThEr HAmMoEr? WOTh ThEr CHeIN?
(What the hammer?  What the chain?)

In WOTh FErNEsS WOS ThY BrRaIN?
(In what furness was they brain?)

WOTh ThEr AmVAl? WOTh DyRaDb GaRhAsSb
(What the anvil?  What dread grasp)

DyEr IThS DyUDyLi TeRhErS ClAsSb?
(Dare its deadly terrors clasp?)

WHeN ThEr STaRhS ThReW DyOWN ThIr SPEuRhS,
(When the stars threw down their spears,)

AnNd WAuTeReDb HeVErN WITh ThIr TeEuRhS,
(And watered heaven with their tears,)

DyDb He SmIAl HIS WORhK Ti C?
(Did he smile his work to see?)

DyDb He WHO MnEuDb ThEr LaMn MnAgK ThEu?
(Did he who made the lamb make thee?)

TiGa! TiGa! BiRhNIn BrITe
(Tyger!  Tyger!  Burning bright)

IN ThEr FeRhEsTeS OF ThEr NITe,
(In the forests of the night,)

WOTh InMoRhTl HAmNd ORh I
(What immortal hand or eye)

DyEr FRaIMn ThY FeReFeAl SYMoTeRhY?
(Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?)

LLWG April

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Last night was the April meeting of Lowesotft Library Writers' Group.  Our homework from last session was to write about a place we know using all five of our senses.  I chose a place along Kessingland beach, where man's world meets nature's world.  In front is the beach and behind is the village.

I spy with my little eye –

Lowestoft skyline with grain silo,

Gulliver, and St. Peters Court saluting the clouds

An unnecessary railing to stop feet from falling

(‘tho none have fallen before)

Abandoned boats

Hats, scarves, and coats

East coast ships dotted along the horizon

Shivering marram grass

Smashed glass

Pebbles

Faded signs

Litter fluttering along the sand

I hear with my little ear –

Waves washing away the shoreline

Haunting warblings of troubled birds

Shingle crunching beneath walkers’ boots

Dogs barking greetings

A helicopter hovering above my head

The rev of a reversing bus engine

The Kessingland flag flickering against its pole

I taste with my little tongue –

The sting of salt on my lips

I smell with my little nose –

Coffee from the café behind me

Chips from an al fresco pub lunch

The stench from the sewer-works

Fumes from holiday makers’ cars

I feel with my little skin –

The sun’s hot hand slapping my cheek

The wind’s fast fingers tousling my hair

The warmth inside my thermal socks

A tingling in my fingers as they start to numb

The tug of the lead by an eager puppy wanting to get home

***

For our session task, we each had to write an opening chapter to a book entitled 'April'.  I wrote about a young girl sitting in the car with her family, on their way to visit family for the Easter weekend.  She doesn't want too go but she doesn't have a choice.

When we'd written our chapters, we mixed them up, and took back a different chapter.  Our homework is to write the second chapter.

Our next meeting will be Tuesday 14th May, at 7pm in Lowestoft Library.

H is for ... HOMOCONSONANTISM

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So today is the 9th of April, which must mean that it's the eigth day of the A to Z challenge.  I've decided to share my love of writing through this challenge, and hopefully introduce people to the world of Oulipo.  I first heard about Oulipo when I was at university, and I was fascinated by their approach to writing that I decided to delve deeper into the world of experimental writing.

In a nutshell, this group of writers likes to assign constraints to their work in order to push creative boundaries.  Not only is this fun to do (the process of writing something with a constraint really does open the mind), the results are brilliant.



*****

H is for ... HOMOCONSONANTISM

"The sequence of consonants in a source text is kept while all its vowels are replaced." 

Oulipo Compendium ed. Harry Matthews & Alastiar Brotchie (London: Atlas Press, 2005) page 157.

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You can try this with a well known text, or mix up some of your own poetry to create something new.

The Tyger by William Blake
Tyger!  Tyger!  burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

tyg r tyg r b rn ng br ght
 n th f r sts  f th n ght
wh t  mm rt l h nd  r  y
c  ld fr m  thy f  rf l symm try

A toy great, you grab, ruining brig heat
No, the first safe thing, hot
white ammo, rot, lo, hound ray
cold for mouthy fur, feel, say, maumet rya


Wowzers, that makes no sense at all!  But it was really, really difficult so I think I should be forgiven!  That shouldn't stop you giving it a go though!

F is for ... FROMAGE OU DESSERT?

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So today is the 6th of April, which must mean that it's the sixth day of the A to Z challenge.  I've decided to share my love of writing through this challenge, and hopefully introduce people to the world of Oulipo.  I first heard about Oulipo when I was at university, and I was fascinated by their approach to writing that I decided to delve deeper into the world of experimental writing.

In a nutshell, this group of writers likes to assign constraints to their work in order to push creative boundaries.  Not only is this fun to do (the process of writing something with a constraint really does open the mind), the results are brilliant.



*****

F is for ... FROMAGE OU DESSERT?

"The author's preliminary note: Perhaps, if we gathered together all the interrogative sentences, all the questions asked the world over since the world began, we might in the end get an answer?" 

Oulipo Compendium ed. Harry Matthews & Alastiar Brotchie (London: Atlas Press, 2005) page 80.

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This got me thinking about all the questions we ask and whether or not we actually answer them, or just pose more questions.  And this is what I came up with.

What?

Hello?

Hello?

Who’s there?

Who are you?

Who are you?

What are you doing?

Who are you talking to?

Who do you think I’m talking to?

What’s going on?

Where are you?

Can’t you see me?

Did you hear that?

Are you alone?

Are you alright?

Can you move closer?

Can’t you see me yet?

Why is this happening to me?

Why is this happening to me?

Where are you?

Where are you going?

Where are you?

Are you coming towards me?

What is this place?

What happened to you?

How did you get in here?

Are you hurt?

Did you get hurt too?

Where did you get hurt?

Can’t you come over here?

Can’t you walk?

Where is everyone else?

Aren’t they with you?

What’s that noise?

What noise?

Is that you?

Are you by the wall?

What’s that?

What is it?

What’s your name?

Don’t you recognise my voice?

Is anyone coming to help us?

Does anyone know we’re here?

Why didn’t I stay at home today?

Are we going to be ok?

Why can’t I move?

Are you cold?

Can you see anything?

Will somebody come and help us?

Can’t you shout any louder?

What’s that in my hair?

Is it moving?

Can’t you feel it?

What are you talking about?

What are you talking about?

Where have you gone?

Where are you?

What are you doing?

Hello?

Hello?

*****

(Frisky and Mannish have the right idea) -

E is for ... ELEMENTARY MORALITY

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So today is the 5th of April, which must mean that it's the fifth day of the A to Z challenge.  I've decided to share my love of writing through this challenge, and hopefully introduce people to the world of Oulipo.  I first heard about Oulipo when I was at university, and I was fascinated by their approach to writing that I decided to delve deeper into the world of experimental writing.

In a nutshell, this group of writers likes to assign constraints to their work in order to push creative boundaries.  Not only is this fun to do (the process of writing something with a constraint really does open the mind), the results are brilliant.



*****

E is for ... ELEMENTARY MORALITY

"First come 3 series of 3 + 1 pairs, each pair consisting of a noun and an adjective (or participle), freely including repetitions, rhymes, alliterations, and echoes; next, a kind of interlude of 7 lines, each line 1 to 5 syllables long; last, a conclusion of 3 + 1 pairs of words (noun and adjective or participle), more or less recapitulating several of the 24 words of the first part." 

Oulipo Compendium ed. Harry Matthews & Alastiar Brotchie (London: Atlas Press, 2005) page 142.

*****

(It's supposed to look better than this, but I don't know how to format things on here!)

Scared writer         Hopeful soul          Determined spirit
                             Blank page
Timid waiter          Clock watcher       Time waster
                             Black page
Bleak winter         White cover            Overpowering brightness
                             Blocked page

                            Writers' block
                             causes
                            a troubled mind
                            to double back
                            and create
                            empty thoughts
                           on an empty page

Right writer         Flowing words           Black lines        
                           Covered page

B is for ... BEAUTIFUL OUTLAW

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So today is the 2nd of April, which must mean that it's the second day of the A to Z challenge.  I've decided to share my love of writing through this challenge, and hopefully introduce people to the world of Oulipo.  I first heard about Oulipo when I was at university, and I was fascinated by their approach to writing that I decided to delve deeper into the world of experimental writing.

In a nutshell, this group of writers likes to assign constraints to their work in order to push creative boundaries.  Not only is this fun to do (the process of writing something with a constraint really does open the mind), the results are brilliant.

*****

B is for ... BEAUTIFUL OUTLAW

"The outlaw in question is the name of the person (or subject) to whom the poem is addressed.  Each line of the poem includes all the letters of the alphabet except for the letter appearing in the dedicated name at the position corresponding to that of the line ..."

Oulipo Compendium ed. Harry Matthews & Alastiar Brotchie (London: Atlas Press, 2005) page 56.

*****

So, in layman's terms, if I were to write a poem to my dog, Lily, it would be a 4 line poem.  The first line would contain every letter apart from 'L', the second line would contain every letter apart from 'I', the third line would contain every letter apart from 'L', and the fourth line would contain every letter apart from 'Y'.

Here goes.

Lily
Tiny creature, expectant, amazed, a babe, a friend, ever growing in wonder, hope, joy, seeking requited affection.
Knowledge bursts forth from watchful eyes, a search, a struggle, a flex, a problem resolved, a zealous scratch enjoyed, urges quashed.
Perked ears work overtime, quizzing passers by, a protector, a just guard, a security system extraordinaire, bark far worse than bite.
Quiet and dozing, she sleeps in the most awkward of places, or wants to chase her ball and cracker just after dinner when I'm feeling fat, bloated, exhausted, but I love her.

Please forgive the soppyness of the last line, but I do love her *squee*

A is for ... ACRONYMIC POETRY

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So today is the 1st of April, which must mean that it's the first day of the A to Z challenge.  I've decided to share my love of writing through this challenge, and hopefully introduce people to the world of Oulipo.  I first heard about Oulipo when I was at university, and I was fascinated by their approach to writing that I decided to delve deeper into the world of experimental writing.

In a nutshell, this group of writers likes to assign constraints to their work in order to push creative boundaries.  Not only is this fun to do (the process of writing something with a constraint really does open the mind), the results are brilliant.

*****

A is for ACRONYMIC POETRY

"Verse in which the letters of a given word furnish the initials of the words in each line." 

Oulipo Compendium ed. Harry Matthews & Alastiar Brotchie (London: Atlas Press, 2005) page 45.

*****

The first time I heard of this style of writing, I didn't know it had a 'name'.  I just thought it was really clever.  It was in Ian Brown's song 'FEAR'.  I'd been singing along for ages, and then I realised that the words in each sentence began with F, E, A, and R.

Not only is this a lovely song (in my opinion) it is also an acronymic poem.  So here's my attempt.

Write
While reluctantly I try, endlessly
worrying, reacting incredulously to everything,
we remember intricate things eventually.
Waste rectified, inevitably truth evades
worldly rituals, intricate tremblings envelop
wry reverberations.  Insight's timely escape
will resonate ideally, thoroughly eclectic
with realistic inventions.  Time ends,
walkers run, I trip.  Embers
write rhymes, invisible text ensues.

NW, FV December

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Last night was the December edition of New Words, Fresh Voices hosted by The Seagull Theatre.  Unfortunately, because of the frost and the cold and the general wintery feel, it was quite empty.  However, there were a few new people, which is always good to see.  There were a couple of guitarists/singers, and they were good, and a man who wrote poems about vegetables.  Very unexpected, but very funny.  

Considering that it's coming up to Christmas, the best time of year (in my opinion, but I dare someone to argue with me on that), there was one performer who read out three extremely miserable pieces, which kind of brought a downer on the whole evening.  Good job there was a duo with a banjo, singing silly songs to lighten the mood.

And of course, there was me.  I went along with the general theme of Christmas/winter, because I love Christmas and snow gets me all excited (even though we haven't had any here ... yet) like I was a child again!

*****

Winter

Do you remember when we used to sit

by the radio listening to local

stations waiting for the news reports to

say the name of our school?  We knew this meant

school was closed and we could all enjoy

a day at home with hours of frozen

fun ahead.  The initial signs of rich

whitewashed pavements filled our thoughts with blizzards

and wonderlands.  Glistening bright diamonds

of meltable presence would tap at our

windows, beckoning us to play.  The crunch

of the first footprint on the unsullied

path sounded as satisfying as the

taste of the first flakes to fall onto our

outstretched tongues.  Running in crazy circles,

creating rushed patterns of welly-boot

ridges until the soft snow carpet looked

more like dog-chewed lino.  Our mums tightened

our scarves to the point of breathlessness – or

was that the excitement of a snow day? 

Wrapped up so only our wide eyes peeped out

above our snug woollen face protection. 

Gripping massive balls of numbness in the

tiny palms of our hand-knitted mittens,

then lobbing them at anything standing

in our way, watching in amazement as

they exploded and the fragments whizzed off,

so speedily, in every direction.

Being pulled along on home-made sledges

or in crates found strewn on ice-white sand by

our dads while our mums watched from the warmth of

the house, behind the kitchen window.  The

coldness crept its way up through the seats of

our trousers but we didn’t care.  Gazing

at beads of water glazing over, that

turned into ice on metal railings, and

being tempted by the unknown taste of

this clear confection but being told not

to lick them as our tongues would get stuck.  Each

tree looked the same as the next and we would

ping the branches so that the soft powder

bounced as if on a trampoline.  It would

fly up in the air and then float back down 

upon our faces as gracefully as

fragile, injured angels fluttering

from high, so that we could dance beneath our

own mini snowfall.  Jumping off the sea

wall onto the beach but ending up knee

deep in snowy slush that seeped over the

tops of our boots and soaked into our socks.

Slipping on ice-ridden paths and tripping

up snow-hidden kerbs in a rush to be

the first person to scrape the snow off the

car and use it for ammunition.  The

wind would send shivers through our skin, coating

our cheeks with flushed red flecks (the freckles would

hide in order to avoid the cold) and

make our noses sniffle, yet the air was

fresh and inviting, even if it was

raining.  Knife-like icicles dangling from

guttering, ready to snap, drop and stab,

at times seemed to be frozen tears when looked

at in the right light.  These prisms shimmered

with rainbow brightness against dark walls.  Wet

puddles became our own mini ice-rinks

after Jack had cast his frost spell on them.

Skating back and forth over the shiny

glass panel that was barely big enough

to fit two feet on, yet we skidded and

flailed our arms with as much elegance and

style as Torvill and Dean.  Light blue skies were

the backdrop for the escaping plumes of

pallid mist we expelled from our chapped lips;

we pretended we were smoking.  Building

odd-shaped snowmen that never looked as good

as those on the telly.  Their heads always

were a bit lopsided and our carrots

were not proper triangles, making them

appear witchlike rather than the friendly

overgrown ice-lollies that we wished would

wake up at night with a blink of their coal

eyes and take us floating high above the

rooftops.  The pure body of winter would

always turn into muddy slush before

tea-time and after tea it was always

too dark to go back outside.  Toasting our

toes in front of the open fire with Grange

Hill, Blue Peter or John Craven’s Newsround

in the background, anticipating a

steaming stew or casserole to heat our

freezing bodies.  Laying on the floor, the

fire still burning, playing Connect4 or

Spirographing to eternity by

overlapping patterns, shaping our own

indoor snowflakes from paper scraps that would

not thaw out but survive until summer. 

From the comfort of our rooms we would watch

droplets of winter float from the sky and

glimmer in the faint glow of the streetlamps

and then go to bed wishing that it would

be exactly the same in the morning.

*****

Blue Peter Christmas

Mr. Weatherly was the best headmaster

you could ever wish for.

He was a classroom celebrity,

a man of credibility

famed for gliding through assembly

on a birthday boy’s skateboard

and not falling off.

Famed for knowing the names

of every one of his school’s students

and their parents.

A man so vibrant, likeable, respectful, wise,

even when he was telling someone off

he had kindness in his eyes.

So frightful that everyone stopped speaking

when he walked in the room; even the teacher.

So benign that no-one minded him being there,

so involved and inspiring and always had time

for everyone in the building

Famed for not only being the best headmaster

you could ever get,

he also worked as a Blue Peter vet

taking care of George the Tortoise,

sitting inside our telly, giving pet advice.

And because of this he got to take

the year fours onto the Christmas show

to sing carols, huddled in the BBC studio,

wearing scarves and hats

beneath the flowing fake snow

as the presenters took turns

to light the advent candle crown

made of tangled bits of coat hanger metal

covered in tin foil and tinsel.

I was so excited at this awesome prospect

of being on television

with all of my school friends,

to get signed photos to stick on the fridge

and of course the Blue Peter badge

that we’d wear with pride,

that would give us free entry

to museums and galleries

and loads of theme park rides.

It was the key that every child craved

to unlock local attractions,

this excellent invention,

it was what we lived for

this blue and white treasure

that we’d cherish forever,

that would turn into retro attire

after a handful of years.

Our mums would tape us

with fingers poised over the record

and play buttons on the remote control

waiting for Andy Crane or Andi Peters

to introduce Blue Peter at 5pm.

Once five thirty came

they’d eject the cassette

and stick tape over the holes in the VHS

so that the moment would never be lost

and accidentally erased

to be replaced by an episode of

Hale and Pace or Anneka Rice.

And we’d play back the event

for years to come,

everyone convening in the living room,

inventing a game of “Where’s our kid?”

Watching wide eyed

as the cameras panned from child to child;

There she is, a finger would point,

There she is again,

That’s her back,

That’s her arm,

That would be my taste of fame.

I couldn’t wait to be 8

and for this time to come.

When I was in year 1, I’d hurry home

after a long day of learning to watch

Mark Curry, Yvette Fielding and Caren Keating

fighting with sticky back plastic

to make homemade Christmas decorations

look fantastic.

The children would sing their hymns

and force their grins

and not stare directly into camera,

and I would join in

in my living room

but in three years I would be there.

When I was in year 2, I’d rush out of school

into the dark evening to watch

Mark Curry, Yvette Fielding and Caren Keating

showing us something they’d made earlier

from under the counter

looking better than anything I ever created

with scrunched up tissue paper

and reams of sticky tape.

The children would stand in lines

and sway in time

to the music from the Salvation Army,

and in only two years

I’d be one of those

gladly clapping around the Christmas tree.

When I was in year 3, I’d walk home quickly

to be greeted by Caron Keating, Yvette Fielding and John Leslie

baking cakes or making cards

and presenting the nativity

getting us ready

for the Christmas holidays.

The children would grip their lanterns

in hands hidden in mittens,

holding back their nervous laughter,

hoping they don’t forget the words,

and in twelve months

that would be me on Blue Peter.

When I was in year 4, we sat on the floor

of the hall for morning assembly

in the first week of September

eagerly waiting together

for Mr Weatherly to enter.

But he didn’t.

In his place was Mrs something or other,

even now I can’t remember her name,

shows just how much of an impression she made.

Mr Weatherly had moved.

He’d changed schools.

He’d left us,

Bereft.

So in December, through the icy weather

I’d reluctantly turn on the television

and watch, with great  jealousy and feigned boredom,

as Yvette Fielding, John Leslie and Diane-Louise Jordon

welcome the pounding brass band

and accompanying them, the school children

from across the nation

crooning in unity,

chanting in harmony,

alongside Mr Weatherly,

without me.

Mr Weatherly will always be

the best headmaster you could ever have

but I will never forgive him

for leaving before my year 4

Blue Peter outing.

A coach ride to London,

an escape from the humdrum,

a day of sun in the middle of winter,

something that rivalled the arrival of Santa.

Ten years later,

speaking to a friend at High School

I mentioned Mr Weatherly.

She told me she knew him.

I asked her how,

and her answer:

he was her headmaster

when she was in year 4

and he took her class on Blue Peter.

*****

The next event is Sunday 20th January 2013.  I won't be there as I'll be in sunnier climes, but if you fancy performing some of your creativity, or you just want a bit more information, get in touch with Ian Fosten, the MC for the evening.