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Critical Analysis #2
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Untitled... for my Literature class.
| Critical Analysis #2 |
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Untitled... for my Literature class. |
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A B S T R A C T Junior Member
since 2003-12-31
Posts 27-=NYC=- |
About two months ago, I had to write a poem based on Allan (sp?) Ginsberg's "A Supermarket in California" for my high school junior American Literature class. I thought that it wasn't so good, but after hearing some of the poems that the students wrote, I thought that maybe I had something. PLEASE CRITIQUE: I feel the city's respiration smoothly stroking my uncovered palms as I am moved by the ethereal taste of pork fried rice. This taste made plans with the Europeans who opened the African slave trade. I was clean until the greasy hand of Chinese food struck me in the face, leaving me without any decent napkins to wipe myself off. I was awoken from my tranquil trance of wild, colorful dreams of liberated coasts shimmering in the morning light by ships full of rice anchoring on my mind’s peaceful shores. The city is raped by its own inhabitants. The slave catchers are posing as the once serene streetlights, guiding its own people into the broken wilderness. The neon-infested centerpiece of the block is revered by the native slave catchers, helping the ones who are helping themselves. I pick up the menu from an old Chinese man who is holding a stack of them. The designer of the menu painted the wording with the scarlet life of a slain bird. It reads from right to left: “Yhtlaeh si noitceles ruo” (“Our selection is healthy”). Death certificates. “One order of fried chicken wings with pork fried rice.” One of the enslavers brings out my order. The theft of the spirit is not enough it seems, as they want me to get it myself. Rice and chicken, if healthy, baptized in slime. As I sacrifice my plastic fork into the savanna of rice, the oil is visible in all of its repulsiveness. My fork mirrors my face and the food splatters beneath my feet. The bridges are burning, leave before they collapse! Plutonian air is pitiless as the take-out visitors are walking with their backs bent over beneath the watching, crying moon, clasped by the heavy links of the slimy food, frozen tears falling on the iron of their chains, too hurtful to remain whole, breaking into countless pieces as pain fuses with captivity. My chains weren’t made that strong – the captors have been overcome as I decide to celebrate with a bag of carrots. Liberation draws close but its children run away; the only thing left to do is to fall down and pray. My dear Father God, who is in Heaven, as my knees are on the marble of my floor, my arms are on the comfort of my bed, my eyes are on the beauty of my room and my body is in the security of my home, I beg of You to help those who are not as fortunate as the one that You have truly blessed. |
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forne_marin Member
since 2004-04-13
Posts 140Spartanburg, South Carolina |
Um. Yeah. I'm not trying to be rude, but what are you going for here? What emotion are you trying to evoke? The reason I ask is that I enjoyed the poem. I found the language very beautiful and very vivid, but I found myself laughing as I went through it, and feeling kind of guilty in the process. Are you trying to be funny, or are you being serious? If you're trying to be serious, then the poem is way too distracted and I didn't get it. If you were going for a more light-hearted approach, then I have to say I loved it. The main thing I'd suggest to you is form. You need to break it up into shorter lines--personally I try to stay under five metric "feet" or 10 syllables. Aside from that, good job. |
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A B S T R A C T Junior Member
since 2003-12-31
Posts 27-=NYC=- |
This is definitely meant to be mostly light-hearted with a little bit of seriousness. Allan Ginsberg's poem is a sarcastic view and we were supposed to do something similar, although I stretched the assignment out a bit. I realize that the lines are long, but since I didn't want to spend additional time on it, I decided to do the quickest but most effective job. Thank you for your reply. |
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Brad Member Ascendant
since 1999-08-20
Posts 5705Jejudo, South Korea |
Ginsberg's poem is about different poetry. It is about what we do in order to read. what is this about? |
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Severn Member Rara Avis
since 1999-07-17
Posts 7704 |
My question might seem harsh, but I think it's warranted - is this merely an attempt at imitation of a style?  K |
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