Tuesday, June 15, 2010

Santa Mira In The Morning

I'm in an "Invasion of The Bodysnatchers" state of mind. I don't mean I feel apathetic or that I am currently trying to escape the loss of my soul.

I just listened to the Audio Book of the original novel by Jack Finney. It was by far the most awesome Audio Book I've ever heard. It was read by the son of Don Siegel, the director of the original 1956 movie. The book is first person narrative, so I think it lends itself well to Audio Book form. And he didn't try to get all cute doing the chick or kid voices. And isn't Jack Finney a cool name.

So last night after a day on the go, I watched the majority of the movie. Still great. Watched the rest this morning with Collette.

Back in a college writing class, I wrote a poem about the movie. I ended up revising it a whole bunch because my teacher said pop culture references did not make good literature. I don't know why she loved that other guys poem about the trolls and elves that was clearly Tolkien or Brooks inspired. So I cut up my original poem, changed the title to something trite with Apathy in it and made it more "universal". It had some good new lines, but all in all, it wasn't what I wanted to write and it never flowed to me like my original. With no attempts at "good literature"- here is my original inspired by my ongoing love of Myles Bennell, Becky Driscoll, Jack Belicec and those creepy bubbling pods.

Evening in Santa Mira

It's time for your lullaby child.
Tomorrow your world will be pure.
The hour of your birth arrives yet again
and we wait patiently for your soul.
I remember when you came in on the train.
Even you could see the improvement.
Our streets are so clean now,
the work goes so smooth, nobody complains.
To think even I resisted this change-
I drank so much coffee, smoked so many cigarettes.
But in the end sleep overtook me, as it will you.
I once spent so much time in daydreams,
for me there was no beauty in order.
Now it is the only dream.
How wonderful not to feel pain,
but those are only words.
Nothing is wonderful any more-
everything is right.
Little boy, I used to call you darling.
Tonight there are no endearments.
There are no nightmares either.
So sleep child and as they finally close,
the light leaves your eyes.
We do not need childhood or daydreams.
Even King Donovan could not resist lullabies like mine.


Silas said...

I was thinking about some of my poetry the other day and how my teacher did not care for it either. What are they going to care for though when it comes to poetry? I still think about the lines in my poems though. They still mean something to me. They still make me laugh.

If I ever teach a poetry class, which is highly unlikely since I am not a teacher, every one who writes a poem passes. Everyone who tries gets an A.

And, it is not because I am searching for mediocrity. I am searching for creative effort. And, when it comes to life 15 years down the road, if those students can remember their poem and maybe even put it to verse, that would be something extraordinary.

Enjoyed Santa Mira in the Morning...

Fortuna Watt said...

Being an English Major I had a lot of literature teachers. There were very few really good ones, whether learning to write it or read it. The best teachers would usually have open discussions about what we read or wrote. But the average teacher would skew their lectures to how the works best fit into their personal agenda. Or if it was my writing, those teachers seemed to glom onto the most inspid line in my piece and praise it.
Everyone should be encouraged to write poetry. Bad, good, great, silly, or pretentious. As Si said, an A for the effort. And Si is an awesome writer of all things, by the way.