This poem in response to Gabrielle Calvocoressi’s Apocalyptic Swing poetry collection was probably my most favorite to write, because Calvocoressi used some forms in new ways. While I focused on her streams of similar phrases and onomatopoeia, I also paid attention to her use of sentence structure. For example, her “Glass Jaw Sonnet” is written in several short phrases and sentences, similar to, as I pointed out in my review, a boxing match. I was very excited to attempt this writing style, and as such made sure to use it in my poem.
Calvocoressi is very subtle with her use onomatopoeia and streams of phrases. When I say streams of phrases, I am referring to how she’ll use the same word in different phrases written consecutively like a list. In “The Chapel, Now Quite Open to Its God,” for instance, she writes “Who will/lay hands on you? Who laid hands on you?//...as she lay beside me//…this city lays unmade,” a passage which repeats the use of “lay” (33). Calvocoressi slips these streams of phrases and onomatopoeia in without any warning, a surprise that stays with you as you continue reading the poem. Although the sound itself is a surprise, Calvocoressi keeps it subtle by matching the onomatopoeia to the diction surrounding it. For instance, in “Praying With Pat,” she writes “a cymbal from the chaff so all/you had is the steady chhhhhh-chhhh,” a sound which echoes the consonant sounds from chaff and traffic (74).
I did not originally plan out how I was going to use this technique. I knew I wanted to incorporate it, but I wasn’t yet sure how. As I wrote “You will leave/the girl, you say, with the pigtail braids,/with the pig-pink shorts, with the piggy/bank dreams that were going to cha-ching/your way,” the stream of “pig” phrases tumbled from my hands and onto the page, the same way the phrases roll off the tongue. As a result, the phrase “cha-ching” naturally unfurled without any thought to it. I found that by not trying to force the use of onomatopoeia, I was able to add it naturally. This idea of the poem writing itself was an intriguing idea for the first section of my poem, and it was very effective, though it didn’t help so much with the much more complicated second section.
I wrote the second section of my poem as a list of short phrases, similar to Calvocoressi’s “Glass Jaw Sonnet” (25). I was very excited to try this style, since most of my poems are written in long phrases that flow smoothly down the page. This style, however, is very choppy—the exact opposite of what I usually write. Although speaking aloud was helpful for the first section, the second section went completely against my natural speaking rhythm. In order to write this section, I actually ended up keeping rhythm by rapping on my desk and bobbing my head, which enabled me to keep my writing to mostly consistent, short phrases. Thinking of this section as a sonnet helped a little—after all, the poem it was based off of is a sonnet. I ended up slowly counting syllables to double-check my rhythm, which worked for the overall section. Even though this technique helped, I still found this style to be the most difficult I’ve written in thus far.
The last section of my poem was based on Calvocoressi’s poem “Training Camp: Deer Lake, PA,” specifically section seven (57). I found the setting of this part to be especially inspirational—the stillness of this section contrasted greatly with the fighting and violence of other parts in her collection, particularly “Glass Jaw Sonnet,” which was still stuck in my mind.
I also included a memory, just as Calvocoressi did, which read as “Once, you walked/along the street back home and the girl//you left behind carved her name into a stone/and placed it inside a wooden home,//and the tree grew around it, cradling/the stone to its heart.” Using a memory helped tie the beginning with the end. In addition to this, the fact that it was a memory helped slow the poem down in order to match the stillness of her poem. I ended up using outside inspiration in addition to Calvocoressi’s poem to write this last section. I had just written a unsatisfactory poem about stone, so I was still focused on using the idea of a stone carving in my poem. When the poem’s speaker mentioned speaking to the pines, it reminded me of how a magician had placed a jar inside a tree and waited twenty years to present his illusion of a man’s name appearing in that tree. I felt that this scene of waiting years for a tree to grow around an object perfectly reflected the overall stillness and loss of time in Calvocoressi’s poem.
Calvocoressi is very subtle with her use onomatopoeia and streams of phrases. When I say streams of phrases, I am referring to how she’ll use the same word in different phrases written consecutively like a list. In “The Chapel, Now Quite Open to Its God,” for instance, she writes “Who will/lay hands on you? Who laid hands on you?//...as she lay beside me//…this city lays unmade,” a passage which repeats the use of “lay” (33). Calvocoressi slips these streams of phrases and onomatopoeia in without any warning, a surprise that stays with you as you continue reading the poem. Although the sound itself is a surprise, Calvocoressi keeps it subtle by matching the onomatopoeia to the diction surrounding it. For instance, in “Praying With Pat,” she writes “a cymbal from the chaff so all/you had is the steady chhhhhh-chhhh,” a sound which echoes the consonant sounds from chaff and traffic (74).
I did not originally plan out how I was going to use this technique. I knew I wanted to incorporate it, but I wasn’t yet sure how. As I wrote “You will leave/the girl, you say, with the pigtail braids,/with the pig-pink shorts, with the piggy/bank dreams that were going to cha-ching/your way,” the stream of “pig” phrases tumbled from my hands and onto the page, the same way the phrases roll off the tongue. As a result, the phrase “cha-ching” naturally unfurled without any thought to it. I found that by not trying to force the use of onomatopoeia, I was able to add it naturally. This idea of the poem writing itself was an intriguing idea for the first section of my poem, and it was very effective, though it didn’t help so much with the much more complicated second section.
I wrote the second section of my poem as a list of short phrases, similar to Calvocoressi’s “Glass Jaw Sonnet” (25). I was very excited to try this style, since most of my poems are written in long phrases that flow smoothly down the page. This style, however, is very choppy—the exact opposite of what I usually write. Although speaking aloud was helpful for the first section, the second section went completely against my natural speaking rhythm. In order to write this section, I actually ended up keeping rhythm by rapping on my desk and bobbing my head, which enabled me to keep my writing to mostly consistent, short phrases. Thinking of this section as a sonnet helped a little—after all, the poem it was based off of is a sonnet. I ended up slowly counting syllables to double-check my rhythm, which worked for the overall section. Even though this technique helped, I still found this style to be the most difficult I’ve written in thus far.
The last section of my poem was based on Calvocoressi’s poem “Training Camp: Deer Lake, PA,” specifically section seven (57). I found the setting of this part to be especially inspirational—the stillness of this section contrasted greatly with the fighting and violence of other parts in her collection, particularly “Glass Jaw Sonnet,” which was still stuck in my mind.
I also included a memory, just as Calvocoressi did, which read as “Once, you walked/along the street back home and the girl//you left behind carved her name into a stone/and placed it inside a wooden home,//and the tree grew around it, cradling/the stone to its heart.” Using a memory helped tie the beginning with the end. In addition to this, the fact that it was a memory helped slow the poem down in order to match the stillness of her poem. I ended up using outside inspiration in addition to Calvocoressi’s poem to write this last section. I had just written a unsatisfactory poem about stone, so I was still focused on using the idea of a stone carving in my poem. When the poem’s speaker mentioned speaking to the pines, it reminded me of how a magician had placed a jar inside a tree and waited twenty years to present his illusion of a man’s name appearing in that tree. I felt that this scene of waiting years for a tree to grow around an object perfectly reflected the overall stillness and loss of time in Calvocoressi’s poem.