So this morning I did a close study. Where I tried to craft a poem as close to the original poem as I could while still making it my own. In fact, when Valerie saw me at my desk, I was holding the book in one hand and writing in my journal with the other. She accused me of just copying other people's poems for my own.
So here's the poem. It's my own. I didn't copy despite what Valerie said. Because if I just copied it then it would be better, wouldn't it?
I tried to imitate the way Stafford jumps from image to image while keeping the idea of the poem on the same track. We'll see how it works after I come back to these and edit them.
Vine
Early in April we steadied our hands,
our hunger was a sound, a secret name.
To be more than this,
to have our dreams speak back.
We are not a forest cleared,
but there is a creeping vine in us,
we will keep the stones we climb.
And though it was silence at first,
our hearts were shored up.
Walking through storms will pass
them faster. I have hope
and you have a fist and both
can grow feet.
We each have blood to spare.
Now we see the stars unclothed,
they are still as far as stars
but winter is a promise,
not a drought, our home
a workshop of thought. We are
travelers of a night fantastic
and all our own.
Vine
Early in April we steadied our hands,
our hunger was a sound, a secret name.
To be more than this,
to have our dreams speak back.
We are not a forest cleared,
but there is a creeping vine in us,
we will keep the stones we climb.
And though it was silence at first,
our hearts were shored up.
Walking through storms will pass
them faster. I have hope
and you have a fist and both
can grow feet.
We each have blood to spare.
Now we see the stars unclothed,
they are still as far as stars
but winter is a promise,
not a drought, our home
a workshop of thought. We are
travelers of a night fantastic
and all our own.
