Changeling

Poems that mimic or react to poets of influence

By Drew Mazur

Thesis Submitted in Partial Fulfillment of the

Requirements for a Degree in Writing

Creative Option

May 7, 2013

Thesis Advisor: Prof. Vastola

2

Abstract

This collection is composed of poems that convey the style and forms of selected poets. Presented is a short introduction for each poet,

and poems (in bold) written by these poets next to my poems that react to these poems, borrow some aspect of the poem‟s form, or

both. Some cited poems are just a section of the poem. Additional poems presented without a poet‟s original poem only mimic their

style, and have little or no connection to a specific poem. Poems are separated by titles, or numerically. For words or names with the

symbol °, refer to the notes.

3

Table of Contents

Emily Dickinson – introduction…………………………………………………4

Marilyn Chin - introduction……………………………………………………15

Mary Oliver - introduction…………………………………………………….26

Wisława Szymborska - introduction…………………………………………..32

Notes……………………………………………………………………………..39

Cited Works…………………………………………………………………….40

4

Emily Dickinson (1830 – 1886)

Dickinson was an American poet born in Amherst, Massachusetts. Introverted, Dickinson was considered ahead of her time,

having an unconventional use of capitalization, and an extensive use of hyphenation and slant rhymes. She was, in her lifetime,

influenced by the likes of William Wordsworth, William Shakespeare and Ralph Waldo Emerson. She passed away from kidney

failure. Despite the fact that she had made a promise to burn her poetry, her works became recognized after her lifetime.

5

(1) She, her Cigarette – in May –

Nicotine tongue – in December –

That response – nine months late –

Laugh not for my Ears –

Her God, Composer – Regina Spektor° –

My Exile – from Milford –

My Envy – Her forgotten Pledge –

My Buddha – a Fab –

She, a Downfall – sweetest Epiphany –

All this Blood for her – Grace –

Perpetuity has no Regrets –

And neither do I.

6

He found my Being – set it up –

Adjusted it to place –

Then carved his name – upon it –

And bade it to the East

Be faithful – in his absence –

And he would come again –

With Equipage of Amber –

That time - to take it Home –

-Emily Dickinson

(2) He dissipated your Name – deceived it

Wrapped it in a bow

Signed the Card – with his Lover‟s tag –

Sent it to the Sprite

Do not be faithful – He is absent –

He drifted away on his own Vanity –

A Vehicle of Impudence –

Remember that Time – it lapses –

7

(3) I cannot bear – this Émigré –

A Light made White Noise –

Make me your – Epilogue –

For the coming Show –

It does not fade – That –

Which is made of Smoke –

It haunts You – A ghost –

In a living Being –

Taken from Grace –

Molded in your – Disdain –

Marking the Walls –

No Paint can bring closure –

For the rest of your Time –

The Eye – which sits in Memory –

It was always there for you –

Now it is your Disease –

It loves to reminisce –

In your Stress – in your –

Madness – which has not come –

And may never come to pass –

(4) You are immune to Pleasure –

You allow it to transpire –

In the Echoes of your books-

Which do not translate –

8

She sights a Bird – she chuckles –

She flattens – then she crawls –

She runs without the look of feet –

Her eyes increase to Balls –

Her Jaws stir – twitching – hungry –

Her Teeth can hardly stand –

She leaps, but Robin leaped the first –

Ah, Pussy, of the Sand,

The Hopes so juicy ripening –

You almost bathed your Tongue –

When Bliss disclosed a hundred Toes –

And fled with every one –

-Emily Dickinson

(5) She sights a Martyr – she chuckles –

She stares – then she lingers –

She monitors that passing hour –

It has nothing else to offer –

The Lemon, so acidic – unripe –

Chapped lips will not agree –

Ah, but they will try to speak –

What Recklessness this produces –

A passing Rhapsody – from Windows –

Which will not close for the Martyr –

They will descend into Ignorance –

Our little Tragedy –

9

(6) A Bird – feathered in Silk –

These are the Ruminations

Of a prince looking for Universes

So he knows his is not worth –

Governing with Fists –

They will never listen to Fantasy

They will never read words in Bark

And that is why they are –

Of their own Ephemerality –

(7) Birds bring Music – Owls –

Bring Night –

The Snake brings an Apple –

For perverted Delight –

A Squirrel brings just –

Whatever it finds –

The Chipmunk says he Must –

Raid a rock wall‟s Cell –

10

Bee! I'm expecting you!

Was saying Yesterday

To Somebody you know

That you were due –

The Frogs got Home last Week –

Are settled, and at work –

Birds, mostly back –

The Clover warm and thick –

You'll get my Letter by

The seventeenth; Reply

Or better, be with me –

Yours, Fly.

-Emily Dickinson

(8) Spring! I‟m expecting you!

Was telling a friend

Wrapped in twenty layers

Winter has lost its Groove –

No one is home – when –

I knock on a Seashell –

This Shore is surely waiting –

For more Glass to confiscate –

You‟ll get served by Pigeon

On the eighth; just

Thought you should know –

Yours truly, a Seagull.

11

(9) Philosophy –

Her Practice

Not Lobotomy

But Phlebotomy

If my exam were this Tuesday

Yours was – four Score ago

Right next to the coffee Shop

Where we made Latex

Into Immorality.

(10) Chivalry is found – in Masonry –

Where Art and yard Design mate –

And the Flowers will return –

When your silly Hat is retired –

Sorry about the Lilies –

They were bought in five Seconds –

They wrapped Them nicely – at least –

For your high school Prom –

(11) “Nature” is a Conspiracy –

It was made up in a Cuckoo‟s Nest –

They discussed Economics –

As if it were the original Religion –

12

The Moon upon her fluent Route

Defiant of a Road –

The Star’s Etruscan Argument

Substantiate a God –

If Aims impel these Astral Ones

The ones allowed to know

Know that which makes them as forgot

As Dawn forgets them – now –

-Emily Dickinson

(12) The Sun burning her wealthy Fields

In Absence of the Storm –

A Flare‟s Phonetic Rendering

Ferments estival Wine –

If Love depraves the Solid Stones

The mountain Rock that wears

Believe in its aesthetic Poise

As night cocooned them – once –

13

Just Once! Oh least Request!

Could Adamant refuse

So small a Grace

So scanty put,

Such agonizing terms?

Would not a God of Flint

Be conscious of a sigh

As down His Heaven dropt remote

“Just Once” Sweet Deity?

-Emily Dickinson

(13) Always! Without Patience!

The Adamant are false, refusing

The smallest Grace.

True, Modesty veils

All terms overlooked.

Their God, is he

Their only Flint

For forgiving an Earth, Heavenly,

“For Always” in Tryst?

14

How soft a Caterpillar steps –

I find one on my Hand

From such a velvet world it comes

Such plushes at command

Its soundless travels just arrest

My slow – terrestrial eye

Intent upon its own career

What use has it for me –

-Emily Dickinson

(14) How loud a Car approaches –

I see one on the Artery

With such a sheering pain – it rides –

Such ignorance of night‟s command

Its preaching crusade to arrest

This lost – illicit saint

Refrained from dreaming by a wolf

Where will he take his kill –

15

Marilyn Chin (1955 –)

Marilyn Chin is a Chinese-American poet. Her poetry often mixes her Chinese roots with American culture. It is contemporary in

its conversational tone, yet recalls Li Po and even Emily Dickinson. She is the author of “The Phoenix Gone, The Terrace Empty”,

“Dwarf Bamboo” and “Rhapsody in Plain Yellow.” She teaches at San Diego State University. In the late 1970s, she was a

translator for the University of Iowa International Writing Program. She was born in Hong Kong, but raised in Portland, Oregon.

16

In my rented red Miata I veered and turned

I veered and turned but couldn’t find the exit

I couldn’t find the exit the // rain // in // my // hair

-Marilyn Chin, Hospital Interlude

(section of poem)

- School Interlude -

I went down the road to the get a Snickers

A Snickers I‟ll eat while they are fucking

As they are fucking this bite

This bite will taste so fucking good

So fucking good I will not think

Think about their fucking

Fucking good distraction

I would like to eat this for // all // etern / I / t / y

17

We’re a seed on the manure, on the sole of your shoe

We’re the louse trapped in your hank of golden hair

We’re the sliver that haunts beneath your thumbnail

We’re the church mouse you scorched with a match but

lived

-Marilyn Chin, Millenium, Six Songs

(section of poem)

- Where are we now? -

Where are we when the gun yells victim?

Where are we now that the Great Wall is downgraded to

attraction?

Where are we now that the man in the moon may not be a

white, male Republican?

Where will we be when the hsieh° return?

Where are we going? Jersey?

Where are we going to stop for a bathroom?

Where did she give up her body to the guitarist from –

that band?

Where are we now?

18

The dog is barking at the door

“Daddy crashed the car”

“Hush, kids, go to your room

Don’t come out until it’s over”

-Marilyn Chin, Variations on an Ancient Theme:

The Drunken Husband (section of poem)

- Soup Bowl -

He eats the recommended dish.

“When did they start selling this shit?”

When they finished their meal, they thanked the waitress

“Nice piece of ass”

Now we have to go with him to review paperwork

It never ends, does it?

They televise the president.

“Fucking socialist. I hate that fascist.”

Fascists are not socialists.

“Of course they are, dumbass.”

Meeting ends, and we break for more food.

“We should just go back to the Korean restaurant for dinner.

How fucking funny would that be?”

19

- Changeling -

One foot in Buda- one

in 'pest - PESCHT -

my grandmothers

spoke with a Hungarian

accent. My other relatives,

Polish, spoke perfect

English. "Yoy Eztanem!"

How they have lost their roots!

Let / Him / bless / this /

meal / and / this / table

Why He? Is She not

a silhouette in the

doorway as well?

Taketh and giveth.

Why He? She was

there when I stroked

those wrists. A changeling

always remembers.

Why He? They‟d want

you to think She is

not a Philistine‟s daughter,

moral compass buried.

20

Why He? Where art thou, Lilith?

The roots I have lost

were regenerated when bastardly

rhapsodies ravished the irises.

The L-rd giveth and take away

This little Cheshire cat

(Did you find the looking glass?)

That sits upon Her bedroom wall

And tastes the bloodied rat

(Keep it down to two minutes, please.)

Is this creature the original, or the dream sister?

Will He switch them back?

Could it be?

Not // He // is //

G-d // but //

She // is //

Goddess!

21

“The Disorder” by Marilyn Chin

The only truth you know now is your hunger

growing wider as the season darkens.

and all the fasting and Hindu calisthenics

couldn’t keep those inches off. The fat

adheres to you like cancer or a warm lichen

dependent on a tree trunk’s insecurity

and unwilling to part.

Everywhere

you venture the mirrors whisper,

the pond’s reflections resound your dolor.

The winter doldrums comfort the beasts

Within all but yourself –

As you reach out

to gather more confections and sweet rewards,

- The Cure -

Maybe if you taught him more than hunger,

the season would ripen with the progeny.

I have never heard of Hindu calisthenics

but they sound painful.

Painfully ineffective,

but maybe the lichen will pick

a new trunk if you find a

new photosynthetic lover.

Everything

depends upon looking through the reflection

and finding the pond‟s inhabitants.

maybe if you made him a beast, too,

he would feel more at home –

He reaches out

22

As you attempt to fill an emptiness

not filled by the sun, as you wait

for your inevitable fall,

a small child

within you remembers: so these, these

were the “golden mountains!”

for attention, but you did too once,

as you did when you were

a child, it helped when

the inevitable prayer,

the experienced chum

recalled: these, these mountains

were never “gold”; don’t lean on their old

reputation.

23

- Orphan Moon -

holy

mystic moon

beloved orphan

mys tic

beloved

orphan

Sex / pictures / for / sale /

ask / the / Christian / doppelgangers /

magpies bamboo hopes jacaranda refrigerator death

if you want chrysanthemum notwithstanding gorges shamelessly

matte I‟m yours condor „s lover free -way

quatrains vulgar landscape bumfuzzle idiomatic

24

Clear white stream –

a dead horse drifts;

its legs are branches

piercing the sky.

Clear white stream –

a child dangles her pole;

deep in the water

a lungfish bites.

-Marilyn Chin, Clear White Stream

(section of poem)

- Master of Nothing -

Master of Nothing –

Tu Fu° deceives you

singing his ballads

along the river bank.

Master of Nothing –

the moon toad drowns

as poisoned herbs

wait for the rabbit

Master of Nothing –

Li Po° was here

wading Bamboo Stream

in hsieh° bamboo aegis

25

Master of Nothing –

Lu Yu° drifts hither

on a willow bank

awake, heavy with wine

Master of Nothing –

Ling-Yun° stalks a moon

bathing her ankles

in tepid sweat

Master of Nothing –

Chin is your daughter

named for a white girl

drinking gin in some club

-Are we that crowing cock,

shot by Six Dynasties?

26

Mary Oliver (1935 –)

Mary Oliver is an American poet. Her poetry books include “New and Selected Poems”, “Blue Iris”, “White Pine” and “Why I

Wake Early”. She has won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry and the National Book Award, and was Poet Laureate of the United States.

She lives in Provincetown, Massachusetts, with Molly Malone Cook. She focuses on the beauty and simplicity of nature, writes a

lot of prose, occasionally has enjambment, and uses variable foot frequently in her poetry book, “Why I Wake Early”.

27

- I Think They Were Frogs -

They cannot be

seen. What first

sounded

like an alarm,

coming from the

lake,

rightly was their

mating call.

Of course

there is concern! The

lake

is farting.

The existence of

their bodies

is overshadowed

by the tuba

they play.

A strong gust

rips at their

symphony, nearly

turning me into

their carnivorous

meal.

But if

28

I linger upon

the acre-wide

apocalypse,

their brass band

will soon

play

an encore

for me.

29

“Many Miles” by Mary Oliver

The feet of the heron,

under those bamboo stems,

hold the blue body,

the great beak

above the shallows

of the pond.

Who could guess

their patience?

Sometimes the toes

shake, like worms.

What fish

could resist?

Or think of the cricket,

his green hooks

climbing the blade of grass –

or think of camel feet

like ear muffs,

striding over the sand –

or think of your own

slapping along the highway,

a long life,

many miles.

To each of us comes

the body gift.

30

- The End -

I don‟t want in our séance. Dearest

to go inside; specter, your lack of

this highway curiosity in our rapport

is worth starving has no beginning

myself of supper. nor end. A stone

It‟s glimmer strobes philosopher on

around boughs and a cotton car seat,

the arboreal until I inquire to the

I forget the omnipotent

owl in his clout, with my

this nocturnal selected

apparition locked drafts:

31

Why do I hold on to a promise I made in a Christmas card?

*

Why do I care for statues? Is their lack of retort soothing?

*

Who sets the stadium lights to go on at exactly 9:15?

*

The hoi polloi have come for your secrets! Fetch your sages!

*

How cold is the coffee when you don‟t come to enjoy it?

*

Do you call Luna in her absence?

*

Do you rain check a full moon for such occasions?

32

Wisława Szymborska (1923 – 2012)

Szymborska was a Polish poet, editor, columnist, essayist and translator. Described as the “Mozart of Poetry”, she was awarded the

1996 Nobel Prize for Literature. When asked why she has published so few poems, she responded, “I have a trash can in my

home.”

33

“In Praise of Dreams” by Wisława Szymborska

- In Libel of Hells -

In my dreams

I paint like Vermeer van Delft.

I speak fluent Greek

and not just with the living.

I drive a car

that does what I want it to.

I am gifted

and write many epics.

In my hell

I paint like the undergraduate freshman.

I only speak English

and ask why no one else learns.

I drive a car

behind dozens of bumper stickers.

I am gifted

but cannot write my masterpiece.

34

I hear voices

as clearly as any venerable saint.

My brilliance as a pianist

would stun you.

I fly the way we ought to,

i.e., on my own.

Falling from the roof,

I tumble gently to the grass.

I’ve got no problem

breathing under water.

I hear voices

declaring that I am the second coming.

My brilliance as a pianist

costs $285 to recompense the venue.

I fly on the taxpayers;

FOI° requires receipts.

Falling from the roof,

the next guy gets to be Santa Claus.

“Sure, I‟ve got no problem

with FCC° policy.”

35

I can’t complain:

I’ve been able to locate Atlantis.

It’s gratifying that I can always

wake up before dying.

As soon as war breaks out,

I roll over on my other side.

I’m a child of my age,

but I don’t have to be.

A few years ago

I saw two suns.

I can‟t complain:

my friend was the one who was committed.

It‟s dying that is

my most gratifying wake-up call.

“As soon as war breaks out,

I roll over on my other side.”

I‟m a child of my age,

but I have children to raise.

A few years ago

I saw a penguin.

36

And the night before last a penguin,

clear as day.

And the day before last a sun,

but no penguin.

37

“Do you still think about him?” “But I’m not crying.”

“That’s all there is?” “No one but you.”

“At least you’re honest.” “Don’t worry,

I’m leaving town.” “Don’t worry,

I’m going.” “You have such beautiful hands.”

-Wisława Szymborska, The Tower of Babel

(section of poem)

- Great and Empty -

“Give it a pinch!” “Oh ye Jersey birds.”

“Is this absolutely where you live?”

“No, listen, I‟ll tell you why.” “I resent the insinuation.”

“That?” “Death for all ages and occasions! The morbid Moors

and the mystic misses are in for a celebratory libation.”

“She‟ll give you a letter of introduction, won‟t you?”

“I am too close, too close.” “So you are addressing me like

that now?” “I dig you, man.” “I desire some backtalk.”

“All right, in a minute. Tell them just a second.”

“You can‟t stop the machine. I exercise body as well as mind.”

“You mean about the dance?” “They used to call me „The

Tank.‟” You’ve played for him before?” “Eleven weeks.

Official business and no questions asked.”

38

“It was a coincidence.” “But it wasn‟t a coincidence at all.”

“Eet. Eet. Eet.” “O-kay.”

39

Notes

FCC refers to the Federal Communications Commission.

FOI refers to “freedom of information.”

The term hsieh was a term that referred to chivalrous vigilantes in ancient China who protected women and children.

Ling-Yun (385-433) was a Chinese poet from the Six Dynasties era (220 – 589).

Lu Yu (1125-1209) was a Chinese poet from the Song Dynasty.

Regina Spektor (1980-) is an American singer/songwriter and pianist.

Tu Fu (712-770) and Li Po (701-762) were Chinese poets from the Tang Dynasty.

40

Cited Works

Chin, Marilyn. Rhapsody in Plain Yellow. New York: W.W. Norton, 2002.

Chin, Marilyn. The Phoenix Gone, The Terrace Empty. Minneapolis, MN: Milkweed Editions, 1994.

Dickinson, Emily. Dickinson: Poems of Emily Dickinson. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1993.

Oliver, Mary. Why I Wake Early. Boston: Beacon, 2004.

Szymborska, Wisława. Poems, New and Collected, 1957-1997. Trans. Stanisław Barańczak and Clare Cavanagh. New York:

Harcourt, 1998.