Response to Chris Martin

After reading some of Chris Martin's poems, his writing struck me as extremely sporadic and intriguing. Upon first reading a poem, the first thing I do it looks for some sort of a rhyme scheme or pattern, which, with Martin's poems, is purposefully left out. He writes in such a random (for lack of a better word) style that it makes the poems hard to read, and therefore hard to track. His first poem entitled "Time," was no different.  Focused on the failed American Dream, it took several attempts and reading and breaking it up to come to the conclusion that the American Dream was the true subject.  Overall, his poetry is very hard for me to make sense of.


AFTER MARTIN'S VISIT
After hearing him read his poems, with the way he paused and read the poems as he intended, the meaning and flow became much more evident, and completely changed the way I feel about his work.

#Jabs13

The boy looked up and saw them dressed in black
They had not started but began to sweat.
Seeing them, clipboards turned discreetly back,
Scouts could change his fate, men he had not met. 

At first puck drop, helmets began to pop.
Shoving, hitting, anything just to score.
Ignorant to how his career would stop.
It was no one’s fault, the timing was poor.

He lay on the ice, no movement at all.
Everyone, parents and players, a hush.
Counting seconds, then minutes, since the fall.
His spine, to the hospital in a rush.

Jack will not skate again, he’s now a sign.
Of hope, since the day 13 broke his spine. 

-- Mick Sullivan

The first poem of hers that I read was called “Ever After.”  Though it is not a long poem and does not go into very many sensory details, I am still able to feel her pain and sadness, and even see their “hands (yours, mine) clasped on the knife that was sinking into the tall white cake.” This poem, reminded me of the music video to Guns n’ Roses’ song, “November Rain” for obvious reasons such as Axel and his wife cutting the cake, however I was also reminded of Poison’s “Every Rose Has Its Thorn,” in which Brent Michaels sings of his recently ex-girlfriend, and all of the things that remind him of her.  Another one of her poems, “From Out of the Cave,” just reminds me of my mom; the only line in the poem is “Be well, do good work, and keep in touch.” This almost exactly mimics what my mom says every day, no, every time I leave the house—to act like a gentleman, use good judgment, and keep in touch.  After reading almost ten of her poems, every one of them is relatable to an everyday occurrence in my own life, making Sutphen’s poems easy to read and connectable. 

Grace Owens-Kurtz.

If you meet her first in a large group, and she does not talk,

Do not be alarmed. Get her alone, and just talk, she loves to talk.

Her loving parents and only sister she adores, and they her.

Being with her family, Scotts and Irish alike, with Thanksgiving turkey centering the table

is where she feels most comfortable,

or reading a book with the sun on her flowing red hair.

An unquenchable thirst for knowledge stems her interest in science

a field in which she can surely succeed.

An extremely friendly and open second impression,

She enjoys ice cream, almost as much as her best friends

Harry, Ron, and Hermione, in whose presence she feels at home.

Her morning trips to Starbucks with her mother create warm memories every day.

Grace, never has a name been so accurate to the person it belongs to.

Grace.

Mick Sullivan
Mr. Wensman
Poetry
9.4.2013

Mick's Poem of the Day

Life is Fine
by Langston Hughes 

I went down to the river,
I set down on the bank.
I tried to think but couldn't,
So I jumped in and sank.

I came up once and hollered!
I came up twice and cried!
If that water hadn't a-been so cold
I might've sunk and died.

But it was Cold in that water! It was cold!

I took the elevator
Sixteen floors above the ground.
I thought about my baby
And thought I would jump down.

I stood there and I hollered!
I stood there and I cried!
If it hadn't a-been so high
I might've jumped and died.

But it was High up there! It was high!

So since I'm still here livin',
I guess I will live on.
I could've died for love--
But for livin' I was born

Though you may hear me holler,
And you may see me cry--
I'll be dogged, sweet baby,
If you gonna see me die.

Life is fine! Fine as wine! Life is fine!

Reasoning: I chose this poem because of the personal transformation that the author undergoes.  In the beginning of the poem, he thinks he wants to kill himself in some way, however, by the end of the poem, Hughes states that, "I couldve died for love-- but for livin' I was born." He realizes that he has much more to live for, and there are more important things in life than this one love that he decided to not kill himself for. 

Privilege Poem

Mick Sullivan

I take it with me everywhere I go.

To friends’ houses, on dates, to parties, and sports events.

It is not an object, it is a label.

A design found on shirts, pants, hats, and jerseys.

“Prep kid, rich kid, and Daddy’s money.”

SPA students carry a name with them,

Along with their own. 

One to be proud of, and yet one they feel ashamed.

Harder to fit in, among public school peers,

Like walking around, head under a “dunce” cone.

SPA students only get a short time

To change a predetermined notion, about who we are.

We hope for a fresh start.

A chance we rarely receive,

And even more rare--

Do we chase that one chance.