The Cloaked Stranger

Long ago and far away, a creative writing teacher had his class do an exercise where we had to use two words he gave us to create a poem. The rest of my class used their words for themes, or just props in their poems -- my poem came about because I thought I was just supposed to play with the words and see what happened. Out of that misinterpretation, this was born.

ironing the colours
smoothing them out
making them wrinkle free
flattening
flattening the colours
smoothing them out
like the ironing board
flat and straight and ordered
flattened and straight and in order
like stripes on flags,
each in its own place
no blending or bending of colour
no wrinkling of the flat plain
no mountains or valleys
but just ironed out flatness of colours
clear and distinct order
nothing out of place
just perfect straight creases
ironing the colours out
make them flat
burn the colour right out until all the colours look the same
a flat and straight field of warmth spread out on the ironing board
free of creases
free of chaos
perfectly ordered straight
straight as an arrow
straight and narrow
scared straight
pulled taut against the ironing board
so tight the colours melt into its straight flat back
part of the whole
indistinguishable
indistinct as the colours are ironed out
ironing on and on until the colours are gone
burnt into the board.

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check out my novel: www.nomananisland.wordpress.com I'd appreciate critiques/comments.

Baron

I couldn't see beyond all the repetition in this piece.

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The Cloaked Stranger

First of all, it is repetitive because I misunderstood my teacher and just kept playing with the words, trying to make something happen with "ironing" -- thinking about what it meant, what would happen.

So I basically just perseverated, going over it and over it, just like someone who couldn't stop ironing. But the interesting thing that happens, if you take the time to analyze each line, is that though it looks like repetition, each line subtly shifts. If you've ever heard of "automatic writing," a person disengages from their conscious mind and lets out subconscious thoughts.

And I think I started to express some interesting ideas. I think there's frustration in there, because I couldn't understand the exercise, and then it became frustration with institutions that expect people to all be the same, and then a philosophical frustration with those who believe in order and control.

In a way, this poem is about totalitarianism, what would happen if someone had total control of others and tried to make them all the same? The people being controlled would be burnt out.

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check out my novel: www.nomananisland.wordpress.com I'd appreciate critiques/comments.

Jaguar

I suggest you use proper punctuation where needed. As for the poem itself, its very nice. I'm not particularily a fan of repetition however. I'll try to critique some more when I have more time.

Thanks

The Cloaked Stranger

I just put down verbatim what I wrote in class, which was years ago -- it was a weird experience for me that I think creates a poem which is entirely different from my usual work -- and, I think, not something I could duplicate. By extension, it' s not something I want to mess with either.

More or less, I see it as an example and encouragement to others of a way to play with words and unlock the subconscious.

__________________
check out my novel: www.nomananisland.wordpress.com I'd appreciate critiques/comments.