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Ally Shares a Lyric Poem

March 30th, 2007 | poetry

A few weeks ago, I planned to start being more organized here. I am now posting one macro look at publishing, one micro look at publishing, and one example of good writing from myself or others—each week. That’s my plan.

Here is the first example of good writing. This poem comes to us from Ally, whom you’ll see in the comments section around here from time to time. I love this poem.

    it was cranberry red and new, and Hausman was the only son
    Later, at the Pontiac dealership Joe Valentine took Joey behind the chain-link fence
    and made him look into the Bonneville at the upholstered ceiling.
    Joe V said, “Do you know what that is up there?”
    “Blood, sir.”
    Joe V said, “That’s Crowell’s blood, boy.”
    Crowell talked funny because a dentist cut one of the nerves in his mouth.I had to sing in the choir at Crowell’s funeral.
    I said, “I don’t want to sing in the choir.”
    My Dad said, “Teeny, are you a member of the youth choir?”
    I said, “Yeah.”
    And he said, “Then you’re going to sing.”
    I was so short I was in the front row.
    I could see everyone crying.

I have been a fan of Ally’s poetry for several years now. She was one of my students and floored me when she published one of her poems in the Adirondak Review. I still remember her approaching me after class. I had given my strick speeches about vanity presses like poetry.com, and so she was naturally skeptical.

“I got published by this little web site,” she said. She felt better when I pointed out that the other folks published in the same issue were professors and doctoral students and MFA students.

I find Ally’s poetry to be profoundly visual. She often makes use of a technique called synaesthesia. She told me this particular poem was originally twice as long. She also explained the title to me, and why it was important to her personally to reference Hausman in the title. I suggested she cut the title to “it was cranberry red and new” but she didn’t want to do that. I figured, Hey, this is a blog, not the New Yorker.

I know some of you readers out there are poetry fans. I’m sure Ally would love to hear what you liked about her poem.

(We’re not going to share constructive criticism here this week. Only positive.)

If you are a writer and would like me to feature your work, don’t hesitate to send me something. (No longer than 1000 words please.)


Viewing 12 Comments

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    I am never quite sure how to comment on poetry. "I like it," seems rather a banal response. But, here you go... I like it.
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    You know, that's the most important response of all, L.L.

    I remember trying to teach that to my students. This isn't about metaphors and deep meaning guys. 90% of poetry is on the surface. What's going on? What is the poet saying (in the most literal sense)?

    For me the violence of the poem gives incredible power to those images at the end. Teeny (Ally?) is just so small and vulnerable--watching everyone cry. It breaks my heart.
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    I found it disturbing. I think it was meant to be. I can honestly say I don't read a lot of poetry (I had to read it over and over).

    The blood and funeral were harsh enough, but the dad was the worst-to me.

    I'm in over my head on this one.
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    Oh, it provoked some deep thinking on my part-all good :) Thanks Alli (and Marcus).
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    Eve, poetry is supposed to be read over and over--so you're doing it right. I agree that it is a harsh poem in some ways, but she is so understated in the way she presents it.

    I'm in over my head too. That's why I like it.
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    Phew, that's a relief. Like I said-outa my league, here.
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    I love this poem. Joe Valentine seems like a decent guy who's taking a moment to teach his son a valuable life lesson.

    I feel like I'm one of the people he can see from the front row. This poem evoked a lot of emotion in me, reminds me of the two funerals I attended in the past year of dear friends who died too young.

    I also remember all the times I had to do things as a child because it was the right thing to do. Finish out the softball season, even though I despise softball. Completing school projects. Visiting old relatives. Even a funeral of a young friend who died in a car accident.

    This is such a powerful poem.

    Thanks for sharing it, Marcus. And thanks to Ally for writing it.
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    I feel like such a bad blogger/commenter friend for not commenting sooner. I spent the weekend in Dallas for AFI. That was pretty awesome, and crazy.

    Goodyear, thanks for posting my poem, it's the highest form of flattery for me. I really appreciate it - and I look forward to reading more of your poems (if you choose to post them). I don't mind constructive criticism either, it always helps, and there's always room for improvement in a "finished" poem - at least for me.

    And thanks to everyone who commented. I'm so flattered I'm embarrassed :P
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    I guess I should respond to everyone's comments to show my appreciation for their interest.

    L.L. - sometimes "I like it" is all a writer needs to hear to feel like their work is worthwhile. Thank you.

    Eve. I agree that some of the images are disturbing, and that's why I made myself write this. It's more or less this recording of a two-sided story my parents told me. They both knew this boy, Crowell, and attended his funeral - and both had a different perspective. (The first part of the poem is my dad's story, and the last part is my moms', Teeny.) I guess I felt like these horrific events/lessons in life are worthy enough for a story. And lastly, some of my favorite poetry is "over my head," or disjointed as I call it. Thanks for your comment.

    Charity - I never thought anyone would read the poem, but I imagine what you took from it is exactly what I wanted to happen. Your insight is inspiring to me - makes me want to write more than a few days out of the year. Thank you!

    One more thing, what do you call someone who writes, but isn't a writer? Like: I'm a cook, not a chef. I'm a ______, not a writer. What is that?
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    Charity, what a wonderful comment. And I agree with you that the poem evoked powerful emotions in me. The conflicts here are just incredible. I appreciate what Joe V is doing, but I am so sad for the kid who is confronting mortality in this incredibly harsh way. But then Joe V's son needs to confront mortality. Thanks for the comment, Charity!

    (And I'm really enjoying seeing your art over on L.L.'s site!)
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    Ally... maybe a word tinker? A word grazer? Pandora?
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    Ally, wonderful comments. How fun that we can talk about the poet and the poem for a bit, then hear from the poet herself!

    As to your question:
    One more thing, what do you call someone who writes, but isn’t a writer? Like: I’m a cook, not a chef. I’m a ______, not a writer. What is that?

    First, I think you are being humble. I don't question your sincerity, though.

    And I understand what you mean by wanting to avoid pretense. A lot of writers get this weird Creator/god complex.

    I don't know if there is another word for amateur writer, besides amateur. But here's what I would type:

    I'm a writer, not a Writer.

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