Assignment 8: Response to American Gothic

American Gothic
John Stone

Just outside the frame
there has to be a dog
chickens, cows and hay

and a smokehouse
where a ham in hickory
is also being preserved

Here for all time
the borders of the Gothic window
anticipate the ribs

of the house
the tines of the pitchfork
repeat the triumph

of his overalls
and front and center
the long faces, the sober lips

above the upright spines
of this couple
arrested in the name of art

These two
by now
the sun this high

ought to be
in mortal time
about their businesses

Instead they linger here
within the patient fabric
of the linens they wove

he asking the artist silently
how much longer
and worrying about the crops

she no less concerned about the crops
but more to the point just now
whether she remembered

to turn off the stove.


RESPONSE:

I chose to respond to this poem as a continuation of last week’s assignment.  I was frustrated with how direct The Hunter in the Snow discussed the painting, leaving little room for the imagination.  In John Stone’s American Gothic, however, he described the painting outside the frame and explored a narrative for Grant Wood’s characters.  I found his creative approach much more enjoyable.

I loved Stone’s opening line: “Just outside the frame there has to be a dog…”.  He absorbs the given information and uses that to make his own story, then lends it to the reader to imagine his or her own visuals.  Now as I view Wood’s painting, I can see a dog sleeping beside the porch steps or walking behind the barn.

Stone also gives the characters strong attitude.  In his poem, the man is sick of standing in the hot sun as a model, desperately wishing to return to his work.  Meanwhile, his wife worries if she turned off the stove.  I love the comical approach and casual tone of Stone’s writing.  He makes it very relatable; everyone has spent time in the heat, wanting nothing more than to leave it.

The poem itself uses simple straightforward language.  Stone doesn’t describe the fur of the dog, the appearance of the smokehouse, or the nature of the couple’s “businesses”.  I thought this was a good decision, for it mirrored the simplicity of Grant’s painting and also left room for interpretation.  The lines are concise as well, and the lack of long, flowing phrases is appropriate.  While reading, one can feel the shortness of patience waiting for the artist to finish his work in the hot sun.

Stone’s interpretation of Grant’s painting reminded me of those storybooks without words.  Every child will come up with his or her own story, perhaps a different one each time.  I constantly consider the narrative behind paintings I view, as I hope to be a children’s book writer and illustrator one day.  I love reasoning why the characters are acting as they are, or wondering if they’re just as stressed about posing hours for the artist.

Assignment 7: Original Poem

First Day of Being “The New Kid”

by Brenna Thummler

Arthur is afflicted with recurring laugh attacks

Ben believes he is a hero in his mask of black

Carrie changes clothing just to complement her chair

Dylan disregards the stain upon his derrière

Erin’s always eyeing me with edgy, evil stares

Freddie seems to feel the same with fuming nostril flares

Gabby gnaws on gum that’s growing underneath her seat

Hannah sleeps for hours just because she “hates the heat”

Ingrid travels in a pack and can’t stand isolation

Jeremiah’s jumping is a ceaseless jubilation

Kristy begs for kisses with her keen and kinky tongue

Logan’s lips are puckered like there’s no air in his lungs

Molly never manages to comb her messy mane

Ned’s a nosy nuisance and I hope his neck gets strained

Oliver gets ornery without organic meals

Peter, periodically – his skin will start to peel

Quincy’s not quite visible or quick to convalesce

Rhonda runs so rapidly she’s not allowed at recess

Susie brings a sugar cube for every single snack

Tyler’s stupid turtleneck’s the tackiest of tack

Udo’s hanging upsidedown from underneath his desk

Valerie struts vainly in her vivid feather vest

Walt redeems his waddle with the formal suit he wears

Xavier’s six-times my size; I must take extra care

You never will accept me but I’m glad I’m unlike you

For this is what you’re learning when you’re living in a zoo

Assignment 6: Response to "The Hunter in the Snow"

Hunters in the Snow - Pieter Brueghel

The Hunter in the Snow - William Carlos Williams

The over-all picture is winter
icy mountains
in the background the return

from the hunt it is toward evening
from the left
sturdy hunters lead in

their pack the inn-sign
hanging from a
broken hinge is a stag a crucifix

between his antlers the cold
inn yard is
deserted but for a huge bonfire

that flares wind-driven tended by
women who cluster
about it to the right beyond

the hill is a pattern of skaters
Brueghel the painter
concerned with it all has chosen

a winter-struck bush for his
foreground to
complete the picture

RESPONSE:

When I first began reading this poem, I didn’t realize it was describing Brueghel’s painting.  I thought “The Hunter in the Snow” stood quite well on its own and was intrigued by the lack of punctuation.  It took a couple read-throughs to fully understand the picture being painted.  The poem’s strange flow reminded me of someone trudging through harsh conditions and getting stuck in knee-deep snow. 

The narrator, speaking in uncomfortable, choppy phrases, has presented an image of what he sees in the winter scene.  The fact that the lines do flow and break in unusual places makes it seem like the narrator’s vision is distorted, perhaps affected by blizzards or cold haze.

When Williams mentioned Brueghel’s name, I realized “The Hunter in the Snow” was written about the piece of artwork.  Honestly, the poem didn’t seem as interesting anymore.  It simply describes exactly what Brueghel has drawn, even the location of his subject matter: “icy mountains in the background” and “from the left sturdy hunters lead in their pack”.  I think the reason cubist poems work is because they are so abstract.  When they’re applied to a very direct visual, they sort of lose their magic.  What’s more, the painting becomes less open to interpretation.

Williams clearly put thought into how he’d write his poem, considering line breaks and run-ons, but once I noticed the painting, the poem became too much of a description for me.  I enjoy “descriptive” poetry as long as it creates its own images.  William’s poem was very straightforward and almost seemed like an art analysis written by a kindergartener who hasn’t learned how to form sentences yet.

Assignment 5: Symbolist Poem

Sidewalk Cracks
by Brenna Thummler

It wasn’t just a sidewalk.

It was a front-walk and a back-walk, and

In the summers, a flattened wok that fried my tiptoes,

Ten little pigs crying “wee, wee, wee”

Until they were pork roast.

Mommy set out my sneakers with the butterflies,

And I had learned to tie those silly purple laces

Years ago,

But my toes were painted pretty from the

Only polish bottle in my closet drawer.

How was I to hide them in a shoe?

Down the road, a row of cubicles where we

Worked overtime in the haze of the sun,

Squeezing lemons into Dixie cups and

Slumping into lawn chairs, watching neighbors pass by

With their Coca-Cola bottles and their

Pockets full of change.

A trampoline without a bounce

Where we would hop forever,

Throwing rocks on numbered blocks,

Or in between the steady swing of a

Rainbow-colored rope.

Some days I would stay inside with apple juice

And watch as the conveyor belt, slow and sometimes broken, would

Pull along these people that I’d never seen.

But then there’d come the mailman with the limp,

The runner with the bald spot,

Or that oddball Gus who lives two houses down.

And every day at sunset, I watched

The belt bring home my mommy.

Eyes drooping, back curling, mouth stern, for

“That’s what happens when you work.”

But she’d still make me my mac and cheese,

Extra gooey like I liked it,

And tuck me in between my toasty sheets.

Until the day the belt kept rolling, pulling strangers

But no mommy.

Tomorrow wouldn’t bring a sidewalk or

A front-walk or a back-walk

Just a dead-end.

But how was I to know today?

So out I tiptoed one last time to wait

For drooping eyes,
Careful not to step on any cracks.

Assignment 4: Poem Response

Two Dog Night - Gene Amondson

Those Winter Sundays - Robert Hayden

Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze.  No one ever thanked him.

I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he'd call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,

Speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love's austere and lonely offices?

This is one of my favorite poems, mostly because of the strong winter imagery.  Robert Hayden has achieved a powerful image, and having grown up in the north, I can relate to the terrible weather that encourages everyone to stay in bed.  His words like “blueblack cold” and “splintering” create a sense of pain, which strengthen the empathy a reader feels towards the family.  “Blueblack” reminded me of a bruise or the early morning sky, a time that makes the air feel even colder.  The word itself is harsh and direct – I think I fell in love with this poem on that word alone.

The first line is important because it stresses the father’s efforts to crawl out of bed every morning – even Sundays – and warm the house.  It’s a wonderful twist, for the family described in the poem is quite cold; the narrator is afraid to rise even after the fire’s heat has spread.  I enjoyed the poems contrasts: the bitter cold outside against the warmed interior, and the lack of gratitude of youth against the later appreciation and understanding.

I believe this poem is relatable, especially because of the vagueness of the characters.  Besides the “cracked hands”, there are no adjectives that describe their appearance or individual personalities.  And having all been children once, we’ve all been in situations where we didn’t understand our parents, didn’t comprehend their efforts, didn’t thank them. 

The last line was so powerful as well.  “Austere” and “lonely” are sad, silent words that reflect the mood of the household.  The fact that the author chose the word “offices” was interesting as it hinted at the “workplace”, as if love is a job that must be done no matter what you get in return.