On Demand Poetry…on a typewriter
Summer Discovery English classes have been looking at the power of the written word. We read poetry written by Jaquline Suskin, a poet who performs Poem Store at a farmer's market in Arcata, California. She calls her technique, “a public project that consists of exchanging on-demand poetry about any subject, composed on a manual typewriter, in trade for any donation,” and she has become her town’s unofficial poet. Any attendee to the farmer’s market can ask Jaquline to write a poem about a topic of their choosing, then she will create an original poem, on the spot. HPS students read about how her poetry ultimately saved a large tract of old growth redwood forest that was slated for harvest by a timber company. The land is now open to the public.
Students then had an opportunity to try their hand at poetry on an electric typewriter. Excitement over the old technology was surprising and allowed creativity to flow. Here are some of the poems that have been written so far.
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I have this sudden craving for mashed potatoes
Their yellow, fluffy goodness
Warm, buttery, slightly salted
Every forkful fills my mouth and my brain with happiness
Potatoes are beautiful
They fly through the sky majestically with their white wings
Such graceful creatures of nature
Truly a masterpiece
A wonderful sight to behold, but even better when mashed and eaten
Someday I could become a 7-star chef
I could make myself thousands of mashed potatoes every minute
Using my expert cooking skills
Hundreds of potatoes, every second, to fill my life with
Joy and miracles
“What a time to be alive!” I would say, as I stuff my face with buttery mashed potatoes
What a time to be alive...
Poems Suck
There’s something about how the language flows
And the author’s entitlement
How they’re part of an elitist group
They think they’re superior
And want all to admire their work
When they’re done they expect praise above all other
And want commission for another
They put themselves on a pedestal
And look down upon the mundane writers
Who obviously have no mastery of words
While they are the only ones with mastery
And command of their tongue
The poems themselves are of no special value
Use too much imagery and attempt to stir nostalgia
I’m sorry dear author, your words do not move me
I cringe at your language meant to unnerve me
While I respect the mastery of your craft
I can't help but to think that you're really quite daft
While you try to be deep and spread a great message
all I can think is, “How simple is this passage?”
So I must ask you, dear author of mine
Do you write for posterity and think writing’s a crime?
Of course your poems are above all others
And you think that your literature surpasses the others
Should
Guilt giver
Con man
Pressure point
Piss me off
Judgement and disappointment
Are ensconced in this word
Like the seed of a weed that will grow and take over everything
Pushing out what is supposed to be there for real
It makes me think I am wrong
Not enough
And to see myself saying it to others is a shock
But it's true
I do
I wield this word with power
Against family and friends and others
Like I know best
It carries criticism wherever it goes
And it knows
That the most heavy shroud it carries
Is the should I put on myself
I should stop saying should