quinara: Illyria looking serious in bright light. (Illyria shine)
[personal profile] quinara
One thing I thought it would be fun to get into for Remix Madness was some poetry - either turning it from prose or trying to rework a poem (it's almost like music, people, ooooooh). Luckily, [personal profile] stultiloquentia put her name in the sign up box, which meant I could work with one of my most favourite fanpoems - Illyria Writes a Poem (What country, friends, is this?) - which is a beautiful sestina of shiny sounds and images, all about Illyria's displacement and sense of displacement that comes from her grief, with poetry the means through which she replaces herself as a humbled writer rather than a big, prophesied, written thing (a sense of order growing from a form without scansion and rhyme scheme the way only a sestina can grow it). I read over it again and found wanting to know how the 'world', as it were, felt about Illyria's shifting position within it - from omnipotent God-King to human-esque poet, which gave me a very obvious first line, as you'll see. The poem's construction gave me a sense of verse length and cyclicity, as well as key words: again, rhyme, home, grief, insects, hand. I decided 'again' could be conceptualised into the remix-concept itself, but everything else got in there. Then, I won't lie, there was some very productive freestyling. Then some equally productive editing.

I ended up with 120 words of AO3 warning free G poetry about nature watching Illyria somewhat askance: :D

Write My Country New (Fearful Suppliant Mix).

when a god writes words the world waits
(waits still)
for ink to scratch
brief marks on dried old leaves
where salt rain beats down harsh
no more to slip back home to seas

when a god writes words there’s sound
a slow creep scratch like insect feet
as liquid lines in shapes of symbolled signs
the ocean legacy of ink glands caught
and crushed and scribed
by this god’s hand

when a god writes words the world asks
is this a god I see?
a slim girl carves sharp rhymes of grief
and the insects watch
they wonder
if we bite her will she bleed?
if we come close will she see?

and the answer comes not still



quinara: Sheep on a hillside with a smiley face. (Default)

December 2015

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