Finding the prompts uninspiring so far and attending Flim Night Jaws edition https://www.facebook.com/events/269102346754282/ I sculpted a poem from a review Roger Ebert wrote about the film, his website is my main resource for these events as he wrote with such passion and skill about films. I have included below a few of the other ones from previous months I failed to put on the blog being busy starting my PhD! Original review can be found here:http://www.rogerebert.com/reviews/jaws-1975 I deleted words in order to create two of the poems below. The Royal Tenanbaums one is just a love letter to Margot!
January 1, 1975 Roger Ebert Review Jaws
Effective thrill populated with human beings yet it’s a nicer kind of fright, the story I guess everyone knows by now, the attempt by three men, such an archetypal story wisely decides not to underline. Get on that leaky old boat go forth, do battle with elemental natural force. Looking for a change from the fears of the city. There’s the crusty old seafaring salt, actually scared of the water, doesn’t like to swim and, believe him when he informs very sincerely, “We need a bigger boat.” that reinforces our elemental fear. The illusion is complete. We look in its relentless eye, It has the necessary amount of blood and guts to work , but none extra. one hell of a good story, brilliantly told.
For Margot Tenanbaum
Oh Margot before you I didn’t know blondes could brood
you came along at the right time for me I watched you
wearing your fur like an angry bear daring anyone to come close
anytime you were repeated on tv taking clandestine windowsill spliff breaks
my notebooks full of my secretive scrawl that was my anchor
the bath in hill house was deep as a small fishing vessel
metal it kept warm for hours I kept the radio tuned to John Peel
our house too was large each room the sound proof domain of its inhabitant
watching your family nurse their petty resentments made mine less weird
you encouraged me to wear more eyeliner and keep painting my toenails black
teenagers have more faith in doomed love than anyone else
I loved you for being openly desirous for snogging on public transport
for your beautiful book though we only saw the cover the titles
were delicious Erotic Transference, Nakedness Tonight, Static Electricity
I knew your writing was confessional, naked and startling
scribbling and puffing away on my secret smoking spot
I wanted to write nakedly and live electrically just like that and never stop.
expansive, visionary tradition of the American road picture. myth of two carefree souls piling into a 1956 T-Bird and driving out of town to have some fun and raise some hell. We know the road we know the toll it exacts: ready to describe themselves as utterly ordinary
married to a man puffed up his wife as a lower order of life,
a wild woman after a couple of margueritas, get caught up in lust dances with an urban cowboy.
two women hit the road for real. the only answer for them is to run, and to hide.
The car running down lonely country roads in front of a blood-red sunset, that kind of thing,
the dead saloon cowboy exploit sexual hungers, old men with deep lines on their faces, and harbingers of doom, and state troopers, all the other inhabitants of the road.
has empathy for them, sees how they dug themselves into this hole and are now about to get buried in it. tries to reason with them.
begin to grow intoxicated with the scent of their own freedom
what’s going on inside the hearts of these two women
a freeze frame that fades to white, followed by a vulgar carnival of distractions: flashbacks to jolly faces the roll of the end credits, an upbeat country song.
Can one shot make that big of a difference?