Tag Archives: short short letters

Digital Academics, Short Prose

Concrete Poems

 I have to say that reading and seeing different concrete poems was very eye opening for me this week. Without a doubt, I feel as though I learned the most from Dan Waber’s Strings. I really liked Letter Man by Adam Lisckiewicz, but I could not stop watching the strings. The final flash element, poidog, was fantastic. I feel as though the earlier segments of the work did a good job of preparing me to really watch and understand when Adam showed us that words are strings that he pulls from his mouth. After watching this, and getting to watch the shape of the words as well as the words themselves, I feel like I have been introduced to a great new tool for writing/creating. Moving, animated words, and the meaning making that can happen in this space feels so very freeing. I decided that I would attempt to make a concrete poem of my own. Below, I am including a conversion of an older piece I wrote for one of Jay’s classes. I realized that allowing the words to take on the shape of the poem could lend a different sort of imagery and path for meaning making for the reader. While this is not as dynamic as the works that we saw this week, I feel like the reshaping of the piece has made quite a bit of a difference. I hope you enjoy it.

Concrete Poem

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Short Prose

Week 4 – Short Short Letters

Kristin,

I keep thinking about that day, the Friday after mom was brought to the hospital, when we were all sitting in the little waiting room near the ICU listening to the resident doctor explain to us how poor the situation looked in regards to her recovery. I remember you, and me, grasping at hope when ever it managed to poke its head out even a little. I remember that look of fervent determination that you get, that you accredit to mom, that you really got from both of our parents. You wear determination in a way that is similar and different to both of them. I remember thinking that I needed to be strong for you, and now I realize that you were being strong for all of us. I was so distraught I could not even understand that you were the center of strength in the room. I was the vacant, detached, in denial wreck pretending that my behavior would give you strength. I want to thank you for all the questions you asked, all the fierce looks you gave, all the intense hugs you delivered, all the cries, the wales, the stories, and the tears.

Thank you for your strength. Thank you for being her daughter.

-Jake-

~~~

Dear Mom,

I miss you. You’d be proud if you saw how Kristin is handling things. I know you would have worried that she wouldn’t, but she has. She’s managed to be a calm center in all of the things going on since you left. Watching her is like watching you when you were a young woman.

I’m a wreck. I don’t sleep well. I see you everywhere I go. Memories of you and places I saw you have become so mixed up that some times I wonder if I am awake or not. Every day I drive through Tualatin and I see you at every shop, every street corner, every restaurant, every store, and every park I pass. When I leave, I see you on the freeway, clutching to my back as we drive to my place on my motorcycle. At home, I see you playing upstairs with Aage. Downstairs, I see you sitting in the dining room smiling and quietly listening to me tell endless stories. Going home to Sherwood is too intense. I’ve avoided the place ever since you were in the hospital. I still haven’t gone to your condo since you left. I want my last memory there to be that one armed hug I gave you when I dropped you off after a motorcycle ride.

Your loving son,
Jake

~~~

Dear Aage,

I am the all knowing, all seeing Daddy. Get your finger out of there.

Your loving helicopter parent,
Dad

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