Voices: Bk. 3: An Anthology of Poetry and Pictures

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I really like a poem called Kerosene, by Tim Seibles, written in response to the uprisings that followed the unlawful beating of Rodney King by police officers in Los Angeles in 1992. There is in that poem a sense of the breadth and depth of the pain that was felt in that community, and I think such embodied feeling is important to hold on to, because it can get lost sometimes in the compulsion to historicise. Also, as these atrocities accumulate, there’s a kind of fatigue that sets in and you can lose faith, and I think there’s something re-energising about connecting to feeling, even if that feeling is pain, because it creates nuance, and creating nuance is encouraging to empathy. Your voice carries your character. You might have a light, strained voice, or you might have a deep, rolling voice, but that is not your voice. It is the prop you were given, and you use it as any good actor would. There are some communications we make with the voice that only the voice can convey. The voice is not even the words you say. The voice is there in how you deal with the air coming up and out, the rhythms and resonances, the intonations, pauses and rushes it makes possible, and the way your muscles work in your body.

One of the kookiest voices in literature comes from Dr. Seuss, known for his unruly rhyme patterns, made up words and overall silly voice. In his beloved classic The Cat in the Hat, Doctor Seuss tells his story with three voices—the children, the fish, and the Cat in the Hat. Here are two stanzas, one showing the fish’s voice, one showing the Cat’s: One of the first, and perhaps most obvious things to consider when it comes to voice is your point of view. It could be first-person (I/me/we); second-person (you/your); or third (he/him, she/her, they/them, it/its). When selecting a point of view, consider how much distance you’d like between yourself and the reader. First-person tends to be more intimate, while third-person may hold the reader at arm’s length. Take “ Soaked ” by Loren Broaddus for example: He makes it clear, stanza by stanza, through the first part of the poem, that there was truly no difference between two diverging paths in a wood, yet he did take one of them, leaving the other forever unexplored. He imagines finally that in the far future of old age (he was 42 years old when the poem was published) he will be telling this story of howVoice, simply put, is the person behind the words that speaks out to the audience. It is made up of many poetic elements such as tone, imagery, rhythm, diction, punctuation, and more. These themes work together to give a unique color and expression to your words, building an overall style or point of view. Think of it as the voice inside your readers’ head. Does it sound like you?

Writing has been an escape for me and I won't deny that I discovered writing through my passion of reading. The creation of new thoughts is the pursuit of every human I believe. I have been able to continue my passion for writing until this date." I am a poet, spoken word artist and a curator. Some of my poems have been published in the poetry anthology “Inside the Beyonds” where I am the opening poet. Apart from journalism and poetry, I am also an amateur phone photographer who plays between landscape photographs and portraits." Canno t a poem be written for the ear, or for the eye, of one personalone? You may say simply, "Isn't love poetry at times a form of Yes, good, interesting and original contemporary poetry (or prose). Read and heard by people who care about the spoken word. That is the only “vibe”.

Activity Two: "My People"

So I was full of trouble, full as I could be; and didn’t know what to do. At last I had an idea; and I says, I’ll go and write the letter–and then see if I can pray. Why, it was astonishing, the way I felt as light as a feather right straight off, and my troubles all gone. the material at every stage; and perhaps all the material does is torepeat "not that! not that!' in the face of each unsuccessful attempt The Domestic Science of Sunday Dinner, by Lorna Goodison, the Jamaican poet laureate – it’s brilliant. Since (like nature) I abhor a vacuum, I approached local libraries in Connecticut (where I then lived) to see if they’d be willing to host such events. After considerable begging, they finally relented and agreed to host some. Eight years later, we’re still at it, though with less begging.