A White Star was lit in Her eyes
a metallic bird was singing on the lawn
the last sunshine
lingering regret
a whispered interruption
I had a picture of a girl with gray eyes.
I’ve been trying all afternoon to remember the first word I said to her.
crimson scorn
yellow insincerity
of all the people in this world, YOU
unsought intimate secret
I am afraid of YOU
I walked on lonely, a pathfinder, reading shining secrets in the leaves of the young trees.
I drifted toward the burning gardens seeking freedom.
a stranger in the garden
a wine-colored shadow in the wind
happiness hinted in a murmur
she nodded
lips a stunned tribute
I looked
her face lovely and bright
a whispered promise
I felt guilty for getting so little done on this project last week, so I did a few more tonight. Charles Scribner III I am not.
And now that I’ve read the first page of the actual book, I suddenly doubt my ability to ‘find’ poetry in Gatsby. It is possible there was already some poetry in there.
Great Once
(or Once Great?)
a new end followed after an explosion of fame,
a skyrocketing, a new generation, the Great Last
publication,
the death,
the apotheosis
extraodinary
VI, VII, VIII
spared the fate
Red, White, Blue
did not as often do
three times into the valley of ashes
I know the marvelous catalogue
the sky, the sea, eternity
the whole pathetic time
flawless
unblinking but not physical eyes, looking down upon vague and dim outlines
Barely through the introduction and already the lines are tangled.
Also this poetry is crap. Presumably it will get better when we get into Fitzgerald’s prose.
Only one page in a week? This is going to drag on for awhile.
Is this an invocation? Who (or what) is it meant to invoke?
THE LAST NIGHT THIS SIDE OF PARADISE: BABYLON THE BEAUTIFUL AND DAMNED, DEAR DAUGHTER OF THE AFTERNOON
“Lover, I must have you!”
a comedy, dramatic skits – reckless love and cloying pleasure
an unsuccessful time
dry frost
shattered experience
chasm
According to Wikipedia, Saudade is “a word in Portuguese and Galician (from which it entered Spanish) that claims no direct translation in English. It describes a deep emotional state of nostalgic or profound melancholic longing for an absent something or someone that one loves. Moreover, it often carries a repressed knowledge that the object of longing might never return.” Until recently I didn’t know that this feeling – that ghosts can haunt one’s future as readily as the past – had a name. This feeling has been my constant companion for as long as I can remember. In typical fashion, every time I become inspired I invent a new art or writing project for myself, because I need more projects in my life. 😛 A fortuitous encounter with an Alaska Airlines cocktail napkin has reawakened my interest in found poetry. So here’s the project: I’ll read a book and rip each page out as I finish it. Then I’ll turn the page into a piece of found poetry along the theme of Saudade. (I reserve the right to loosen my grip on the theme from time to time). I’ll post the finished pages here once a week. Sound good? Here’s the book: 
Chronicler's Note: 