Guy Conner's Blog, page 7

On Creating Art

In 1980, after my divorce, I decided to study creative writing for the first time, and I took an excellent course through UCLA Extension. I enjoyed the class, but I was nervous about one of its main requirements: that you submit a 5000+ word story to the rest of the class for their critique. I vividly recall how brutal the comments of my fellow students seemed, and how surprised I was when the teacher took me aside and said: “I think they liked it.”

Recently, in preparation for this blog, I h...

On Becoming a Cat Person

I wanted a dog, badly, when I was growing up, but my father was reluctant. I know now that he had good reason not to take on the additional responsibility, but at the time, I thought he was being cruel, and I persisted. He finally relented and brought home a sweet little black half-grown puppy from a shelter; I named him, with stunning originality, Blackie. Within days, Blackie dashed into the street and was run over by a car. I was crushed, and even though I still begged for a new puppy, par...

My Mother’s Grave

My mother died in 1979, on her sixty-ninth birthday. She had been visiting her twin sister in the hometown I share with the two of them, Beaumont, Texas.

From her birth in 1910 until my grandfather’s early death in 1937, my mother and her sister were prominent members of Beaumont society as the daughters of the doctor (Guy Howard Reed, my grandfather) who attended to the richer families in town. I visited Beaumont many times when I was growing up, and the dubious values of social prominence a...

On Memory

All my life, people have remarked on what a good memory I have. When I was younger, I was often asked if I have a photographic memory. Well, I don’t and never did. In fact, the so-called photographic memory of people’s imagination probably doesn’t exist. What I do have is excellent recall, especially for moments that are emotionally important to me. I remember vividly the night I broke up with my first wife, even though it was 1979. No doubt many people recall such important moments. I also r...

Political Conventions

In the last thirty years, I have attended a number of California state-wide political conventions, mostly because my late wife, Pat Wiggins, was an active politician and officeholder. Much useful work was done at these conventions on identifying public policy ideas and in developing relationships, but they had very little effect on the selection of the Party’s nominees for the various state offices. But there was a time when conventions mattered…

In the summer of 1956, my family had just move...

Reversing the Digits

I remember distinctly the day I turned 53. For some reason, I still felt young at 52, but 53 somehow seemed the start of middle age. I decided, just for that day, to reverse the digits and be 35 again. It was a lovely age, and I enjoyed my birthday thoroughly.

Today is not my birthday, and at 71, I am getting to be too old to credibly reverse the digits, even for a day. But I can remember, and honor, my seventeen-year-old self. Here is a sweet little lyric that I wrote when I was 17:

Oh,...

On Translation With an Example

Elsewhere I promised to discuss my philosophy of translations. First and foremost, my goal has always been to produce a satisfactory poem in English that represents to the best of my ability the meanings, nuances and rhythms of the original poem. If the original poem has an underlying rhyme scheme, I attempt to produce that as well. A secondary, but very important factor, is my affinity for the poet him or herself. I have, in my time, tried my hand at translating three important nineteenth...

Story Poem 2 Perhaps Surprise Would Please Her More

I distinguished between story poems and autobiographical poems here. The small sonnet that follows is from 1969.

Perhaps Surprise Would Please Her More

The house is old, and grey, and tall.
Her room is on the upper floor.
He starts to ring, but, after all,
Perhaps surprise would please her more.
His feet raise little clouds of dust,
As he ascends to where she lives.
That pleasant aching must be just
The satisfaction drama gives.

He starts to knock, but then, before,
He listens closely to the...

Another Anti-War Poem

Some time ago, I blogged about the cinquain and what I called the semicinquain. This little verse, from 2003, is written in yet another variation of the cinquain, which might be called the hypercinquain, or cinquain on steroids. The syllabic scheme is 2/2/4/6/8/2 as opposed to the cinquain, which is 2/4/6/8/2. Dilemma is explained here.

Dilemma

Why, that’s
No choice
At All. To choose
A war or Sadaam. Why,
Iraqis must be grateful for
Their choice.

Iraq:
Iraq
Is at the bar,
On trial before the...

Variation On a Children’s Poem

Some time ago, I wrote my first post on the concept of poetic variations. The following is a variation on a famous children’s poem from two hundred years ago.

Variation on the Spider to the Fly

“Won’t you come into my parlor?”, said the spider to the fly.
“I have practiced misdirection, and on you I’d like to try
Seduction and Deception. Oh, won’t you come in, my dear?”
“I’m the gentlest of deceivers, you have not a thing to fear.”

“I would have to be, Sir Spider, at the very lowest ebb
Of in...