[…in an article in the New Republic, Randolph S. Bourne urged his readers, “You must hear Mr. Lindsay recite his own ‘Congo,’ his body tense and swaying, his hands keeping time like an orchestral leader to his own rhythms, his tone changing color in response to noise and savage imagery of the lines, the riotous picture of the negro mindset against the weird background of the primitive Congo, the ‘futurist’ phrases crashing through the scene like a glorious yell—you must hear this yourself, and learn what an arresting, exciting person this new indigenous Illinois poet is.” Dennis Camp related that Harriet Monroe, founder and editor of Poetry magazine, once warned Lindsay not to “frighten the ladies” with his loud delivery at one poetry reading, to which he replied, “still I must roar.” ]

extract from Poetry Foundation bio of VACHEL  LINDSAY

In habit for the chase array’d,
The hunter still the deer pursues,
The hunter and the deer, a shade!

Phillip Freneau

Haunted by desire’s mad melodies,
By faces idealized in reveries;
Memory itself is haunted
By photos never taken.

To visualize is to be taunted
By scenarios that reawaken,
Longing for what has never been,
Yet what the mind has seen.

The haunted are mistaken,
Hunting memories and dreams;
Trying to catch that which vanishes
upon awakening. Doomed to realize
That the hunted bird ever flies.

PROMPT #17:

What are you haunted by, or what haunts you?
Write a poem responding to this question.
Then change the word haunt to hunt.

Parece comedia aburrida
La farsa de mi vida;

La mía no tiene sentido
Casi caso perdido,

Todavía no elaborado,
Desesperado.

Preferiría ser
Una idea antes de nacer;

Así no tendría
Que ver otro día . . .

Ayúdame, oh Creador:
Tú—mi narrador.

PROMPT 18:

write a poem in which the speaker expresses the desire to be something else, and explains why

John utters forth some unknown phrase
Something meant to signify
His mom—or just lysergic praise;
Cosmic feedback splits the sky.
Behold: the universe awaits
and genesis regenerates . . .

The organ pipes a clarion call
My soul completely captured;
False gods are born, the angels fall
Celestially enraptured
While faith chimes in: God’s will be done—
The universe is now begun.

Then rhythm enters, rolling drums
Presage the lyric presents
George with a holy message comes,
Announcing omnipresence.
And life must now take shape and flow
In post-creation afterglow.

PROMPT #17:

write a poem inspired by a piece of music,
and that shares its title with that piece of music.