Hi christina,
I guess riddles have their own demands of form and content that are
different from other "types" of poem and I sense this piece is following
those specific demands of form and content throughout it's progression. I
enjoy the way each line either includes (what I take to be) the answer -
either clearly or, when it's distorted, that's indicated too.
I guess I'm the kinda guy who only likes puzzles when they're solved. But,
in terms of mouth-music, I like the way this piece plays: "I howled like a
disjointed animal" seems to have a lot of pain (I never like) to hear! And I
like the way rhymes are included in the same line - that's a trick I've
used, and enjoyed using, in poems too! (insouciance/parents is one I really,
really, smile over!)
I guess, perhaps as far as riddles are concerned, you ask us "Who am I? and
not "what's my name?" and I initially was looking for the name of a specific
person - and not (merely) a NAME... But there could be the full name of a
(an actual we-all-know-who-it-is) person hidden in here as well. If there is
I haven't found that yet! I'll keep looking!
I find riddles give me the fun/pleasure of the writer (as she or he) fitted
them together, and - as I unpack them - the mischief of how the words play
at changing meanings, and that's what I found as well.
Bob


>From: Christina Fletcher <[log in to unmask]>
>Reply-To: The Pennine Poetry Works <[log in to unmask]>
>To: [log in to unmask]
>Subject: New sub:  Who Am I? (first draft)
>Date: Mon, 7 Oct 2002 14:26:11 EDT
>
>
>
>              Who Am I?
>
>              I could never be a covert lesbian
>              though I'm a part-time thespian.
>              That Titian was a fool to let me go:
>              again and again I twisted
>              in impossible poses. Nailed upside-down,
>              distorted in paint, pain deformed me.
>              I howled like a disjointed animal.
>              I might have been a saint or giant.
>
>              In this incarnation I could be
>              part Bostonian. Or in the Taliban -
>              but for the insouciance of my parents
>              whose brains thought only of pianos
>              and Mark Twain.  I forget my name.
>              Wherever I look, for certain, I know
>              I must be there: in Spain, Argentina
>              even Britain.  It's just that I'm confused:
>              it's insane.  Help me, help me:
>              what's my name?
>
>
>
>
>
>
>              christina fletcher
>




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