Can you quote the whole thing for us, Jen? Have you seen the mocked up
ones some teacher did in Victoria? Very good :-) Google them on the
Net ...
Andrew (now seriously into dark chocolate Kit Kats)
On 03/12/06, Jennifer Compton <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> re fantales - i have been holding off on this one because it seems a bit
> unbelievable - but husband was on a fantale
>
> he got a part playing some yank chic's lover in dreadful yank movie being
> shot in australia and was on a fantale
>
>
>
>
>
> ----Original Message Follows----
> From: andrew burke <[log in to unmask]>
> Reply-To: Poetryetc provides a venue for a dialogue relating to poetry and
> poetics <[log in to unmask]>
> To: [log in to unmask]
> Subject: Re: Poem
> Date: Sun, 3 Dec 2006 20:41:04 +0800
>
> Thank you, Janet, for persevering even though at first you were put
> off, and thank you for that big compliment, 'personal and global' - If
> I could achieve that more often I'd be a happy poet.
>
> Andrew
>
> On 03/12/06, Janet Jackson <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> >My initial reaction to Andrew's poem was "oh, another one of these",
> >but then it caught my interest and I do like the way it ends.
> >Personal and global.
> >
> >Janet
> >
> > > I wrote this poem over the last two days, and showed it to an American
> > > young man today - he liked it but asked what Fantales were! It never
> > > struck me that they were not USA of origin because they were
> > > (originally) all about Hollywood stars. (They have since broadened.)
> > > Fantales are a chocolate coated lolly with caramel inside. The wrapper
> > > details the life and career of at least one major film star - very
> > > compressed into maybe thirty or forty words. Here goes nothing:
> > >
> > >
> > >
> > > (title) My True Account
> > >
> > > I've seen these hands on old men before—
> > > swollen rivers, deep valleys and bony ranges,
> > > dark brooding between knuckles. I know
> > >
> > > the back of my hand like my own country.
> > > In the Fifties, I read Milton and Rosenberg
> > > on a wooden desk, with a chipped inkwell.
> > >
> > > That desktop spelt a history of boys
> > > before me, their hieroglyphs and spilt ink
> > > characterising my space, my view.
> > >
> > > Upstairs in the dorm, my bed-high locker
> > > held what was me—all else cluttered in
> > > grey flannel pockets: rosary beads, coins,
> > >
> > > and Fantale wrappers, to be smoothed
> > > and added to my collection—
> > > Alan Ladd, June Allyson, James Stewart.
> > >
> > > Milton and Rosenberg drew me in to
> > > their intense reality. I built a chapel in my head
> > > and read their words like litany: the sudden
> > >
> > > uprising of larks on return, then
> > > dawn. I was twelve, I saw him die.
> > > 'They also serve who only stand and waite.'
> > >
> > > Serve? I am of the individual generation,
> > > sitting on our merry-go-round horses, riding to
> > > our faux rebellion, nervous to dismount.
> > >
> > >
> > > Poem ends. Any feedback welcome.
> >-------------------------------------------------------
> >Janet Jackson <[log in to unmask]>
> >Poems at Proximity:
> >http://www.proximity.webhop.net
> >
> >You cannot love alone
> >-------------------------------------------------------
> >
>
>
> --
> Andrew
> http://hispirits.blogspot.com/
> http://www.bam.com.au/andrew
>
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--
Andrew
http://hispirits.blogspot.com/
http://www.bam.com.au/andrew
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