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For this assignment, you will create two poems inspired by Takako Arai’s work, f
For this assignment, you will create two poems inspired by Takako Arai’s work, focusing on the themes of the passage of time and reflecting on memories. The first poem should be about the lifespan of an American football career and the emotions that come with its end. The second poem can be about any topic, but should also touch on the passage of time, with a mention of a moons journey . Both should be A sonnet is a 14-line poem with a specific rhyme scheme based off the poem provided below.
Then you will write a 2 page personal response, talking about your choice of Takako Aria’s poem or poems and what interested you and inspired you to write your own poems. Not too advanced writing.
Factory girls takao arao and jefferey angel
BOBBINS
Behind closed eyes, her pupils light up Lines of varied bobbins in a row Licking the tip of her index finger She carries her gesture To the end of each fiber
So the elderly woman spins the thread Of rapture
Into her dying days
The towel that hung around her neck for so long
Is gone now
Trickling down the back of her ears
Crawling down the length of her body
The cotton futon beneath her absorbs
The drops of life
Even as it grows
Soaking wet
She spins the thread
This isn’t a dream, not the far shore If anything, the bed Is the bottom of a river
A whirlpool of Spinning bobbins
Bringing threads together
Several bobbins turning
In wonder, coming close to one another Tiny, half-translucent fish
Migrating threads
Skimming the water’s surface
I’ve grown as thin as a snake
The thin sheets of a calendar torn off, disappearing before your eyes This is such a strange spinning factory Workers nowhere to be seen Already, I Am a thread
Am a whirlpool
Stitching together the slight spaces between water and waves Stitching together the slight spaces between circles and wheels Stitching together the slight spaces between breath and time
While growing a little more
Transparent
With each suture
I spin the wheel
The threads spin the threads
Meanwhile, the fish Never blink their eye
BACKYARD
A citrus tree stands there
Half rotten, half sprouting new stems Like a tongue clinging to light It rattles dryly
A lizard with lovely bluish-purple stripes
Dashes across fallen leaves
And stops abruptly
The buds of the angelica tree
With curled tails
Quickly grow fluff into thorns and bend back leaves At some point grandmother appears beside me
“Watch out! If it stings you It’ll hurt for ten whole days”
I gaze at the ants transporting their food
Wondering if they are invisible foam bubbling from the earth Dislocated and crawling, dislocated and crawling Looking down on them
They toil so busily
Wriggling like a transparent creature
A wet, earthy aroma fills the air From the corner of the yard
The butterbur stretching its neck among the ferns
Has probably let out a sigh
The lizard scurries across the threshold of the cleaned-out storeroom
The rocks are warm
The thin weight of sleepiness crawls up the back of my neck
Everything grows light before my eyes
“Give the plants some water”
Stretching toward me is a high-pitched voice
That curves gently to the left like a bent bow
I run across the backyard
I run
Across the backyard where
The chrysanthemums were planted
The bulges of grandmother’s fingers
Had hollowed out the dirt around the roots
“It will grow bigger”
I had watered it and The leaves had fluttered
Beside Inari, the fox god’s shrine A little bird bends in the air As if its feet were being tickled
It chases
It has intercourse
The tone of its warbling is as if It is raining though the sun is out From the shade of the large locust tree
A child looks this way through her narrow eyes
Dig in the dirt
I just wanted to dig in the dirt
Perhaps I was just being dull, perhaps strong and steady A citrus tree stands there
Half rotten, half sprouting new stems Like a tongue that clings to light Before long
The heavy machinery will come
Before we see summer
This lot will be vacant
Dig in the dirt
I just wanted to dig in the dirt My right shoulder throbs
A white moth flits by And the skin inside
My muddy boots
Suddenly goes cold
Both poems share a common theme of life’s impermanence and the importance of cherishing the moments and connections we have with the world around us.
Poem
Standing at the window looking at the moon
Its curved blade smiles in the dimming light
Gripping its handle, I’m a child again,
Hands caked with mud after playing in the rain,
Running around the house in loamy conditions
Heart pumping from the card games against my brother
60 years later, a slight grin appears on my face
Recollecting those sweet memories from my childhood
As this virus is killing the cells in my body
These beautiful Momories begins to fade
And I begin to wonder
Who I am
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