by the Read Write Poem Staff
Read Write Poem member Julie Jordan Scott launches her NaPoWriMo prompt with a quote from Diane Ackerman: “Smells detonate softly in our memory like poignant land mines hidden under the weedy mass of years.” Julie reports having discovered in her own notes 17 pages on the subject! Here’s the prompt she culled from material she’s collected:
Practicing the art of writing from the sense of smell will open language in a different way than writing from a more “language friendly” sense, like the sense of sight or sound. Because of this, writing that uses a scent prompt evokes visceral, richly experienced poetry.
Scientific fact: Salmon smell their stream of birth from hundreds of miles away. The scent of this particular stream weaves its way to the salmon like a love-call. It rises and falls with the water, its essence calling the ancient connection. The salmon respond to this invitation and make their way back to their spawning ground.
Humans have primitive connections to the sense of smell, as well. It is our most primal sense, especially since the connections between the language centers and smell sensory centers are so few. Our sense of smell is tied to our most ancient selves. Another intriguing fact? Smell is connected closely to our memory centers even though it is distant from our language centers.
Somewhere near where you are sitting is something with a specific smell that will conjure a memory rich with images. Take a moment to find any such object and breathe the scent of it, deeply. It may be as simple as a strand of your hair, a ketchup bottle from the refrigerator, a potholder or a bottle of lotion.
Add to your breath the simple phrase, “I remember” and breathe the scent in again. “I remember.” Free write from “I remember” for at least five minutes, repeating the prompt “I remember” if your writing slows.
Use the seeds from your free writing to write today’s poem.
Reminders for everyone
Read the Read Write Poem NaPoWriMo Challenge Kickoff post for details on how the challenge works — and how you can engage with Read Write Poem this month, no matter what your personal writing challenge is for the month of April.
Please read this page to find out how Read Write Poem’s prompt posts work. Remember that work linked from any post this month is shared in precisely that spirit: sharing, as opposed to critiquing. If you haven’t done so already, please read all the pages under About in the navigation bar.
Ah, yes — smells can bring up so many memories… mine is of textbooks.
http://www.cathymcguire.com/poetry.htm
Evelyn N. Alfred replied:
April 16th, 2010 at 6:24 pm
I love the smell of a new book too, Cathy. Your red wheelbarrow poem made me laugh.
Ah, in other news…is that a fish on that guy’s head?
And one more summer one:
summer polka dots
cool and stylish this year
calamine lotion
Loved, loved, loved this prompt.
http://marcieaf.blogspot.com/2010/04/napowrimo-day-16.html
http://sky-lined.blogspot.com/2010/04/napowrimo-day-16.html
LALALA
i liked this one
The smell of my college gown followed me across continents.
http://www.shicho.net/words/?p=1091
The aroma of freshly cut grass took me back to my early childhood years with my great grandparents. You can find “I Remember” at
http://bridgeanna.blogspot.com
Blessings on your day!
Our lovely weather here the last two days, I fear, is sabotaging my poetry writing efforts.
Today’s poem, “First Reader”:
http://caraholman.wordpress.com/2010/04/16/2010-napowrimo-16/
What a fantastic prompt. This is one that I will continue to work on.
http://poiesis3.blogspot.com/2010/04/napowrimo-day-16-my-caffeinated-love.html
I wrote my prompt off-topic today, but one of my favorite smells is the smell of new tennis balls. Maybe that will become its own poem later on. Today’s favorite smell is petrichor, the smell of the earth right before it rains. (Though the smell has nothing to do with today’s poem.)
http://avniously.blogspot.com/2010/04/brain-power.html
http://disorder1313.wordpress.com/2010/04/17/transliteration-of-catullus-xvi/
Poem for today. One of these days I’ll get caught up on the prompts!
A Cleave, belated.
http://yearofthebooks.wordpress.com/2010/04/16/poem-a-day-day-16/
Running late, barely on time and barely on prompt:
Primal Memories
http://jdmackenzie.blogspot.com/2010/04/primal-memories.html
running later….outside in the mountains alll day…anyways here is mine..MEMORY CELL
http://waynepitchko.blogspot.com
I’m perplexed by my own reaction to this one. I’m really tuned into my sense of smell, and often include it in my writing, but for some reason, my brain just wasn’t firing in that direction today.
Maybe it was the qualifier “near where you are sitting”, which has made me realize how scent-starved my desk area is. Unless I’ve been cooking recently, my home office doesn’t smell like anything in particular. Maybe I need to change that. At any rate, I did finally latch onto a nearby smell: whiteboard markers.
A leather memory
My poem for April 16th:
http://timkeeton.wordpress.com/
A poem in a rush,
Is never quite a good thing,
But writing one at all,
is better than doing nothing.
I waited a bit too long,
To do what I was wanting,
But consider this no home run,
It’s a bit more like I’m bunting.
Tim Keeton
Poet/Wizard/Teller-of-tales
kolokolchiki replied:
April 16th, 2010 at 9:10 pm
You have expressed so well that which each of us has felt at at some point this month. Way to go.
Evelyn N. Alfred replied:
April 16th, 2010 at 9:18 pm
Can relate to that one Tim.
Posted both my poem and my free write. Happy Day 16!
http://healingforthehealthy.blogspot.com/2010/04/napowrimo-16-whats-that-smell.html
Out of the closet about my favorite scent…
http://pamelavillars.wordpress.com/2010/04/16/april-16-10-they-say/
Loved this prompt!
http://paperdreams-jgc.blogspot.com/2010/04/day-16-smell-what.html
Wonderful prompt. Thanks! Proust was right.
My #16 is here:
http://robin-turner.blogspot.com/2010/04/ashes-to-ashes-dust-to-sawdust.html
mine – seashore – is here. smell & taste inseperable.
http://rlabanpoems.blogspot.com/
http://kolokoli.blogspot.com/2010/04/coconut-lotion.html
Great prompt.
this is off prompt today – smell poem to come later
http://lanijo.com/poetry/against-deadline-and-hood-car
Another good prompt today~
http://wintermintfruit.blogspot.com/2010/04/at-movies.html
“The Pink and The Kings”
http://eveningpoems.blogspot.com/
The smell of a green lollipop is here–
http://theresebroderick.wordpress.com
Kelly replied:
April 17th, 2010 at 12:10 am
Well done, Therese. I especially like this line:
Youth is caught/ like a bubble inside/ a hardened syrup
“Traveling Skin” and 3 haikus at http://1965footprints.blogspot.com
My poem, Jergens Lotion, can be read at musetomyeyes.blogspot.com
I loved this prompt, but feel that I could’ve done better had I not been so tired today. Here’s mine, written post-nap.
http://cosmicmermaid.wordpress.com/2010/04/16/huffing/
Though I love today’s prompt (and it is one I already use often to mine memories), I didn’t have time to do it the justice it deserves.
I am off prompt and anthropomorphic with Fiesta.
http://rustbloommansions.blogspot.com/2010/04/day-sixteen-poem-16-fiesta.html
some smelly memories
http://crankymango.blogspot.com/2010/04/alice-springs.html
Ditto with Terri Light’s comment above.
http://scriptophobe.blogspot.com/2010/04/napowrimo-16-haiku.html
This is one of my favorites:
http://web.me.com/susansonnen/Susan_Sonnens_musings/Blog/Entries/2010/4/16_NaPoWriMo%2C_Day_16.html
http://rosettathurman.posterous.com/napowrimo-poem-16-adorn-for-my-grandmother
I struggled with finishing this one, but then it occurred to me that it can’t be finished because it’s a memory and they live forever. Der.
http://mylineofwords.blogspot.com/2010/04/napowrimo-16-what-magical-morning.html
Nothing Eye Of Grapes
Angeliad of Surazeus
2010 04 16
http://open.salon.com/blog/surazeus/2010/04/16/nothing_eye_of_grapes
Crumpled she lies curled among vines
despondent in shimmering silent heat
thin fingers scratching slow at dry dust
without reason but to feel solid earth.
I planted vines in soil around my home
and tended them with tears of hope
till they grew long curling around trees
and grapes sprouted from pretty flowers.
Why stomp on my tender grape vines
and break their tendrils with your hate
she mumbles exhausted from sorrow
weeping tears that soak hot dry dust.
My tears dissolved in blind staring sun
so river flows singing soft in green hills
and wind blows ignoring my hard pain
so my heart hardens to cold bitter stone.
Rising to her feet with a deep breath
she stares at smoking ruins of her house
and fields of grapes trampled by war
while hand clutches remnant of a vine.
I worked twenty years planting vines
and tending grapes with attentive care
but you trampled my work in a wild hour
tearing out my dreams by tattered roots.
Milk cow nibbles stalks of fresh wheat
while small lamb nudges her soft cheek
but she rolls over to lie flat on her back
staring at vast sky now small as her eye.
I am empty now after working for years
which goes up in smoke of crackling fire
and my head feels heavy as cold rock
and I sink down into blackness of earth.
I sink down into soil of bleak despair
and become nothing without old name
for who will remember my face or name
since I am dead now hot in eyeless sun.
I am dead now she whispers and stares
at her hands she holds up toward sky
and turns thin hands slow so it appears
she holds sun blazing in her small palm.
You always watched over me in my dream
she whispers to old sun gleaming bright
giving light that made vines grow long
giving rain that made grapes swell plump.
Giving wind that made leaves rustle
you cherished life of my curling vines
that blossomed grapes of sweet juice
that nourished my blood with your love.
Now you abandon me in hour of death
giving flame that made vines wither
for you gave me everything in my life
and now you take everything in death.
Hunger gnaws her belly during long night
and chill wind huddles over her body
sharp teeth of fear gnawing at her neck
as stars bleed tears dripping on her breast.
Sun gleams gold light stabbing her heart
so he rises and sits hugging her knees
and cries sobbing as she rocks and moans
tongue parched for milk from distant cow.
Crawling toward cow in shimmering glow
she collapses breath puffing soft dust
and fingers dig down clawing into dust
as aching wordless song tears her heart.
I feel dead but I am not dead as stone
that crushes my soul with numb despair
for it rakes my arms with raven claws
and gnaws my heart so I disappear lost.
How light and free so long ago I ran
laughing and singing from soft arms
of my mother to explore this wide world
where I found vines blooming by a lake.
I sat still and stared long at green glob
as my brother played heart-aching tune
on reed flute sending melodies of love
flowing over lake shimmering in sunset.
Gold eye of sun woman watches me
always gazing down from vast blue sky
peering silent into emptiness of my soul
filling my heart with visions of sweet juice.
I plucked first grape with hesitant hand
then licked it to discover its sweet taste
and at last I squeezed it with bold fear
astonished at squirt of a thousand suns.
Light of a thousand suns and bright stars
sparkled in my mouth at bursting blast
when I bit down on plump green grapes
then I awoke from numb dream of life.
I had a vision to plant a thousand vines
so day by day for long numberless years
I tended vines and feasted on grapes
till my vines covered this valley of light.
She sighs and closes eyes where she lies
in gray ash cold now after burning hours
whispering now I die and become nothing
for everything I created was destroyed.
Yet here I am still alive she whispers
touching her chest and breathing deep
but how will I rebuild what I have lost
where I see ghosts of my sisters dance.
Tall thin man clutching a broken spear
appears in mist standing still as stone
then he falls to his knees and hangs
his head low weeping in bleak despair.
She stares at thin man hearing his voice
begging forgiveness while he stares down
at hands stained with blood caked black
whispering I broke their souls in revenge.
I chased them into wilderness of fear
and hunted them all down one by one
and broke their souls in angry revenge
but now I hear wails of their lost souls.
Looking up he sees her lying in cold ash
so he sits beside her and lifts her head
and holds lambskin of water to her lips
and refreshing light of silver beams eyes.
She lays her head in his lap and sighs
while he strokes her tangled black hair
as she whispers my heart was full of hope
when I discovered first grape as a child.
Many years everyone devoured my grapes
tasting pure sweet juice of sun and rain
that squirts into your mouth as you bite
but I lost my way and now I am blind stone.
I cannot find my way through grim gloom
though I call Hat goddess of my mother
to guide my path toward simple true joy
that long animated my heart each new day.
I am lost now and I sink into grim gloom
so numb I lost all tears of my sorrow
because I cannot recreate my paradise
and she hugs his waist and closes eyes.
Sad heart tune flows from his red pipe
swirling around her where she floats alone
in shimmering waves under sunless sky
then reaches hand to touch nothing eye.
It was an interesting, busy day. Took me a while to get to this. Sorry I had to rush it.
My poem for today: Smells like Home
Great prompt! I smelled the pages of an old book. I expected my memories to be related to libraries or school, but instead it led me here. Needs some work, but it’s a start…
~~~~~~~~~
At My Grandparents’ House
Summer, circa 1975
Late afternoon dissolves into evening.
Shadows lengthen on fresh cut grass,
Crickets sing their lullaby.
In the kitchen surrounded by warm pecan cupboards
Grandma and Mom start dinner.
In the living room Grandpa sits in his plaid chair
smoking a pipe and talking with Dad.
Sent to the basement for a jar of pickles,
I descend the wooden steps, pretending
it’s one of my brother’s dares—
I know I can’t reach the chain to turn on the light,
So I cross the thin rugs on the concrete floor
in the dim light from the stairwell,
past fishing poles, birdseed, laundry baskets,
past cardboard boxes full of National Geographics.
I reach the white shelf, the rows of Ball jars—
green beans, wrinkly tomatoes, apple butter,
I snatch the pickles and run
fast as I can, back up the stairs.
http://www.robertlunday.net/2010/04/poem-16-mirror.html
Where there is Smoke
Anomie
http://nothinghypothetical.wordpress.com/2010/04/16/anomie/
NaPoWriMo #16 Unpacked
At the wire today:
http://alienfireworks.blogspot.com/2010/04/rose-and-saffron.html
Huntington Beach
Driving south on PCH, windows down
and the Pacific Ocean exhales
its salty breath. I remember being thrown
into that water, high school weekends
crowded around a fire pit
waiting to see how long a soda could last
before the flames coaxed it into a geyser.
Coat hangers gave their lives
for hot dogs and marshmallows
only to end up bent, charred
and hoarding heat in cool grey ash.
The aroma is acrid and nostalgic
as it reaches the street, and I remember
sand between my toes, waves tickling foam
across my feet, moonlight bathing
my pale form. The scent intoxicates
but I always forget how lonely I was
on that beach, how certain
I would never be happy enough
to remember Coke splashing down,
pooling in the flickering glow
while all the couples snuck away
to dark lifeguard towers
and I drew words in wet sand,
watched the tide carry them away
like a promise.
Sable replied:
April 17th, 2010 at 4:32 am
Sweet and sad–like the tide carrying the words away like a promise…
Sandra replied:
April 17th, 2010 at 2:49 pm
Wonderful! Huntington Beach was one of my favourite places in the world when I was young. Thx for taking me back there today
late night.
http://self-intoxication.deviantart.com/art/Untitled-Again-161015696
http://seashelllz.livejournal.com/116180.html
I’ve been having difficulty leaving comments here the past several days (seems to be a problem with my computer), but now it seems to be working – here’s my offering from yesterday.
http://mayaganesan.blogspot.com/2010/04/napowrimo-16.html
Well I gave up trying with objects around me so am going back to a smell from two weeks ago that always evokes strong memories.
http://ingeborgsblog.blogspot.com/2010/04/napowrimo-april-16th-smell.html
I know i’m supposed to post on the day of prompt, but my internet has been off for 3 days- finally got it fixed! so catching up.
Yeast
It was growth, everything warming up,
the whole week of the house’s
sweet and sour had their bout
in the old baby bath you used for a bowl.
With the chime of your spoon on the rim
the sugar, yeast and flour punched each other out,
their blows hung their gloves up in the air.
On bread making day, yeast was everywhere,
Expanding, breathing, scum rose to the surface
of a glass jug, the smell swelling further
than father’s breath or the toes of stockings
surrendered over the radiator, your underwear
hoisted over the bath on a pole like a flag.
Not one of us was allowed to open a window,
as you poured the yeast into a white well
your hands clicked as you pounded the dough.
The rising was temperamental , affected
by a whim of air, a slammed door, a dirty look,
and the whole bowl would flop, smooth to
wrinkled, an empty bag pale as a belly
Before the men came home, you tucked in your lips
for raw dough, threw it onto the counter
with a soft slap, your ring cut half circles
into the surface, the small delves of eight knuckles
engorged by the rising until there were no gaps.
juliejordanscott replied:
April 19th, 2010 at 7:44 am
From “It was growth” to “engorged by the rising until there were no gaps” I was swept up in the memory.
These lines:
the smell swelling further
than father’s breath or the toes of stockings
surrendered over the radiator, your underwear
hoisted over the bath on a pole like a flag.
were especially evocative for me.
Thank you for writing to my prompt!
This was a surprise.
http://thebooklife.wordpress.com/2010/04/18/4-16/
http://poetry-life-distilled.blogspot.com/2010/04/napowrimo-day-15.html