Tag Archives: The Brazen Head

Marcus Bales, If Elizabeth Browning Had Written “I Will Survive”

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How do I love you? Well, not any more —
I love you? Not even to bread slice height
That has been toasted, buttered, rye or white,
And dropped the wrong side down upon the floor.
I love you like a mildew or a spore
Or pestilential fungal blastocyte
That makes one’s breath itself a mortal fight
And living life seem like a choking chore.
I love you? The one who made the try
To break me with goodbye, yet kept that key
Because you thought that I’d lay down and die
If you returned, assuming I’d be free?
Oh no — I snarl and spit, deny your lie,
And save my love for one who’s loving me.

*****

‘I Will Survive‘ – Song by Gloria Gaynor ‧ 1978 on YouTube

At first I was afraid, I was petrified
Thinking I could live without you by my side
And after spending nights
Thinking how you did me wrong
I grew strong
And I learned how to get along

Now you’re back
From outer space
And I find you here
With that sad look upon your face
I should’ve changed that stupid lock
Or made you leave your key
If I’d’ve known for a second
You’d be back to bother me

Go on, go, walk out the door
Turn around now
You’re not welcome anymore
You’re the one who tried to hurt me with goodbye
Think I’d crumble?
You think I’d lay down and die?

No, not I, I will survive
Long as I know how to love, I know I’ll stay alive
I’ve got my life to live
And all my love to give and
I will survive
I, I, I will survive

It took all my strength not to fall apart
Trying with all my might to mend my broken heart
I spent so many nights feeling sorry for myself
How I cried
But now I hold my head up high

And you see me, somebody new
I’m not that lonely little person
Still in love with you
Now you come droppin’ in
Expectin’ me to be free
Now I’m saving my lovin’
For someone who’s loving me

Go on and go, walk out the door
Turn around now
You’re not welcome anymore
You’re the one who tried to hurt me with goodbye
Thinkin’ I’d crumble
Did you think I’d lay down and die?

No, not I, I will survive
Long as I know how to love, I know I’ll stay alive
I’ve got my life to live, and all my love to give
And I will survive
I, I will survive

Go on, go, walk out the door
Turn around now
You’re not welcome anymore
You’re the one who tried to hurt me with goodbye
Think I’d crumble?
You think I’d lay down and die?

No, not I, I will survive
Long as I know how to love
I know I’ll stay alive
I’ve got my life to live
And all my love to give and
I will survive
I, I, I will survive

Songwriters: Frederick J. Perren / Dino Fekaris

Marcus Bales writes: “It started after I’d posted If Shakespeare Had Written ‘Itsy Bitsy Spider’ to Sonnet Central, and Mike Alexander asked me if I was going to do the entire Mother Goose in Shakespearean sonnets. That sounded too much like real work to me, so I said I hadn’t thought of it, but I did have another “If Shakespeare Had Written” poem, “If Shakespeare Had Written ‘I Will Survive‘”. Looking that up in my files produced “If Yeats Had Written ‘I Will Survive‘”, as well, so I posted both those, and then Milton tapped me on the shoulder and cleared his throat. So I wrote that one. 

“My method is to find a stash or cache of poems by the next poet who seems particularly likely — or unlikely — to have written ‘I Will Survive‘ if they’d been asked, and read through it, looking for characteristic modes, moods, tones, concerns, and sometimes just an old favorite that seems ripe for it. A sort of instant immersion in a poet’s work, and then try to flow into their tonality. Like a singer interpreting a song I try to inhabit the poet’s mise en scene.  Some are more successful than others.”

Marcus Bales has now produced a dazzling array of his “If X Had Written ‘I Will Survive‘”, over 40 and still growing, with a dozen in the current Brazen Head, including this Elizabeth Browning as well as Dorothy Parker, Dylan Thomas, Wendy Cope, Robert Frost and of course Shakespeare. Go ahead, give them a try! – RHL

Not much is known about Marcus Bales, except he lives and works in Cleveland, Ohio, USA, and his work has not appeared in Poetry or The New Yorker. His latest book is 51 Poems; reviews and information at http://tinyurl.com/jo8ek3r

Illustration: Portrait of Elizabeth Barrett Browning in 1859. Public domain

Poem: ‘Poems Like Motes of Dust’

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Like tiny midges, poems in the air
were unseen all my life, presence unclear,
occasionally one would land, bite, sting…
I’d be aware
a poem had come, was singing by my ear.
Now everything, literally every thing,

is a poem: a car, a dog, a glass,
a chair, a seagull, every blade of grass,
all people and each thing they pass.
Now I see swarms, millions of flies,
or like light’s dots of darkness thickening as day dies,

the poems are visible in the air around,
a pointillist canvas, every dot
a poem in itself, an image, word, rhyme, thought,
or like neutrinos streaming from the sun,
billions a second passing with no sound
unseen, unfelt, through everyone,
the poetry of existence, raw, untaught.

The Universe: a cloud of dust that hangs and floats,
dust like a drive of cattle on the range,
or when you fill a barn with dusty motes
by sudden action, and a sunbeam’s slice;
or as Sumerian gods convene, converse,
swarming like flies around burnt sacrifice,

summoned by smell of sacrificial meal…
was it my sacrifices made this change,
made poems visible like motes of dust?
Is this the Universe’s thrust?
Hide them, and then reveal?
For all the poems make one UniVerse.

This is the fourth of a series of five poems recently published in The Brazen Head. It is semi-formal: written in iambics with lines of uneven length, fully rhymed but not to any pattern. My model for this style of verse is Matthew Arnold’s ‘A Summer Night‘, a poem that I have loved and recited since high school. (We can leave for another time the debate about whether his poem should have stopped as originally at the final question mark, or whether the years-later addition of the subsequent lines is an improvement.)

“Smoky Dusty Light Rays Texture” by Sprogz is marked with CC BY-NC 2.0.

Experimental Poem: ‘Pointillist’

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(Note: this poem is so named because if you look at it closely you may not find as much meaning as if you step back, let it flow past you, and see an outline of a story.)

Awake
Anew
Awhile
Askew;
Afoot
Among
Amass
Along;
Abet
Aback
Ado
Alack;
Alas!

Abroad
Again
Astride
Amain;
Atop
Alight
Aglow
Afright;
Afar
Ahead
Aloft
Abed;
Alone!

Aware
Amused
Affair
Accused;
Away
Aboard
Affray
Abhorred;
Aground
Alive
Abound
Arrive;
Ahoy!

Array
Await
Assay
Abate;
Appraise
Accord
Amaze
Adored;
Apprise
Appoint
Arise
Anoint;
Adieu!

This poem started (if I remember correctly) as four or five of the early words coming into my head with a sense of rhyme and rhythm when I was on the point of falling asleep. I roused myself enough to write the words down, doing what I consider an essential part of the communication I long for with my unconscious, my Muse–acknowledge the Muse by writing whatever is offered to you, whether or not it is complete or makes sense.

The next day I wrote more, keeping to iambic monometer and words of Anglo-Saxon derivation beginning with A. As a hint of a story took shape, I kept writing. After the first two stanzas I moved over into words of Latin derivation and went for more intense rhyme. Long lists of words were involved. After four days I had the whole poem.

As for the story itself… I see a hero setting out, failing, trying again, under threat, escaping by boat, shipwrecked, and finally rewarded. Are they male or female, and of what age? Did they have a love affair? Did they end up at home or in foreign lands? If you look at the poem sideways you may find an answer that suits you. Or (of course) not.

‘Pointillist’ was the second of five poems recently published in the Poetry section of The Brazen Head.

“Pointillistically abstracted” by readerwalker is marked with CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.

Poem: ‘His Mad Skull’s Like’

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His mad skull’s like
a motorcycle cage of death,
the engines roaring over and beneath:
conflicting paths, crashless machinery –
the crowd roars, hoping for catastrophe.

an alchemist’s laboratory,
he strives through Universal symmetry
alone to conquer nature, friendlessly,
transmuting hopeless to hope endlessly.

a planet with its atmosphere,
blossoming gaudy after starting drear;
from grand extinctions and tectonic faults
life reaches out to loot galactic vaults.

a plant with taproot down the spine
side-nerve extractors reaching out to mine
the Universe’s minerals of sense,
make sense, and raise to Mind the mind’s pretense.

This poem along with four others of mine has just been published in The Brazen Head in the UK. I came across the magazine through Marcus Bales who published three sonnets in it in October 2021. The magazine is an idiosyncratic quarterly blog with a diversified structure and a wealth of unexpected ideas in poetry and prose. My poem felt quite at home. I will post the other poems in the next little while–a couple of them have even more unusual forms; the five make a nice set.