Improving week 3

This improv-ing is a "Riff" off of Parable , by Carl Phillips

The Amaranthine Tree House

There was an amaranthine oak
That had to tower fort-y feet
climb down, a small dare, fear

froze me in
time, as movement proved
impossible, persuasion,

both, from the peer
perhaps mostly,
stranger, his anger.

A-Shudder in
time. I step laboriously from
fort-branch towards, tree-branch.

The moment, the body
leaving surfaces, knows
its falling

into the air, still it
fumbles for grounding
wrestling space.

I have thought, since, of
how foolish—and I know now
to resist it, was futile yet

stepping, on air
upon air, I hoped on
that impossible and last wish

of finding a branch along
the way, to sustain me.
I will die, and I cannot

rest on how it’s possible,
not possible, so
young-minds, trust, scramble

stupidly. Not the soul
to think on now, unnatural
prayer, which is for life.

For with age comes wisdom,
a true sense of time,
but youth believes, amaranthine.


It was the interesting structure, three lines and a break, and the jazz like ease of Phillips Parable, that I wanted to try to re-create. Interestingly, reading the pattern of this poem only twice, it took me back in time quickly, and I recalled an experience from youth—falling from a high tree.

As I went through each line, more sensory details revealed themselves, without effort, to the point that I actually began to fear I would revisit the memory in my dreams. I had not thought about this experience in a very long time.

The most interesting and fun twist on this improvisation was the ending.

I had not set out to write about anything with moral intention or theme or story or idea other than allowing the structure to take me through the experience again. The structure forced its own message.

Though I still don't know what that message is, it isn't merely about falling. It is perhaps more about the different ways one perceives experiences with age. At forty, I see the world in a different paradigm than that of the twelve year old.

When I re-write this, I might consider looking more at global differences in those age groups. I might explore differences in falling, or other experiences between young and old.

When older people fall, accidentally, do they actually have the same experience of flailing for ground, or do they accept the inevitable? Is this an involuntary response, or is it age centered?

I make an assumption here, “when falling this happens”, that may not be correct for everyone at every age. It brings more questions? I gather from our readings about writing poetry that these additional questions posed by the improvisational poem are a good thing.