FC: Mara Bertelli
1: Found Poem: the chains on my wrists were flecked with blood but they were wearing out and the gag on my mouth was foul with bile but it was coming undone, So that of my health I did abide long uncertain: and suffered in my heart an infinite passion all the while. to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human prose and stand before you speechless and intelligent and shaking with same, rejected yet confessing out the soul: No more words! For, resolved to die, I want to free myself from such merciless mistreatment. You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I'll rise. and have begun to scream with the redness of my rage For I am not afraid to keep on living, i am not afraid to walk this world alone leaving only a requiem for you: A day will come when women in this country have thorns, Not only in their eyes, but all over their bodies.
2: Allen Ginsberg lived a life full of constant destruction. He was born in Newmark New Jersey on June 3rd 1926. His family was Jewish and part of the communist community. His mother, Naomi, was also a nudist who was extremely mentally unstable. This was a constant dilemma throughout his childhood. His relationship with his mother and her tendency to neurosis and psychosis caused him to be extremely empathetic towards the insane. Not only did this have a huge impact on his life, but also on his writing. During his adolescence he already appreciated poetry and enjoyed the works of Edgar Allen Poe and Walt Whitman throughout school. Soon after graduating he went to Columbia University and decided he wanted to spend his life helping the working class. At the University he met several of his life long friends such as William Burroughs, Neal Cassady, and Jack Kerouac who all were major figures in the beat movement. During this time he also experienced a series of ‘Blake hallucinations’ during which he heard William Blake reading him poetry. This is also an inspiration to his works. After college he moved to San Francisco. There he made a life writing poetry and helped to begin the beat movement with his world renowned poem ‘Howl’. After spending several years there gaining life experience, knowledge, and many failed relationships with men that fueled his creative muse. Throughout the sixties and seventies he traveled the world exploring new cultures and different life styles. One of the major shifts this caused was his involvement with Buddhism after spending time with a Zen masters and Gurus. He moved back to the states, to New York where he lived out the rest of his life. A unwavering attribute to his life was protests. He took part in numerous protests, especially in New York and spoke out against the Vietnam War and spoke passionately for the ability to have free speech and gay rights, both of which were issues close to him. During this time he won the National Book Award, Chevalier des Arts et des Lettres, and co-founded the Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics at the Naropa Institute in Colorado and later became a professor at Brooklyn College. died on April 5th 1997 of complications with hepatitis. Allen Ginsberg was a beat poet; this means his writings have a theme of not so much insanity, but the opposite of the mundane sane, everyday life. His focus was on non-conformity. Much of his inspiration also came from music in general. His poetry contains long lines, phrases, and often times no stanzas. This creates a very rambling feel to his work. Many of his poems are extremely long and do not limit themselves in length. He seems to have written as freely as possible and did not stop until he had said what he wanted. Also there is no evident rhyme pattern, it is free verse. He is blunt in his topics. There is a gritty taste to his words and he fears no subject. He was set apart from the rest because of his fearlessness and originality, especially with the usage of beat poetry which not only emerged during his lifetime but he also helped create it, and bring it into this world.
3: The members of My Chemical Romance (Gerard Way: Vocals, Mikey Way: Bass, Frank Iero: Rhythmn guitar, Ray Toro: Guitar, Bob Bryar: Drums) are predominantly from New Jersey as well. None were allowed outside to play as children because of the high crime rates in the areas in which they lived. This caused their imaginations to be one of the few sources of entertainment. This attributed to the fantastical attributes they possess in their lyrics. Though there were few problems within their families nearly all the members were bullied, teased, and pushed around. They were, and still are, comic book enthusiasts giving them the reputations as freaks and outcasts. This lack of ability to interact in a ‘normal’ social level created much inspiration for the lyrics. The members grew up in a very music centralized area and were in several bands prior to My Chemical Romance. The vocalist, Gerard Way went to art school and on the way to work one day in New York saw the Twin Towers go down. This caused him to re-evaluate his life and he promptly put the band together with the hopes of helping people and saving lives through music. Today many bands do not write their own lyrics and choose instead to take the easy route and create mediocre music that many accept as good enough. My Chemical Romance, however, creates entirely original music and show great dedication to the art setting them apart. They are all extremely hard workers who have toured nearly non-stop for the past six years. Rarely canceling shows, playing no matter how sick they are, several hospitalizations of each member, seeing the world, learning to handle new complications that accompany fame, and new relationships all have taken part in forming the lyrics. Their first album, ‘I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love’, was released in 2002 with Eyeball Records. Much of the content was written to help Gerard handle his severe depression and drug and alcohol abuse. With their second album in 2003 ‘Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge’ their popularity sky rocketed. During this time they also gained a new drummer: Bob Bryar from Chicago a friend who had already done technical sound work for the band. Today their third album has been released; ‘The Black Parade’ is a concept album that describes a patient’s death and the how death comes to him in a form of his wish: a parade. The powerful rock opera sound and fantastic lyrics have created a highly listenable album, not only once but three times. Their lyrics hold more poetic form than Ginsberg’s work. There is a general rhyme scheme, along with other various poetic tools used, that varies from song to song. Their lyrics/poems are much shorter because they are sung and it is very hard to sing six pages worth of material. Their work is well thought out, excellently written, brilliant, and most importantly passionate. The most obvious part of the words and the sound is the amount these men love the words, the sound, the music. The content is very oriented in their personal life experiences and has a very raw feel to them. There is a very large use of metaphors in their lyrics as well. This intertwined with the very real conflicts explained makes a wonderful mix. Many of the metaphors include topics of death, loss, addiction, and religion (three are reformed catholics) but also a strong selflessness which reflects the personality of the lyricist and vocalist Gerard.
4: Both Ginsberg and My Chemical Romance originated in New Jersey. Both grew up with difficult livestyles, though the reasons were very different. Also addiction has often been a major topic in both of their poetry because of real life predicaments with substance abuse with both Ginsberg and Way. Their jaded words reflect the disappointments they have experienced because of the way others have treated them. Both also include death as a heavy theme in their work. Overall their writing is a product of their lives. Both have taken personal experiences and put it on paper for anyone to read, listen to, praise, or criticize. Ginsberg and MCR share a passion for certain movements such as the Gay Rights movement (though only Ginsberg was actually gay, no matter how hard fans wish). A passion for non-conformity and Both are brave individuals to allow themselves to be open enough to tell their intimate stories and take any abuse or attacks of their work. Because in the end that is an attack on their life. Most importantly there is a shared love for their art. Both absolutely love writing and creating and that shines through in their success and through the words themselves.
5: Allen Ginsberg (Examples): I saw the best minds of my generations destroyed by nadness, starving hysterical naked who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight in policecars from committing no crime but their own wild cooking pedsrasty and intoxication who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked and trembling before the machinery of other skeletons who threw potato salad at CCNY lecturers on Dadaism and subsequently presented themselves on the granite steps of the madhouse with shaven heads and harlequin speech of suicide, demanding instantaneous lobotomy who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night | My Chemical Romance (Examples): So give me all your poison, And Give me all your pills, And give me all your hopeless hearts, And make You can watch me corrode like a beast in repose You can take off your skin in the cannibal glow, Juliet loves the beat and the lust it commands Drop the dagger and lather the blood on your hands, Romeo Preach all you want but who's gonna save me? I keep a gun on the book you gave me, hallelujah, lock and load I spent my high school career, spit on and shoved to agree, so i could watch all my heroes sell a car on TV You better run like the devil 'cause they're never gonna leave you alone You better hide up in the alley 'cause they're never gonna find you a home And as the blood runs down the walls, You see ne creepin' up these halls How wrong we were to think that immortality meant never dying Go and try, you'll never break me I won't explain or say I'm sorry I'm unashamed, I'm gonna show my scar Life is but a dream for the dead, And well I, I won't go down by myself, But I'll go down with my friends.
6: Allusions: Blood red silk sheets cover the gore covered form seeping up through the floor boards Your eyes as cold and dead as the day we met, the day I tripped and fell Your eyes still filled with nothing but the cruel lies you spin The ones that kept me falling into the abyss of hell My personal Don Giovanni, My Possessor, My Torturer Never again will I watch your flirtations with murderous envy Your cold eyes playing pretty tricks for all the girls as your hand slides up their leg You knew I was watching, your eyes laughed and your smirk cut into my chest with mocking Still I would do anything you asked, driven by your approval, your affection My Seducer, My Obsession, My Driving Force, My Manipulator And they will never decipher my manic giggles, nothing but tongues in their mind The language of my madness/insanity, spilling the secret of my tell-tale heart The irony? I still cannot escape you, even in your destruction, you are all I know You haunt my dreams breaking through the padded walls of my prison My Demon, My Angel, My Leopold, My Commandatore, My Ghost Now I ride on the wings of my goddess, My illusion taking over my mind as we ride atop the flowing music of our requiem And I know you are underneath that mask of hers, Who else could bring such dark music in rememberance What is more perfect? I am nothing more than the Mary of Thorn Birds, your own Nightmare
7: Stars in the sky wink to me and I swear they know a secret gleaming mockingly they laugh at me offering me the knowledge, just out of reach jealous frustration rises in me overflowing it launches to the heavens I rejoice as I reach my found treasure only to realize I had known the secret all along
8: Amazon Warrior: A roar more fierce than hounds of hell Any wise man would flee from the harsh hoofbeats But those few would never be able to tell The fearsome glory soon to be seen: A wall of sweating flesh, biting metal, and eager fur appear Gleaming in the sun like hellfire ready to burn They sit tall and proud astride their closest companion, their horse No reins or saddle, only the will of the warrior commands the beasts Axes and bows in hand, flawless weapons ready to strike the only adornment tolerated by these women are death Scars of lawless battles and ruleless fights have covered them for all existance Blood turns lips red, for he is unworthy to draw the first drops Born to ride, raised to fight, they have perfected their bloody art, Their love of cruel hatred leaves no room for mercy, he knows he has no hope, They are not like his women, they do not need, they will not want him No singulkar strike will bring them down, they love pain, constantly wishing for it One breast gone to give more room for the bow, he knows he has no hope Their determined screams fill his ears, there is no match The sound alone paralyzes him with fear, all training gone, The glorious fight is relentless, there is no advasary so perfect She fights with a passion unmatched The sounds of splitting flesh and the smell of decay grows with the sun The warrior perfected is again personified for she continues to kill even as he retreats He finds honor in his death, impaled by one of her axes, For as she bathes in his and kins' blood He becomes a part of her as she soaks up his strength, screaming her triumph, The wild Amazon Warrior stands proudly, covered in her destruction
9: Disappointed: Dented walls and shaky hands That is what you reduced her to And all we have left is a shattered image Of someone you never were Now I watch helpless As she destroys herself You give a thousand apologies But not a single one will ever be enough My cracked foundation starts to crumble as I watch her disappear And you say that you might leave I hope you do, I hope you're happy And as we pick up the broken pieces, just know that we will miss you
10: Perfect Perfect Angels surround me, consume me, Gleaming teeth, glowing skin so soft like satin Legs and legs and legs walking proudly, sticks made of flesh Perfect proportions, perfect face, perfect flirtatious charm Perfect in everyway No one wants to see the forked tongue behind the teeth, so they don't No one wants to see their artificial plastic aurora so they don't No one wants to see their sly glances and manipulative smirks so they don't No one wants to see the empty shells they are, their need to be loved so they don't But I do I hate them, I can't help but feel sorrow for their desperation I loathe them, I can't help but feel pity for their loveless actions I despise them, I can't help but feel their emptiness My anger for them grows because everyone says i could be one of them Naked and alone, scared and lost, I scream legs unshaven and face blemished, No one stands by me not a spot of makeup, not a spot covered up not a hint of fake insertions But we share the same obsession, so all i can say: You are beautiful
11: Poetry Poker: The mournful sound of loss fills the dark night As the dreadful war steals one more soul into eternal sleep His dark glory declared to the stormy skies A delirious yell ripping from his broken lungs Rain falls on the chaotic scene Men slipping in the mud, prowling for another kill His fruitless attempts to stand leaves him prone and helpless Finally a quiet content deluges from him He watches dust particles dance in his personal farewell ceremony from this earth