M – Winter Term Paper
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Author Archives: grigab10
M – Week 8 Log
February 25th
1 hour – morning yoga
3 hours – reading
1.5 hour – preforming exercises in two books
2.5 hours – writing – poetry
2 hour – organizing term paper
February 26th
30 minutes – morning yoga
3 hours – reading
2 hours – organizing paper
1.5 hours – acrobatic yoga
February 27th
1 hour – morning yoga
2 hours – reading
3 hours – modern dance – ecstatic dance
1 hour – organizing paper
February 28th
1 hour – morning yoga
1.5 hours – reading
3 hours – writing – organizing paper
1 hour – preforming exercises in two of my books
March 1st
30 minutes – morning yoga
1.5 hours – reading
1 hour – organizing paper
2 hours – walk in the forest – meditation
30 minutes – preforming exercises in two of my books
March 2nd
1 hour – morning yoga
3.5 hours – organizing my paper
1.5 hours – stretching – isolated body movements
1 hour – reading
March 3rd
30 minutes – morning yoga
1.5 hours – filming poetry observed
2 hours – forest beach walk
1 hour – stretching – dance
Totals
This week: 48 hours
Cumulative total: 216 hours
Reading List:
- Body and Earth
- Your Sacred Anatomy
- Body Stories
- Trail Guide to the Body: How to Locate Muscles, Bones & More!
- Poetics of Reverie
M – Week 5 Poem
Their voices slowly fade,
she stands there mind racing until she is completely alone.
She waits to breathe easily again.
Eyes closed, hesitant to open,
arms, turn to hands, then, fingers intertwining overhead,
torso swaying,
her smile melts, the fake expression vanishing off her face. Soul at ease but empty,
looking blankly, focused on a reflection she knows too well.
Set on a wall of mirrors,
possessed by the fluid movements it mimics.
She sighs as each of her feet leave the ground,
weightless for a moment,
and,
in an instant she feels the cold hard wood against her blistered, bloodied, broken toes.
M – Poetry Observed (Hinges)
I stand vertical holding in the air I’ve just inhaled,
here I wait for the exhalation that your touch will bring as
fingertips brush the backs of my heels.
Slowly out of the warmth of my hinges the small of my back
emerges as the ground your feet covet
I sink into you,
as you into me
(I am in your hands)
Soon my field of vision flows in a backwards incline,
neck draping gingerly as I become buoyant atop your two
sturdy stacked trunks
I allow myself to breathe, coaxing my spine to sink into the ease of an arch
As hands find the shallows of my collar bone we sink deeper,
legs seep down with gravity,
we descend deeper as I allow your ever shifting feet to
manipulate my petite frame.
This is a permeable game of trust,
the necessity for comfort-ability in the very real possibility of falling
Is here
a loss in grip, in footing, in breath
yet the counterbalance that is achieved sends me to flight
I am a bird
I feel strong
The wrought iron hinges of me,
bend to your warm milk of a touch
I meld into your depths,
the creases you create as tension eases all else.
M – Week 6 (Fed by Touch)
Nourished by movement, my body is fed by touch
a delectable treat that leaves my physique to salivate in the anticipation of it all.
I lay supine as you move each tensile limb of mine,
your passive flexion courts my figure to stay limp,
rolling and strumming the superficial fibers of me.
From bone
to muscle
to tendon
to tissue, I awaken.
A hum of light emanates from my solar plexus ,
a fingertip steadily coasting along the upturned underbelly of my forearm leads cells to dilate
(I imagine that your hands dream of this.)
A rapid pulsing trickles down my spine in wavering bliss,
coaxing skin to blush, now our largest supple organ.
The simple, gentle work of fingers awakens the possibility of an intertwining of bodies,
(A simultaneous feast).
Body echoes body,
body becomes body as the pounding of hearts dissolves into one.
This one body now hovers, it whisks and turns in a vortex of vibration,
A field
A shield
We have detached from ourselves in a single exhalation,
yet my inhalation serves as the water one needs to survive.
This is where the soul and body bask.
In tangible pleasure.
M – Week 7 Poem (My Body in the State of this World)
The water inside of me
creates a riptide, a vortex of brewing.
A dangerous seething weapon.
The liquid that I am
wills my bones to rise from deep
within their marrow.
I have no absence of worry,
I feel no absence of tension.
We are a clinging species,
a kind who moves with a smog ridden
veil over their emerald eyes.
An all-smothering kind
that is leading our mother to atrophy.
The muscles that propel me seem to ache
more frequently, as
fists clench with ease I feel my insides stir,
yet the squirming jolts suddenly cease.
I pause.
A rush of stillness leaches into me,
I pause.
Irises fixate on two palms
Cupping nothing but the air surrounding.
I am reminded by this familiar sight,
I am reminded that my body resides in this
fading space.
I am reminded that I am,
That I was made to move.
So I do just that.
I fling myself from moment to moment
Tip-toeing round’ the latent bits of green dampness I find,
and residing there for hours on end.
The liquid that I am rises from deep within,
wills the marrow in my bones to
Run,
to activate my tactile senses and
meld my naked body into the
ground below me.
I will nourish you,
Reign me in, eat me whole,
But first let me dance for you.
M – Week 8 Poem (Hinges)
I stand vertical holding in the air I’ve just inhaled,
here I wait for the exhalation that your touch will bring as
fingertips brush the backs of my heels.
Slowly out of the warmth of my hinges the small of my back
emerges as the ground your feet covet
I sink into you,
as you into me
(I am in your hands)
Soon my field of vision flows in a backwards incline,
neck draping gingerly as I become buoyant atop your two
sturdy stacked trunks
I allow myself to breathe, coaxing my spine to sink into the ease of an arch
As hands find the shallows of my collar bone we sink deeper,
legs seep down with gravity,
we descend deeper as I allow your ever shifting feet to
manipulate my petite frame.
This is a permeable game of trust,
the necessity for comfort-ability in the very real possibility of falling
Is here
a loss in grip, in footing, in breath
yet the counterbalance that is achieved sends me to flight
I am a bird
I feel strong
The wrought iron hinges of me,
bend to your warm milk of a touch
I meld into your depths,
the creases you create as tension eases all else.
*** Still a work in progress, this will go along with my Poetry Observed piece
M – Reverie #4 Week 8
Gabrielle Gribbin
Bachelardian Reverie #4
Winter qtr. wk. 8
Work count:100
“Listening to the trees of the night prepare their tempests, the poet will say: ‘The forest shivers under the caresses of the cristal-fingered delirium..’ That which is electric in the shiver—whether it runs along man’s nerves or along the fibers of the forest—has met a sensitive detector in the poet’s image. Don’t such images bring us the revelation of a sort of intimate cosmicity? They unite the outside cosmos with an inside cosmos. Poetic exaltation—the crystal-handed delirium—makes an intimate forest shiver within us.”
Use this prompt to evoke through a poetic image a light delirium in which your nerves run along the “fibers” of your field study.
…
I finger the nape of my neck, brushing the peachy
fuzz sprawled across Me
here starts the palpation.
Strumming the superficial layers of skin and muscle
with ardent care.
Detaching from the whirring of thought and incessant
prodding, stimulated touch assures my heart to open
allowing lashes to meet allows anterior eyelids to
Open
Able now to tune-in to my humming vibration and
gingerly place palm to solar plexus to feel
Triangles meeting, creating a light to project
Outward.
A shiver corrects my posture as I continue to enjoy
my palpable skin.
“Its beauty comes from the ability to manipulate”
M – Reverie #3 Week 7
Gabrielle Gribbin
Winter qtr, wk. 7
Word count:100
Reverie Prompt: pp 139, 141 Create your own reverie in response to Bachelard’s reverie: “When I read this line by Edmond Vandercammen: ‘My childhood goes back to that wheaten bread,’ an odor of warm bread invaded a house of my youth.” Create a reverie to demonstrate how in your own life “a whole vanished universe is preserved by an odor.”
…
An inhalation leaves nostrils singling with the whiff
of a familiar scent.
Swift friction glides over the hairs that stand upon me
in attempt to stabilize my core
My body produces: sweat
sweet sweat
The odor of my movements, of the capacity that my
petit frame holds and the remembrance of
my un-faltering heart, both of my hearts one located
slightly left in my chest cavity and the other just behind
my knee pumping blood against gravity.
I lay comfortably in the musky cloud I emanate.
to hell with deodorant and fruity spray,
Let me be!
An inhalation settles me.
M – Reverie #2 Week 6
Gabrielle Gribbin
Bachelardian Reverie #2
Winter qtr. wk.6
Word count:100
“Reverie Prompt: pp 88, 93 Create your own reverie in response to Bachelard’s reverie: “Reveries of idealization develop, not by letting oneself be taken in by memories, but by constantly dreaming the values of being whom one would love.” Great dreamers dream their double. Can you create a reverie to demonstrate how and why the passion of your current field study sustains you? How is your “letter” (e.g., c is for cacao) your magnified double? (E.g., While tasting Kallari chocolate can you re-member how C might idealize cacao?) “”Tell me whom you create and I shall tell you who you are.'” Suggestion: Use your reverie on an idealized passion to create a poem that evokes the sensation of how your passion is sustaining you.”
…
Think of that weight that you hold,
the force that you create downward. Your feet, ever aware of the
gravity of you.
The motion on our propulsion starts
from heel to toe… ponder this thought.
Continuing your forward thought place toes first to
meet with the earth, ease into the placement of self,
then only after insuring this is the route you wish
to take lower your heel.
The intention of the slightest
inching joints is where we begin, from these inches
gain feet, strides, bounds, and leaps of expression.
The body is my temple, I will it to be.