Lesson 12 The New Sentence

Reading Silliman's 8 new sentence observations struck me as quite odd, though I was intrigued. Some of the themes of the "new sentence" seemed very inherent and didn't need to be stated. Beginning with the first feature, "the paragraph not the stanza organizes the sentences" seems obvious for prose poetry. I think with my rudimentary understanding of modernism and the movements afterward this conclusion was already made and enforced. Prose poetry by look and creation mostly strays away from the stanza form. The second feature, "the paragraph is a unit of quantity; not logic or argument" seems unnecessary as well. Maybe I am making large and bold generalizations, but it seems like this is obvious.

I didn't get these features or their relevance until they were explained. After looking at the Lyn Henjinian piece, and getting the explanation about the explicitness of numbers and their relevance, things began to clear up. Silliman is not only stating the obvious, but he is sort of giving loose guidelines as well as acknowledging the artistic nature of the work around him. I think pointing out these types of things so that followers of his work and the works of his comrades can notice certain meticulous detail connects the artists as well as admirers. I think of poets like John Weiners and Russell Edson and their prose poetry, nearly short stories, that embody this type of "new sentence poetry" with works like "The Toymaker" and "Ape" as great poetic examples.

My attempt...

The Train Riders

The November air is cold as it arrives. 7 cabins and 14 boxcars follow the head of the proud steam engine. The riders individually exit onto the platform once the rickety doors open.

There are three riders of note. The first and second are men. The last is a young woman with an umbrella draped across one shoulder.

The first man is a banker from New Orleans. This is his annual trip from the muggy south-coast up to the brisk shoreline around New England. His body is stout and atop his broad shoulders sits a massive head with a brow that protrudes like a cro-magon.

The second man is an apprehensive skinny farmer who caught the train in Kentucky in hopes that his fortunes would turn with a trip to the North. His clothes reveal his troubles in the bluegrass state and his stare is tired. He hasn't a place to stay or a person to call, but the change in scenery looks to be a change in luck.

The woman, slender and beautiful has arrived after being beckoned from an old love from before the war. Her belongings are packed tightly in a small chest, save for the umbrella. Her mouth is slack-jawed yet still feminine, while her stance reveals more class than anything else.

Before the three explore their destination a cool breeze arises. A collective chill scurries through the spines of the two men and lone woman. The three of them all think of warm fires and hot meals.

The train slowly pulls away as our three are left on the platform. Looking for luck, love, and
cradling consistency, the three stand for a second and admire the cool before walking into the train station together but individually. The night remains cold through the windows that surround the brick building.

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So I tried to use the numbers thing as a way to anchor my prose. I used three couple of ways: riders and sentences per paragraph, as well as tried to use 21 twice (7 plus 14 in the first paragraph, 21 sentences since their are seven paragraphs of three sentences each). I tried to have every sentence motivate the next but don't know how successful I was in that, and KNOW that I didn't let ideas spill into the next paragraph as they should and I used the "old sentence" form of having paragraphs remain as units of argument and logic rather than PURELY measurement.