Jordan convinced me that the sanitary napkins were disgusting.
“It makes your pants smell like dirty bicycle chains,” she said.
We sat on her mother-in-law’s plastic-flowered sofa,
One of us was wearing a bathing suit,
And the other lay on top of each other.
The water was her disguised argument and I was afraid of the cotton stoppers.
Or rather afraid of an unexplored volcano.
The muscles that contract and stretch and hold and release.
She said, “I’ll do it for you!”
We have already seen each other naked several times.
Bless us together and compare between our nipples,
We wished we would exchange every little thing in our bodies.
So being stripped of my clothes was not really unusual
When she was squatting on the toilet seat and she was sprawled on the floor,
Such as a mechanic checking the bottom of a car.
(Laughter)
Using a plastic syringe
I packed the cotton packed inside me.
This was the last I saw
Before I lose consciousness.
(Laughter)
I dropped the tiles.
(Jordan), is a blood researcher wearing a turquoise dress,
“Now you’re ready to swim.”
Thank you.
(clap)
thank you.
(clap)
I wrote poems about removing the hair of my legs,
Exchanging kisses with my best friends in her bedroom,
Mastery the art of hiding the blood spot from the back of the jeans,
Which means I wrote poems about girls’ time, homosexuality and shame.
Today, I would like to talk to you about how to make our memories smaller
You can connect us to the larger world.
The novelist faces a certain kind of pressure.
I see him when I study workshops in poetry,
Especially among high school students.
They desperately want to become the voice of their generation,
To write poetry that saves the world.
He was impressed by that desire.
I have been striving hard to achieve them.
But time and time again, I learned
Through my writing and the writings of others,
It is not that big stories are what reach millions,
They are small stories.
When I began to perform poetry at the age of 16,
Found poems are the protector of truth,
When a poet climbs on stage to speak,
It was as if it were a magician
Cast mascot of knowledge to the public.
I often wondered what would be my truth as a poet,
Any stories people will look for to say.
OK,
She became a poet who writes poems about cotton caps.
I have hundreds of people from all over the country
They approach me with regard to this poem.
Some also wear cotton stoppers on someone else’s hands,
These are usually ignorant of how common they are until recently.
(Laughter)
Some also lost consciousness after the first time,
The reaction I was unaware of is how common it is until late.
Some of them did not experience either
But they had friends like Gordon,
A noisy and noisy girl who controls everything around her.
Some of them were like (Jordan) already.
Some are still like Gordon.
Here we find the relationship:
By specifications.
If we allow ourselves to search our memories,
Rather than being considered insignificant or insignificant,
We consider it a museum
An archive of moments, regardless of size, has equal weight
Here is where we find the poem.
Begin as an important moment.
So often, I hear people, especially teenage girls,
They talk about their lives as not attractive or boring.
We are forced to do so,
Make our story take less space
Instead, give room for stories
Which were considered to be more historically important.
So first, we have to resist the urgent desire to ignore our lives.
As soon as we name our moments,
We can indulge in writing it.
The term immersion was used
Because writing is in minute detail
Is a form that allows yourself to be evil,
Be patient using your language,
To know the reader in every corner and corner of your life.
Finally, when we share this moment,
See how connections are formed.
If anyone stood in this room and told more of a story he was ashamed of,
Will not be similar to anyone else’s story in this room.
We do not look for a match,
We are looking for interdependence.
Interconnection occurs by knowing the sense of shame.
The only way to see this feeling
Be through instinctive and symbolic description.
So, how do we consider our moments important?
OK,
Sometimes we are trained to ignore the beauty of our stories
So much so that we need help from others to see its beauty.
When I study classes about poetry and remembrance,
I would like my students to write down one memory they lived in the backyard.
Of course they can.
Usually, what they write is short and vague stories
Follow a chronological and ordered timeline.
But what matters is his observation
Is that that anniversary has emerged enough to be chosen.
When we are honest with our memories,
When we observe what remains with us, regardless of whether we understand the reason,
We have to honor and honor that instinct.
After that, the process revolves around weaving the story.
Seems not intuitive,
The idea is that the deeper the detail, the more the story becomes universal,
But let me explain.
Ask my students
To choose one vital theme for that story.
Ask them to look up close
And to repeat the story as the focal point.
Suppose it was a swimming pool.
If your story happened near a swimming pool,
For a full backyard,
You will inevitably write about
All you have to do with the swimming pool:
The smell of chlorine and glowing blue water,
Your new two-piece swimsuit.
Now, if I asked her to come closer than the picture
The story is considered as a swimsuit is the point of contact,
You may write about how it was the first time you were in a swimsuit
How you were still used to moving it in your ass
How ashamed of your new belly,
So you kept your hands on your belly all day long.
Maybe there was a girl at the ceremony
Who has been wearing swimming suits since she was 11 years old
Who made a comment about your belly,
I spent the rest of the day wrapped in a towel
While others were playing the hen game.
So I wrote a poem about my memory at a swimming party.
But you also wrote a poem about the image of the body and shame and the time of the girls,
And suddenly they became linked
Everyone has already tested those things.
Here is where we find each other.
For this reason poetry and novel art are important.
I know that not everyone in this room is a poet.
But everyone in this room has a story.
I’m not here to ask you to write a poem
If you hope to get out of here with the means to write a poem.
What I want more than anything
Is to get everyone out of here as they look at a small memory in a new light.
I want you to see your story as something worth mentioning.
One of my best quotations comes from Poet (Guanati),
He says: “Do not talk about the war,
But talk to me about your empty brother’s bedroom. “
When I came close to writing my first book,
I did not start with the structure of writing a few stories
About girls’ time or body or shyness
Instead, I simply wrote a series of quirks
Which would reflect those ideas.
right Now,
I want you to remember your first kiss.
Where did you get it.
With whom I exchanged kisses.
What I felt.
I will tell you about my first kiss,
To see what our common denominators are.
I trained on the story before I cut it.
I masturbated and I bathed while I was doing imaginary interviews.
It was in 2004, and was named (NOAA),
My best friend since elementary school.
We wanted our first kiss to be guaranteed,
Of the kind that we feel comfortable about telling our children about,
But did not lead us to break our hearts or have sex.
I loved that little story,
How I made my life small and interesting.
However, there is always (Margo)
How her tongue was rude and lame of the new growth of gum.
How did you boy
Because I loved my shoes and cut my hair at the barber.
How we blush together, changed our clothes together,
How we jumped into the river together only to have the excuse to see the other
He takes off her bathing suit from her wet body.
And how we felt bad about the game,
So we exchanged kisses on a moving mattress,
That way, when we finished slapping the little moths on our bodies
In front of the balcony lights each other,
We bedded,
The Chamber returned to its former mandate
in no time.
thank you.
(clap)
”
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