Assignment Criteria:
I decided to write mine in a style reminiscent of Beowulf
1) Watch Video: The Affect of the Hunt more than once. Watch it large and watch it loud, i.e., not on your phone and without distractions. Give yourself a chance to soak in it. Your viewing should be framed on a focus of what the bodies involved are telling us.
2) You must remember the number you were assigned in this week's class.
3) You will write a poem of sufficient length to tell the story of the hunt as the story of affect -- a medley of intensities impinging upon the bodies of either the hunter(s) or their prey (the antelope).
4) The operative definition of poetry for this assignment is quite liberal. We are using poetry because it is more flexible and (in ways that are important to our discussion of affect) more expressive than conventional, expository prose (i.e., essays). Your poem can be of any length. It does not have to rhyme or have a metric plan (set number of syllables per line). It does not need to use any of the familiar conventions of punctuation or capitalization. I am not particularly interested, however, in "visual poetry", i.e., ways of displaying the poem using colored text, mixed fonts, images, icons, etc. Just words, enough words for the reader to feel your end of the hunt. Your poems should be in English, although if you know any Khoisan, you're welcome to use it.
5) Your end of the hunt? If your assigned number is ONE, you will write a poem from the perspective of the hunters' bodies (they were three men working together, one runner, two trackers). If your assigned number is TWO, your poem will be written from the perspective of the antelope's body.
I decided to write mine in a style reminiscent of Beowulf
Hwaet! Here the hostile harsh heat of hell
beats down the on backs which begin to bead.
Persistently he pursues tracks across the pitiless plains in search of prey.
The rough relentless sands run through his sneakers cragged and chapped.
The rough sack sways bristly across his back, a slave to the uneven terrain.
Muscles tingle with each step as time wears thin;
muscles prickle periodically panning the plains.
They scream out with the same intensity as the sun beating upon his beading back.
Warm water weeps across his head,
dripping down his back the screams are set to ease.
The rapid rivers relieve restless pains.
Relentlessly the persistent sinews find a means to carry on.
Imitating beast, his motions change
Cautiously a false encroaching sound beats his inner drums.
False tracks form, materializing the true path.
The hunter’s endurance reigned supreme.
Spear held high he hit his mark.
His hand brushes the course ground gathering sand
respectfully sprinkling the remnants upon the fallen brute.
Fondling the head of his fallen familiar he grieves
As he allows its saliva seep into his knees to set their burning sensation at ease.