Jonathen Green

12-10-15
ENGL 2250
Major Project 2 Final

Reflection
In third grade, I started a new school and my first week I
learned about a nationwide poetry competition. That year the task
was to write a poem on the theme: "If I could give the world a
gift."
My Dad worked until 7:00 then, so I was always alone after
school. I got bored with cartoons, and so I decided to try to
write something for the competition. I quickly typed up a small
poem about equality and the naturally accepting nature of young
children. It was about how bigotry is a learned behavior. I had
been reading a lot of Mark Twain at that time. The next day I
submitted the poem and forgot all about it. I had dismissed any
thoughts of actually winning figuring that only sixth graders had
a shot at competing.
A week later, they called me into the principal's office. When I
got there, I found the principal, my teacher, and my Dad were all
waiting for me.

They shut the door and then the principal pulled out a copy of my
poem and placed it on his desk. Then he asked me,
"Hello Jonathen, I've finished reading the poem that you
submitted to the competition, but I need to ask you a few
questions. First off, did you write this?"
I was terrified. What had I said that had gotten them so mad? Was
it because I used the word "nigger?" I was clearly in trouble. I
felt ashamed and I blushed.
"Yes, sir," I confessed as I gazed at my shoes.
"And did you come up with this all by yourself?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did you have any help?"
That was my chance to tell them that it wasn't my fault. That it
was all Mark Twain's fault. Not mine.
"I got the idea from when we were reading about Huck and Jim, and
so I thought that..."
"Very good." he interrupted.
The principal then went on to explain that they had initially
selected my poem as the winning poem but decided to withdraw my
entry. They suspected that I "had received a little too much
help" from my Dad, so it wasn't following the spirit of the
competition.

My Dad told them that this meeting was the first he even heard
about me writing any poems. He assured them that I had not had
any help from him or anyone else.
"Look," he said, "It's full of misspellings. Do you think if I
helped I'd have let him turn it in with misspellings?"
But, they didn't believe him and handed over my poem and a little
blue participation ribbon.
From then on, Poetry has always been a secret part of my life.
Something that I scribbled away on napkins from time to time only
to toss in the trash. Never something I felt confident with
showing to others. Why should I expose my truth, if you will only
call it a lie?
When I started the final project for this English class, I was
also preparing to audition as the front man for a local cover
band. I was rapidly learning how to play and sing several new
songs. My favorite, and the most difficult was a song called,
"Wicked Game" by Chris Isaak.
My wife's birthday was also coming up, and I wanted to do
something special for her. I thought that writing something for
her would be a nice present. I figured that would make her happy
and be a cool way to complete my English assignment as well. I
wanted to do some simple animations of something and post them on
YouTube. I started trying to write. But it didn't go well. I

tried several times over several days and never completed

anything but pages of notes about our relationship together.
I found that I couldn't stop myself from thinking about the Chris
Isaak song. It was clearly a masterpiece, but I wondered, why?
How is it that he wrote it? What did he do that makes it work so
well? I reread the sections in our textbook on poetry, and then I
decided to deconstruct the song to see if I could figure out what
made it tick.
The song is in common time, four beats per measure, but the
lyrics of the verses use triplets. They are in a dactyl meter.
According to Burroway, "Dactylic meters tend towards the
mysterious or incantatory and are rare..." (Imaginative Writing
the Elements of Craft, pg. 368)
Chris is a natural Baritone, and has a huge and strong chest
voice, and his timbre' is dark and haunting. His voice reminds me
of Johnny Cash. But "Wicked Game" is sung very high for a man. It
places the notes in a place in most men's vocals called "the
falsetto", or fake voice. The falsetto is a type of head tone
that is very weak and soft. Men usually avoid singing there
because it has a weak feminine quality and also takes years of
difficult training to learn to control even and use well. Without
training, it is notorious for cracking and sounds like a
stereotypical young boy's voice as it changes during puberty.
Chris's decision to charge confidently into the falsetto gives

the song a sense of vulnerability and honesty that is unlike

anything else I've ever heard.
The lyrics of the piece are very short and simple. The main hook
is, "No, I don't want to fall in love with you."
His lyrics convey such a powerful emotion. His use of simple and
very precise language with symbol words like "wicked", "strange",
and "dreamed" that carry emotion along with meaning.
The song exploits a minor key and seventh chords. These both
create a sad and uneasy feeling.
I think what makes it such an effective and moving song, isn't
any single detail, but instead, that multiple components all work
together to promote a cohesive and clear vision. Its honest,
precise, bold and technically excellent.
That week, we met in class in small groups to discuss our ideas.
I was ashamed. I didn't have anything at all. I had tried, but
nothing had worked at all. I pulled out some stuff from my class
notebooks and read it to the group. Both Chelsea mentioned that
she heard a "lyrical" quality in my writing. She asked me, "Have
you considered poetry?"
I told her that I used to love to write poems but that I didn't
do it anymore because they always ended up feeling sophomoric.
I'd often write trite and clich' limericks.
She asked me to read a couple of my poems to her, and she said
that she loved them, and told me that I should try to do poetry.

I smiled and pretended to like her advice, but deep down

dismissed it because I believed that I couldn't write good verse.
Over the next week, I wondered why that was. I had always loved
poetry. I used to love writing it. What happened?
I started writing poems. And then songs. I deconstructed more of
my favorite songs to try and understand them. Over a week, I
wrote a pretty funny pop tune about a love triangle. I liked it,
and the peer review group liked it, but it wasnt the gift that I
wanted to give to my wife. It was good enough for class, but not
good enough for me.
Then I just gave up. And late one night while fumbling around on
my guitar just started humming and then singing out what it is
that I wanted to say. I didnt try to be smart or clever or
anything. It happened fast, and it was easy.
I played it for my wife, as a late birthday present, and she
cried. She liked it. Then I had my Dad help me to record myself
playing it.
The result is the song Good Enough which I am turning on Canvas
as a .WAV file.
Cheers,
Jonathen Green