Rochelle Hurt: The cento is a collage form in which a poem is composed entirely of lines from other poems. It can be an homage to the originals, a subversive twist, or just a fun game. Contemporary examples of the form include “The Dong with the Luminous Nose” by John Ashbery and “Wolf Cento” by Simone Muench.
In homage to the poets of our current issue, I’ve composed a couple of centos in which each line comes from a different poem in issue 12.1. (I’ve added punctuation here and there.) We encourage you to compose your own 12.1 cento and post it on our blog. We’ll float a free issue to creators of the strongest three (either gift for a friend or added to your current subscription). Pro tips: 1. Remember to cite the authors you quote from the issue; 2. enjambment is your friend!
Storm Cento
The sky lit up like a glass of water,
flipped eyelids first glint of light.
Our zinc roof unpeeled to show
Father the split fibula where the marrow must rust.
Dark blue run, rim of
a portable dark. Maybe a cave inside
leading to the sea. Grime and pastel.
Blindness is medicine for those who have
a secret room of hands.
Yes, simply because it contains all the secrets of
my transparent body.
Sources, in order: John McAuliffe, Dong Li, Safiya Sinclair (x2 – different poems), Marianne Boruch, Benjamin S. Grossberg, Justin Runge, Nick Courtright, CJ Evans, Changming Yuan, Kiriu Minashita.
Cynic’s Cento
O keel and swerve,
bird that flies from the past to the past
in a room adjusted by a metallic voice.
The future, clover-shaped, hail-beat.
Relax, this is only a sketch
of the inner eye. I would travel many days to see
these plastic heavens
the blue darkness vividly boils around.
My faith’s not what I’m told God wants it to be.
When the boats sail, I let them.
Sources, in order: Joelle Biele, Chelsea Jennings, Kiriu Minashita, Justin Runge, Krzysztof Jaworski, Jay Leeming, Christopher Robley, Kiriu Minashita (different poem), James McMichael, K. A. Hays.
I don’t need it now but I’d like to know
Side roads and parks and years turned overnight
on a bar of soap
her legs gave out. But she thinks
A weird no sound. Must be a hawk.
stand
in the future. There are lily petals
on my back,
stalks grow and bulbs heave forward
they didn’t try. Sure they did. But not enough.
one gardening glove still on.
then space.
poets cited: Brandon Amico, Krzysztof Jaworski, John McAuliffe, Marianne Boruch, Dong Li, Justin Runge, Joelle Biele
Cento for the Missing
Odd obstreperous son of a barber and an hysteric.
Rarely on site, he worked,
searching for my mother, the astronaut—
my mother knock-knocking at his skull when he dreams,
his face in soap bubbles. The biggest heart in the world
has been replaced with yak butter.
Yes, simply because it contains all of the secrets of
public high school.
Evaporation: Water gone missing. The saddest phrase—
“The snowblower won’t start.”
Above the clouds there is another country:
moon a full-frontal flashlight.
It looks cold, uninhabitable. On Mars
children need to be more than two feet off the ground to feel joy.
Persons is what we’re talking about.
She’s entirely beyond earshot, as if the sky
rolled the fog, allowing
water the way kids urinate in the shallow end when they suspect nobody’s looking.
How the stick-on stars
splinter, push, dunk,
and bury a hundred lead bathtub ducks.
Like a bride’s earring,
love was the only thought.
Having loved, you are mud.
Sources in order: Marianne Boruch, Safiya Sinclair, Safiya Sinclair (different poem), Krzysztof Jaworski, Jay Leeming, Changming Yuan, Kiriu Minashita, Marianne Boruch (same poem), Brandon Amico, Maria Rosa Lojo, Justin Runge, Brandon Amico (same poem), Jason Whitmarsh, James McMichael, Jeffrey Harrison, CJ Evans, Bruce Cohen, Christopher Robley, CJ Evans (different poem) , Jay Leeming (same poem), Joelle Biele, Dong Li, Meghan Maguire Dahn.
(Sonnet of the Last Lines – José Angel Araguz)
—-using words from the last lines of issue12.1 of the Cincinnati Review
taking her hand until she finds her balance
explaining she must lock the door after me
a secret room of hands
drains out
to make the cold passing quiet. To let it be.
Y-shaped when breaking the earth to greet spring
folding over itself, holding close
by lightning
but too savage to ever stay
escaping, quickly
jangling the ribcage
every time we touch hands
(sources: Jeffrey Harrison, John McAuliffe, CJ Evans, Christopher Robley, K. A. Hays,
Changming Yuan, Brandon Amico, María Rosa Lojo, Dong Li, Bruce Cohen, Kiriu Minashita,
Safiya Sinclair, Noah Blaustein)