From 2764ce38ff89667fc4073fb66cdd634caaffd613 Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: Case Duckworth Date: Thu, 12 Mar 2015 13:01:16 -0700 Subject: Fix #9 - ekphrastisize some poems For ekphrastic articles, add `ekphrastic` node to YAML metadata. This node includes subnodes `image`, `title`, `alt`, `link`, and `class`. `image` provides a link to the local image--just include the file name with the extension, not the folder (all images should be in /img/.) `title` provides the title of the image, and the alt-text, if there is no `alt` node. `alt`, if it exists, provides the alt text for the image. `link`, if present, wraps the image in an `` tag--it should point to the source web page of the ekphrastic image. `class`, if present, sets the class(es) for the image, for styling. In this commit, I've set `ekphrastic` on the four articles that have them so far: 'The Death Zone,' 'AMBER alert,' 'The moon is gone,' and 'Man.' I've also updated .template.html with the changes, and updated README.md to reflect the changes in YAML structure. --- riptide_memory.html | 15 +++++++-------- 1 file changed, 7 insertions(+), 8 deletions(-) (limited to 'riptide_memory.html') diff --git a/riptide_memory.html b/riptide_memory.html index 7811b55..89fa9a9 100644 --- a/riptide_memory.html +++ b/riptide_memory.html @@ -37,14 +37,13 @@ -
-

Inside of my memory, the poem is another memory.
The air up here is thin, but the wind blows harder
than anywhere else I know. It threatens to rip
my body away, like an angel of death, to the stars.

-

In Arizona, I thought I would forget the rain,
forget its sound on a roof like a hard wind, forget
its smell like a far away ocean. Luckily for me
it rains here. Luckily, because I forget too easily.

-

In a dream, my father is caught by a riptide off-shore.
He’s pulled far out, far enough that the shoreline’s
a line in his memory on the horizon. I can see him
swimming, hand over hand, pulling his small weight

-

back to land. I see him as another shipwreck victim,
coughing sand and seawater, beard woven with seaweed.
I see him laying there a long time. I see all this
as he tells me the story, years later, the riptide

-

only a ghost in his memory, I only a child falling
asleep. My mother’s making mayonnaise rolls
in the kitchen, a recipe I’ll send for years later,
in Arizona, in the monsoon season, when my thirst

-

pulls me back home, my memory’s lonesome twinkle
like stars above the mountains. I’ll send for it
and try to make them, but in the thin air they’ll
crumble into dust like desert air, like a memory.

-
+ +

Inside of my memory, the poem is another memory.
The air up here is thin, but the wind blows harder
than anywhere else I know. It threatens to rip
my body away, like an angel of death, to the stars.

+

In Arizona, I thought I would forget the rain,
forget its sound on a roof like a hard wind, forget
its smell like a far away ocean. Luckily for me
it rains here. Luckily, because I forget too easily.

+

In a dream, my father is caught by a riptide off-shore.
He’s pulled far out, far enough that the shoreline’s
a line in his memory on the horizon. I can see him
swimming, hand over hand, pulling his small weight

+

back to land. I see him as another shipwreck victim,
coughing sand and seawater, beard woven with seaweed.
I see him laying there a long time. I see all this
as he tells me the story, years later, the riptide

+

only a ghost in his memory, I only a child falling
asleep. My mother’s making mayonnaise rolls
in the kitchen, a recipe I’ll send for years later,
in Arizona, in the monsoon season, when my thirst

+

pulls me back home, my memory’s lonesome twinkle
like stars above the mountains. I’ll send for it
and try to make them, but in the thin air they’ll
crumble into dust like desert air, like a memory.