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. --- weplayedthosegamestoo.html | 5 ++--- 1 file changed, 2 insertions(+), 3 deletions(-) (limited to 'weplayedthosegamestoo.html') diff --git a/weplayedthosegamestoo.html b/weplayedthosegamestoo.html index 4f5a41a..ddff018 100644 --- a/weplayedthosegamestoo.html +++ b/weplayedthosegamestoo.html @@ -37,9 +37,8 @@ -
-

I saw two Eskimo girls playing a game
blowing on each other’s’ vocal chords to make music
on the tundra. I thought about how
once we played the same game
and the sounds blowing over the chords of our throats
was the same as a wind over frozen prairie.
We are the Eskimo girls who played
the game that night to keep ourselves warm.
I run my hands over
my daughter’s
voicebox as she hums a song
about a seal and about killing the seal and about
skinning it and rendering the blubber
into clear oil to light lamps.
I remember you are my lamp. She remembers
you although you left before she arrived.
I can never tell her about you.
I will never be able to express that taste of your oil
as we pushed our throats together.
I will never be able to say how
we share this blemish like conjoined twins.
I will fail you always to remember you.

-
+ +

I saw two Eskimo girls playing a game
blowing on each other’s’ vocal chords to make music
on the tundra. I thought about how
once we played the same game
and the sounds blowing over the chords of our throats
was the same as a wind over frozen prairie.
We are the Eskimo girls who played
the game that night to keep ourselves warm.
I run my hands over my daughter’s
voicebox as she hums a song
about a seal and about killing the seal and about
skinning it and rendering the blubber
into clear oil to light lamps.
I remember you are my lamp. She remembers
you although you left before she arrived.
I can never tell her about you.
I will never be able to express that taste of your oil
as we pushed our throats together.
I will never be able to say how
we share this blemish like conjoined twins.
I will fail you always to remember you.