THE YEAR OF YELLOW BUTTERFLIES
The Year of Yellow butterflies (The Blog)
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"Terrible to dress in the clothes
of a period that must end."--Frank Bidart 

"You must remember that certain things die out for a while/ so they can be remembered with affection later on." --John Ashbery

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Pup Pup

1/30/2015

1 Comment

 
it was the year of the pup pup
and the pup pup goes to the park
and it is cool and the pup pup goes
and the pup pup is 4 
he goes in a box
no no pup pup
zap he goes
the end
oh no

-Aniela is 6 years old and in kindergarten at the ps 770 school.
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It is the year when the birds sing

1/25/2015

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It is the year when the birds sing and the tips of the towers touch the sky. The stars make patterns with the moon and the kids play with joy. They hide-and-seek each other. Stuff you do cannot be bad, but if you rob, the owner will get sad or mad. If a bee stings you, you will watch the Lion King OMG! 


I will swing, if you think you can find me.


It is the year when you ring the dinner bell, while the kids play in the snow. 


But then it’s summer again. People faint. The sun gets in their eyes and they burn. Everything goes weird. People get colds and the leaves are falling. BRB!


It is the year when the families come together to have a reunion picnic. They ask the earth what it’s thankful for. The earth says,  it’s thankful for the people who walk on it. LOL!

--Eva


Eva, age 6, plays the guitar and lives in Brooklyn, New York with her parents and sister.
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The year of black holes

12/24/2014

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It was the year black holes sucked in the videos while people were watching them. And they sucked in the power lines, TVs, iPads and video games.

People driving in the night saw little plastic Princess Lunas. People driving home saw little plastic Princess Celestias.

In one really tall building made of bricks, people went in the door and ended up in another universe.
--Elliot 


Elliot is 7 years old in 2nd grade.  He loves books about machines and space, and loves building giant robots out of
legos.  He also loves to hear any spooky stories you might have.
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It was the year people didn't know they had hair

11/15/2014

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It was the year people didn't know they had hair. And they didn't know they had mouths. They thought they only had toes.

It was the year people had grass roofs. And on top of them were little plastic princesses. And on top of the plastic statues there was a giant, giant big dipper. And it didn't even have a hole. Nobody knew what was inside the big dipper. But I knew.

There was a water slide with yellow walks and a black ceiling.  And at the end of the slide was a cloud, and when you go through the cloud you end up in a candy pool. After the pool, was a hot summer, where the trees grew bigger and bigger. In the tress were prisms, and there were always rainbows.

-Ian Caro 
Ian  Caro is a 5 year old in Minneapolis. He loves Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon and is an expert on tornadoes.  
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    Author

    Hi. I'm Joanna Fuhrman. This is a prose poetry/flash fiction blog in conversation with my  serial prose poem "The Year of Yellow Butterflies" (The Year Of Yellow Butterflies, Hanging Loose Press 2015). I had fun writing these poems about fads and trends from imaginary pasts. If you would like to add your own section, write me and I can post it (along with a short bio). Start with "It was the year...."  
    "In this extraordinary book, Fuhrman seamlessly oscillates between illusion and reality, childhood and maturity, the animal kingdom (a "babbling...walrus," a "creaky bird," a "bunny rabbit") and technology ("a baby's rebooted brains," "Virgil's internet").  She gives new life to the prose poem.  The Year of Yellow Butterflies is killer--not only Fuhrman's best book to date, but her most poignant.  "--Noelle Kocot

    "With the impish charm of an illusionist and the dazzling patter of a tummler in a Borscht Belt resort, Joanna Fuhrman suspends our expectations in The Year of Yellow Butterflies, sending us head over heels into zones of cosmic and technological bafflement and sudden parabolic grief....in this book full of brilliant predicaments and pleasures."—Rachel Loden
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