Zelda Fitzgerald

A work for a school assignment, which was to create a pastiche of Carol Ann Duffy's collection The World's Wife and then write an artist statement (the graded portion). The artist's statement will not be attached, because it's quite boring and I'd rather have people form their own interpretations.

Based on the title of the poem, it's probably obvious who it's at least loosely about: Zelda Fitzgerald, most well known as the wife of F. Scott Fitzgerald (and sometimes called the original flapper, apparently) but also an artist and author in her own right.

Is it a good poem? Eh. I'm proud of it, which is probably what matters most. If my literature teacher searches on the internet to make sure I didn't plagiarize anyone and finds this, this is a message to her that this is, indeed, Jasper, this poem is entirely an original work, and I am merely reuploading my work for posterity.

Without further preface, here is the poem:

Zelda Fitzgerald

Play me something fun. Let me dance in the sun stained mist
and twirl in words like waves off the edge
of Manhattan, of the Riviera, coastal, cosmopolitan, copacetic. Let me get high on bubbles,
wit, the tongues of snakes,

that snake! That talented thief! And me in his mouth: wild child, venom-bit
charmer, quarreller. En pointe, I winked at the audience, grinning, spinning
spastic sticks in the show, clad in frills, and asked,
Can you hear me? No response.

I bought myself something nice. A dress. Cloth of glittering
gold, drunk, sick man tempted to sin. Isn't it in?
Little plum skirts. Bright red feathers in my hair. Green lights. Gold
ring on my finger. Chained up

in the clinic, out again, flickering into view, then away, twitching, twirling,
tragic muse. What a picture! Spare the pity. I write
to paper dolls, lowlives, high on the dregs. Bitter girls. Broken eggs. Burn me up.
Paint the whirlwind into a snapshot. I'm already gone
on the breeze.