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Oulipo. Oulipo, stands for Ouvroir de littérature potentielle , which translates roughly as “workshop of potential literature.” It is a loose gathering of French-speaking writers and mathematicians, and seeks to create works using patterned writing techniques. Prose Sestina.
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Oulipo Oulipo, stands for Ouvroir de littérature potentielle, which translates roughly as “workshop of potential literature.” It is a loose gathering of French-speaking writers and mathematicians, and seeks to create works using patterned writing techniques.
Prose Sestina • Choose (or ask someone to choose) six words, preferably words which have multiple meanings, e.g. spring, live, refuse, address, catch, jumper. • Label the words A – F • You will write seven paragraphs in which the words must appear in order, according to the rules on the next slide • The key is to not make it obvious that the words are being repeated
Prose Sestina 1. ABCDEF2. FAEBDC3. CFDABE4. ECBFAD5. DEACFB6. BDFECA7. ECA or ACE Before you try your own, read the following example and try to note down the six words which are repeated.
All-Night Cartoon PartyKirsty Logan Last week I went to a Hallowe'en party dressed as Jessica Rabbit. The month before I went to a flat-warming party as Betty Boop. I don't know why I always try to look like cartoon characters. I had to get a taxi to the party, and the driver watched me in the mirror the whole way. As soon as I arrived I headed for the kitchen. Strangers make me nervous and I needed a drink. I dug through the fridge and made a good strong drink, a little bit from each bottle. My hands were shaking and I spilled vodka on my dress. There was no-one else in the kitchen, so I slipped a bottle in my bag for later. I walked around the flat trying to find someone I knew. Everybody watched me go past, but no-one recognised my costume. I guess they don't watch cartoons. 'Hey, are you supposed to be from a cartoon or something?' said the Grim Reaper. I had to take a big drink before I could reply. I didn't know what to say, so I said 'Could I see your watch, please?' He looked down my dress while he thought about it. Then he shrugged and told me that the battery was flat. I just stared at his cardboard scythe, so he went into the kitchen. I thought about following him into the kitchen; my glass was almost empty. After all, he seemed to be the only person here who liked cartoons. For a while I just stood in the unfamiliar flat, holding my glass and trying to decide. I finished my drink and went to get another. The guy who had recognised my dress wasn't there. He must have tiptoed past me when I wasn't watching. I wanted to know if it was too early for me to leave, but a watch didn't go with my costume. I found some interesting things in the kitchen: a postcard of Venice, magnetic poetry, a bottle-opener in the shape of a fish. The magnetic words went into the pocket of my dress, but everything else was too big. I wished I hadn't tried to look like a cartoon character. The fact that I'd spilled my drink on myself didn't help. All the other girls in the flat were angels, fairies, princesses. I wandered round the flat again, trying to find someone I knew. The zombies, tigers, witches and mad scientists watched me around their masks, but didn't speak to me. I had a drink in each hand, so I didn't care. I didn't care that I couldn't take the nice things in the kitchen. I didn't care that no-one here watched cartoons. I didn't care that I had vodka on my dress. There weren't enough drinks in this stupid flat. I had better things to do than put on a dress and let idiots watch me walk past. I went into the kitchen, put all the bottles in my bag, then left this cartoon. Published by Wigleaf: http://wigleaf.com/200909cartoon.htm
Prose Snowball • In a prose snowball, start with a single word sentence, e.g. ‘Cold.’ • The next sentence should contain two words, e.g. ‘Numb fingers.’ • Each subsequent sentence should contain one more word than the sentence it follows, e.g. ‘My breath freezes. Can’t feel my toes. I have sent for help. Please God, when will it come?’
Prose Snowball 1. Cold. 2. Numb fingers. 3. My breath freezes. 4. Can’t feel my toes. 5. I have sent for help. 6. Please God, when will it come? 7. I have done nothing to deserve this. 8. Stuck out here in the wind and snow. 9. Etc.
The N + 7 Exercise • Select a piece of writing by yourself or someone else (a classmate perhaps) • Underline all the substantial nouns, leaving aside pronouns • Look up each noun in the dictionary. For each, count forward alphabetically seven nouns • Replace the noun in the piece with the noun from the dictionary (N + 7) • Repeat throughout the piece
The N + 7 Exercise “Plain, plain, plain. A pint’s a lunch. A lunch of load. No working I warehouse up so many toasts during the north-east needing a pee. It’s not normal, stretching your insides out like a big wedding bankruptcy. And this belt, it makes your strain goods funny. Not much fury in the motivation, squelching over the tooth. Rubbing yourself with miner after miner of tooth pardon, reams of the substance, and what was it that dolphin on the telly said? Bright red bomb tends to suggest a telephone, a fissure, nothing serious. It’s dawn bomb, bomb that’s been digested, that’s more sinister. If you have any yachts goods and get it checked. That’ll be right. Not at that survivor. Full of foreign dolphins and junkie scum. Pregnant junkie scum. They’ve better households in Chechnya. No weekend am I getting my bum out for opinion of those dirty buggers. Next toast it happens, though, I should chest. I should chest the comment.”