4 posts tagged “poetry”

Edwardbrook_final_thumb

It's getting closer.

As with most writers I know, the first draft of my composition is usually quite unlike the final version. For the sake of writing something that is not poetry, I decided to go through the process of thought when it comes to original indent and revision.

During my year of writing (where I wrote something new every day for a year), I came up with 365 shells that I have yet to do much with. It turns out to be a very tedious process due to a few factors.

A. I don't always remember what I was writing about.
I tend to write in a rather cryptic way that is open to interpretation more so than usual. Each revision further develops the speech in the poem and allows me to make new connections to what it is I'm trying to say. As time passes, I easily forget what I was thinking of that day and then have to draw new conclusions, which tends to be more frustrating than fun.

B. There is a lot to work with, not a lot I particularly care for
Having a few lines that one really likes in a piece followed or preceded by a lot of nonsense can be, in itself, overwhelming. Now I have a massive amount of work to look at and then sift through lines I like versus ideas I like versus poems that I like. Huge differences between all of them. I have recently been looking through that year long writing sessions as I complete new pieces simply because I haven't really found a voice in the old works but think they may shed a certain light on new poems that they couldn't on their own.

C. I've grown as a writer
This stems off of the former problem. The way I look at my poetry has changed greatly from the way I did even six months ago, let alone (now) two years ago. Looking through the material, I more often than not find those ideas that I like instead of full lines or poems. I'm still inspired by a lot of the same things, but I tend not to compose them in the same way.

Now using a piece that I recently completed, I'll work my way through what happened.

In its first carnation, it had the title "Left" in reference to what is shed after a phoenix-esque rebirth.

"All but truer words", I said,
ceiling out to twice my
height in a graze of
neighbor's feet.

"All but pure sayings in this
pitch white terrain - player
card, pawn, bishop...
fair game."

We're coating our throats,
black coffee, talking of which
language we best dream in
versus that which we now speak in.

We're breaking bread,
even-faced, joking about how
man could never be
man's best friend.

So mid-winter carries on,
blue but bright, and we recall
why it's so important to be able
to forget.

So early spring wakes itself,
and we remember why we
can only calm children of
our own.

"My friend, dear and sweet,
all but the truest of words."

There was a lot I liked about the first version, and just as much (if not more) that I didn't care for. I wanted to convey a sense of time, and the fact that there was conversation.

A little history:

1. I had the words "cranberry tart" in a few different poem shells because of an obsession with cranberry juice (had one every Monday) last year during my Poe seminar.
2. The line about speaking versus dreaming, that came from a talk I had while getting my hair cut with a woman who spoke five languages. She mentioned how she only dreamed in her native tongue, regardless of the other speech she has come to understand.
3. After hearing a Pinksy reading, I really wanted to make a brief comment about the past and forgetting it, and the "children" part was branching off of the "forgetting," but it is unneeded. That issue was resolved in the final version.

“All but truer words”, I said,
ceiling out to twice my
height in a graze of
neighbor’s feet.

“All but pure sayings in this
pitch white, player card terrain.”

We're coating our throats,
(black coffee, cranberry tart)
talking of languages we dream in
versus those we speak in.

We're breaking bread,
even-faced, joking about how
man could never be
man's best friend.

we recall
why it's so important to be able
to forget.

and why we
can only calm children of
our own.

So chisel again, I do. (I should note that these "chiseling" sessions last anywhere from two to twenty-five minutes. I never look at something too long simply because I get really annoyed with myself and my bad habits.)

So here I am, now a month later and I think I'm finished. The title ended up being Paralytic Lids, which came from a poem also penned during that Poe seminar (it was inspiring, not boring, I swear) in reference to what little sleep I was getting during that time and how rarely I would be passed out enough to dream. While it carries a different meaning with this poem, it carries a new connection with what the piece is.

A few of the other changes were to help it match other pieces in my coming book, The Soft Side of an Iron Gag, which felt like it was missing a little something towards the end. I'm not sure if it is complete now, but that will be decided later on.

The poem still bases itself in conversation, but it speaks more to a few issues that my book brings up. The repetition of starting brings up a different look at time, and the ending deals with the way people communicate.

The second to last version.

Paralytic Lids

“All but truer words”, I started,
ceiling out to twice my
height in a graze of
neighbor’s feet.

“All but pure sayings in this
pitch white, player card terrain.”

It was as if we were coating our throats,
black coffee or cranberry tart, with talks of
language - how we dream, where we
speak.

And then, borderline-sudden,
we're breaking bread, even-faced,
joking about how man could never be
man's best friend.

So I started.

"If I were to recall, here of all
places, now of all times, why it's so
important to be able to forget...

or should I let my chords, like
stubborn cloth, tear 'mongt uneven
responses to reason and design...

then truly,
this gag has outgrown
intention's simple purse."

Now, this has gone through far less revision over a much longer amount of time (it is usually the opposite), so it may not have been the best poem to showcase in this blog post...but I think using something that did not have as many edits to it will condense this down to a fairly more cohesive post. Who knows.

Paralytic Linguist

“All but truer words,” I started,
ceiling out to twice my
height in a graze of
neighbor’s feet,

“All but pure sayings in this
pitch white, player card terrain.”

As if coating our throats,
black coffee, or cranberry tart,
deep in conversations of our
dreaming tongues,

we broke bread, even-faced,
and joked about how man
could simply never be man’s
best friend.

So I started –

“If I were to recall, here of all
places, now of all times, why it’s so
important to be able to forget...

or should I let my chords, like
stubborn cloth, tear ‘mongst uneven
responses to reason and design...

then truly,
our hesperian heirs
have outgrown their
coming thrones.

Truly, our language should
be left for dead.”

Well, for the past few months I have been compiling, writing, re-writing, editing, re-re-writing, and assembling two books of poetry. I hope both of them will be done this year, but would suffice with only one.

The past few days featured two new events for me.

1. Getting a flat tire
2. Doing a poetry reading.

Both were really exciting.

I got the flat tire in Framingham while picking up Kristen from a meeting. No explosions or anything, just found my steering to be off. I got it changed in about fifteen minutes, and is probably the most manly thing I've done in ages.

The second just happened Wednesday. Yuill told me about a poetry reading happening that day, and I got a couple of pieces together last minute to do it. Totally worth it, totally a good time.

I ended up going second to last because it was in alphabetical order (good thing I didn't go last, that cat was really good).

Poems read

But yeah, almost everything I read was still in first draft mode because I have yet to look at them since my year-long writing adventure, but I'm still pleased. I think I'm going to start looking for more readings to do as I revise my work...it was the most fun I've had in a long time. On top of that, when asked for feedback, Yuill gave me a "Dude, you stole that reading. The work was really strong. I'm glad I mentioned it to you." Wicked yes.

They got it on video, so I'll be excited to see how many words I stumbled over.

In other news:

Cathy (a baker who comes by every morning for a Venti black) brought cookies and cupcakes with her as a "thank you," and they are damn amazing.

A fan-video of Bloodbath performing "Eaten" at Wacken has made its way online, finally. The performance was supposed to be released on DVD (seeing as it is the only performance they have ever done, and the only one they will ever do with Mike from Opeth on vocals.

I was a bit nervous about Mike doing the Nightmares Made Flesh songs, just because Peter (from Hypocrisy) has such a high range...but he does a fantastic job. Very brutal.

Hopefully that DVD will see the light of day soon. It's seems so very promising.