1. Sit at desk.
-open notebook
-think of something to write, nothing comes
-free write, decide it's crap
-surf internet
2. Get serious.
-get frustrated with myself, turn off internet
-start writing again, feel something bite
-continue on vein, write more, got it!
-write twenty, thirty lines, variations in notebook
-open Word, transfer from notebook
-compose and finish poem about half an hour to an hour later
3. Read it.
-oh crap, this is not that good
-think about what poets I'm writing like
-consult poets, read similar poems, get ideas
-revise a little, start new stanzas
-decide whether to continue or set my computer on fire
4a. I like it!
- let's read it to someone, probably Valerie!
- put it up on my blog!
- eat some ice cream or baked good as reward!
- declare myself Poet Laureate of My Apartment
4b. I hates it!
- decide I suck at this poetry crap
- ask myself: Who am I fooling? I write sentimental tripe.
- think of other poems I wrote that I hate
- question everything, go watch something mindless, play some video games, pout
5. Revise.
- uh oh, this poem is just a baby, it needs to get growed up
- uh oh, this poem needs some major surgery
- uh oh, I was dead wrong, this poem sucks
- uh oh, Dr. Frankenstein, watch out, I am the master re-animator!
This is my process. And now I'm just on this rollercoaster feeling every old poem I dig up. I wrote something new today instead of just editing. So there. And I don't know yet what I think about it. We'll see if it's 4a or 4b.
Because I Have Nothing to Comfort You, I Talk of U-Boats
How the ocean is just another sky,
and every school of fish is a cloud.
I say those Germans launched a thousand subs,
blind sharks sniffing for British blood.
I know what you want me to say,
but I don’t have it to say.
We have to break bread for the service,
your family is on the brink,
I can’t give you words I never found for mine.
Let’s talk of sailors. Of ships breaking like whales,
how pointless to try to read the water
but how so many did. How small a destroyer felt.
You can’t know me, kid.
My easy smile and wide shoulders are not confidence
but weapons. I have no beatitudes.
The flesh of Christ as familiar as paper in your fingers,
why don’t you ask Him why
you’re sixteen and riding trains beneath the water
to get here alone to save strangers?
We’re not even to the blood
when I skirt the real question again,
tell you how the Eastern seaboard dreamed together
of iron ghosts ringing their shores,
finding the water betrayed them by being so passable,
neither fear, nor loyalty, no kind of strength building
a barrier between them and the inevitable.
Our contingency was to escape to the interior,
lose a little to be more defensible.
Because I Have Nothing to Comfort You, I Talk of U-Boats
How the ocean is just another sky,
and every school of fish is a cloud.
I say those Germans launched a thousand subs,
blind sharks sniffing for British blood.
I know what you want me to say,
but I don’t have it to say.
We have to break bread for the service,
your family is on the brink,
I can’t give you words I never found for mine.
Let’s talk of sailors. Of ships breaking like whales,
how pointless to try to read the water
but how so many did. How small a destroyer felt.
You can’t know me, kid.
My easy smile and wide shoulders are not confidence
but weapons. I have no beatitudes.
The flesh of Christ as familiar as paper in your fingers,
why don’t you ask Him why
you’re sixteen and riding trains beneath the water
to get here alone to save strangers?
We’re not even to the blood
when I skirt the real question again,
tell you how the Eastern seaboard dreamed together
of iron ghosts ringing their shores,
finding the water betrayed them by being so passable,
neither fear, nor loyalty, no kind of strength building
a barrier between them and the inevitable.
Our contingency was to escape to the interior,
lose a little to be more defensible.
Remember when I named you the Poet Laureate of my freakin heart? I mean, I don't even get what the big deal is about that title if we can just hand it out like that.
ReplyDeleteJames, I think I just put you in 4b. Sorry.
ReplyDeleteVal, there is a sudden opening in 4a...
I was watching inside the actor's studio and someone said that the most common mistake an actor makes is in wanting to badly for his audience to survive the journey of the film and character, so to insure that the audience comes along, he indicates. A good point there.
I don't think short people can be successful. Tell Jeff. For proof show him pictures of Dr. J.
P.S.-I always spell "proof" p-r-o-f-f the first time I try it.
P.P.S-I am not sure if I write "P.S." grammatically correct.
P.P.S part 2-It's two in the morning. Greetings. From the FUTURE.
I think each step of my writing process includes "surf the web." Does the poetry manuscript consist solely of your poems? If so, then I'll buy it in a heartbeat.
ReplyDeleteP.S. I like that you wrote about U-Boats because that word comes from German's "U-Boot." U stand for unter. FYI.
Valerie,
ReplyDeleteWell, the title of Poet Laureate isn't just handed out. There's a process for the U.S. one and there's a process for the Laureate of our apartment.
I meet with all our stuffed animals and they vote. And unanimously, they have voted me in. Time and time again.
Jesse, you're my 4b.
Sarah, I did not know that. I love it. I love our wonderful Germanic based language.