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6.277
4.x.25
the leisure of aspiration
ekphrastic for George Lambert’s ‘Holiday in
Essex’
smug
forever at
their moment
carefully
barefoot
game in hand
the feather
in cap
all defiance
not a chance
they’ll sit
the pony
gives a little cough
all about to
move off
in a half
dusk cloven
children of
Narnia not-quite-yet
on their way
to conquer more
the clouds
behind were once possessed
now they
cast them off
it’s as with
any empire
they’re
leaving
a landscape
of ruins behind
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3.x.25
here in the lower reaches
Gore Cove Track Series
past the
equinox
whip birds
in the dry call dusk
we gather
like leaves along to
be in and
with and by the creek
track of
sand – time
its all four
paws
calligraphy
unseen
here’s
everything the wind bent
old
intentions grown over
stone stood
through a
door of seasons
last slant
golden to the throne
steps down
into the dry bed
to get below
breezes
breath of
the harbor
city pulsing
come to
another world
just where
the tide comes in
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the elephant gets out of the room
it must
have been too much
of course
one has to wonder how
one might
ask Archimedes
how was
the elephant here to begin?
so many questions!
will a
puddle of fruit ferment?
what to do
with unflung dung?
who has
four knees?
if no one
sees was the forest felled?
how many
elephants did that take?
make
change
with a
skin this thick
swish of
the tail
comes
crashing through the billboard
who’ll say
unsee what we’ll never forget?
the
elephant’s brown shirt, the jackboots
all of this larger than life
imagine a stampede to follow
you can tell
where the elephant’s been
11.
The
two-page (one opening) slow burn tough it out method
You need a big book of blank pages for this. One of those
roughly 30cm x 20cm jobs. I think this is essential equipment for a poet in any
case. The busy book! No matter how much
you may rely on screens for the making (and certainly the finishing) of poems,
I think it’s important to stay in touch with ‘old school’ writing – with pen or
pencil or paint or burnt stick. Doing this helps to keep your point of origin
in poetry real (as opposed to virtual), anchored in the sensate experience of
arriving on a piece of paper of some kind, the kind that functions through the longest
outage. After all, on paper is where most of us want our finished efforts to
arrive most of the time (blogs and e-zines notwithstanding). Of course things
may be very different for succeeding generations.
littera scripta manet !
For this exercise, what I’m suggesting is using the facing (initially
blank) pages of your notebook to let two distinct ideas or images or questions
or assertions battle it out, or cosy up, as the case may be.
Your blank page is a canvas. Your work, in gathering (as
opposed to drafting, which comes later) is to fill the canvas with – to the greatest
extent possible – IMAGERY! It’s show first and let what you show do the telling!
So, going back to your stock of titles, first lines and last
lines (and/or building on them now), head up each of your facing pages with a
very different idea or image.
Over a few days, allow notes to accumulate under each
heading, without any initial thought of the relation of what’s on one page to
what’s on the other. Scratch down what is relevant when it comes to you. Don’t
push it, but keep the heading line in the back of your head. Just collect. When
you get an idea or image that absolutely doesn’t fit the brief, test it for the
possibility of the long poetic leap and if it fails the test, then that’s a
heading for your next page in the book.
(Once you get into the habit of letting what doesn’t fit
spill on to a next page, you will be amazed at how usefully suggestive that can
be for the next day.)
But back to our two facing pages.
Once you’ve done enough collecting on each page, make with
the arrows! I mean start drawing lines to see what might connect with what and
also to see what order things might go in. Keep an open mind. What you thought
of as beginning might actually be an ending or vice versa.
Do this on each page separately to begin, and then try to
draw some arrows over the gutter between the pages, always bearing in mind that
you might really have two separate poems, and there’s no need to connect them.
But trying to can take things in an interesting and
unexpected direction, much in the way material from a dream, if remembered, can
take your thinking in an entirely new different direction. (But perhaps we’ll
save that one for a later exercise!)
Once you’ve drawn all your arrows it’s time to start
drafting – either on a fresh sheet of paper, a page in another book (for the
purpose!). Or on the screen by means of keyboard. Or by voice recognition, to
get the sound of what you’re drafting or through writing recognition to screen.
Varying the mode of making is an excellent way to test if what you’re making
works! (In the days of the manual typewriter, I would frequently go back and
forth with drafts from handwritten to typewritten a number of times. I think we’ve
got much more efficient and fun ways to go now… But whatever modes of
production you use, often what you’ve made doesn’t work! It doesn’t satisfy you. You don’t believe in
it! What’s that thing Beckett says – try again, fail better! Or James Joyce – ‘A man of genius makes no
mistakes. His errors are volitional and are the portals of discovery’. It all depends how you look at it!
But when you feel that what you’ve done hasn’t worked, that’s
when you give it a break (and come back later) or make something entirely new
from scratch. Or paint a picture, draw, have a hack at the piano, torture a
guitar, go for a walk, play ping pong. Just keep the old pile around at least for a
while (skip the wastepaper basket shooting with the ball of paper cliché … that’s
strictly for novelists and playwrights).
This method may not lead to a poem initially (it may not
ever lead to a poem)… but you’ll never know unless you give it a go.
