I watch the ripples change their size
But never leave the stream
Of warm impermanence
And so the days float through my eyes
But still the days seem the same
And these children that you spit on
As they try to change their worlds
Are immune to your consultations
They're quite aware of what they're goin' through

Monday, July 7, 2008

Poetry Writing TMI

All around fabutronic Sheila asked how I write poetry in the comment thread of a previous entry. My response went on so long (see comment about over description in previous thread) I thought it should be it's own post.

How do I write poetry? Well, I feel like I'm bragging here, but unless the poem is very long (like this "Death Magic" poem I keep going back to, "Down below the grindylow...") the first round of edits is all in my head (even for this long one I ran through the individual stanzas in my head a few times before writing them down). A few poems I catch lines out of the air, and I won't get the next line until I write down the line I have (the Muse is a harsh mistress sometimes). But most of them, I hold it all in the gray cells. Mostly because they come at the worse times. Like when I'm driving, or in the shower, or somewhere where I can't write it down.

I then repeat them over and over to myself, to help me remember until I can write it all down. While repeating it, I'll find internal rhymes and rhythms to punch it up a little. I'll try image substitution.

"What the Sea Sends" was written twice in my head before I could write it down. Once it was down it changed substantially (was about a woman in a widow's watch room, looking at the sea, ended up being more about the sea, and the single woman was replaced by sea crones, and they were dancing on the waves instead of in the room). It came to me while I was driving to get an oil change. Once I had my car logged in I could write it down. Then I immediately rewrote it, as in not even pause to reread what I had written. Then I rewrote the first stanza (3 stanzas). And then the image of the sea crones dancing came, and I rewrote the second stanza to include them. Then the image of green sea glass eyes came and I rewrote the first stanza and completely dropped the widows watch. And at last I rewrote the third stanza to mirror the first, with about half the beats as the first for drama.

Then it was time to drive home, and I worked out rewriting the second stanza to make it more "magical" and give purpose to the crones. And just as I pulled into home, go the image of "sheets to the wind" and "widows reeds blowing" for the second stanza. Then that night I rewrote the second stanza again, several times to get that image to work right and fit with rhymes and rhythms.

Then I went over the poem about three more times, checking every word.

Now, this was fast. About four hours and I had it done, or what I felt was done. I read it to the SF/F Poetry critique group, and they made some suggestions (and I had the only contentious point of the night, some people loved the "sheets to the wind" some hated it, argument ensued). If Andromeda doesn't buy it (or if they ask for revisions) I have some notes on what I want to change (not big changes, mostly to the third stanza to tighten it up).

Most poems I'll reread and edit on different days from when I write it. The haiku I sent to Diet Soap was written in an afternoon, and then rewritten in another afternoon. Not much time for either (although the first day did take some time to get it all right, but I screwed up the syllable count).

3 comments:

Camille Alexa said...

My Texas twang can totally screw my syllabic counting! I often think words have two syllables, like the word 'girl.'

(gir-rul)

Anonymous said...

Who's fabutronic? You are! Especially for being able to hold entire stanzas in your grey cells and be able to revise them before even putting them on paper. You can do mental gymnastics, and you are no slave to the page.

I am amazed at people who can write poetry and have it published.

For me (and perhaps other people who do not write fiction?), poetry is a mode of last resort. When there is no way to logically explain something in an essay, or when I feel a vague emotion that I cannot name, that is when I resort to poetry. In my mind, it is rather like what Rene Magritte said about the mystery of life: "That, you cannot represent. You can only evoke."

Steve Buchheit said...

Camille, yeah, I do that sometimes. I still can't pronounce some words correctly, and that's how I do the syllable count.

Sheila, no, you are! I guess I shouldn't say that for some of the poems I write, I can cite from memory. The first poem I think I got to publishable stage I can still recite (and that was, what 20 years ago, more?). I still haven't been published for the poetry, but since I've been writing it again (instead of just impressing people at parties) I've noticed my fiction is better (thanks, Camille). I've also gotten farther with the poems than with my fiction.

And yes, poetry can tell those things that prose can not.