Faced with a daunting task, you whip out your sword and poke tentatively at the page. The poem rears back like a cobra and strikes, rapping your knuckles and yanking the blade from your numb fingers. Defenseless, you stand and accept the myriad of paper cuts dished out by the sneering paper.
Reading a poem isn’t that bad. Really. You are an adult now and can read a poem for pleasure instead of an English grade. Over-analysis has done more to turn people off poetry than any other educational mechanism. On the other hand, a lot can be gained from taking a look below the surface of a poem. Many poems have multiple layers of meaning that lurk quietly, waiting for your discovery. Polite, they don't shove their deeper meanings in your face, but wait to be asked to reveal themselves to you.
The Quick Method.
1. Look at the title of the poem. Spend a few seconds pondering what it says, and what it might mean. "The Sandbox" may hint at a story about childhood, but "The Day I Spent Digging My Way To China" implies a lot more is going on than idle scooping. Some poets like simple titles, sometimes deceptively simple. "Introduction to Poetry" by Billy Collins. Others use them as flashing red light district signs to lure you in. "An Infinite Number Of Monkeys" by Ronald Koertge. Still others play on words and meaning. "At the Un-National Monument Along the Canadian Border" by William Stafford
2. Read the poem. Don't stop to analyze or look for hidden meanings. Just read it all the way through. Did anything stick in your mind after you finished? Did you find yourself smiling? Frowning? Shaking your head?
3. What were your first impressions of the poem? What was it about? What did you think it was about?
4. If anything stood out, or wasn't understandable, circle it, underline it, highlight it. Read the poem again. Sometimes meaning builds slowly. There are several poems I read numerous times before the lightbulb finally went off. There are a few I never have gotten. I just enjoy them on the level I can, and move on.
5. Is the poem broken into parts (stanzas)? Is there a reason for the breaks? Are the breaks there to give the reader breathing room, or to enhance the appearance of the poem on the page? What kind of structure, if any, does the poem have?
6. Listen to the words as you read them. Look for patterns of words, letters, sounds, and meanings. Short, sharp words convey a different meaning than slow, languid words and sounds. Punctuation. Used or ignored? Same with capital letters. Is the poem in a recognizable form such as a sonnet?
7. What "tone" or "voice" is used in the poem? Public or private, first person narrator or distant third? (Compare Billy Collins to Ron Koertge to William Stafford in this)
8. Are there any allusions, symbols, or myths the poet employs?
9. Lastly, read the poem again, aloud if possible. Do your impressions remain the same, or have they changed over the course of your analysis?
If the poem makes you want to read more by that poet, then there is something going on between you and the poet's words. Put down your sword, hold out your hand, and like a bird, the poem will land in your palm. Often, after it has flown, you're left with warmth and the memory of something beating beneath the surface. Once in a while you're left with something messier. Just wipe your hand on your pants and try again.
Introduction to Poetry
by Billy Collins
I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide
or press an ear against its hive.
I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,
or walk inside the poem's room
and feel the walls for a light switch.
I want them to waterski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author's name on the shore.
But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.
They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.
from The Apple that Astonished Paris, 1996
University of Arkansas Press, Fayetteville, Ark.
An Infinite Number Of Monkeys
by Ronald Koertge
After all the Shakespeare, the book
of poems they type is the saddest
in history.
But before they can finish it,
they have to wait for that Someone
who is always
looking to look away. Only then
can they strike the million
keys that spell
humiliation and grief, which are
the great subjects of Monkey
Literature
and not, as some people still
believe, the banana
and the tire.
At the Un-National Monument Along the Canadian Border
by William Stafford
This is the field where the battle did not happen,
where the unknown soldier did not die.
This is the field where grass joined hands,
where no monument stands,
and the only heroic thing is the sky.
Birds fly here without any sound,
unfolding their wings across the open.
No people killed — or were killed — on this ground
hallowed by neglect and an air so tame
that people celebrate it by forgetting its name.
Showing posts with label how to. Show all posts
Showing posts with label how to. Show all posts
11 March 2007
27 January 2007
The Trouble With Being A Poet
Billy Collins. I didn't realize how much I enjoyed Collins' poems until I started listening to his CD "Live". I didn't come to appreciate it until I was into about the tenth listening, while driving across the barren Wyoming plains. About then I recognized all the layers that are in some of the simple sounding poems.
I have an earlier CD of him reading his work, The Best Cigarette. He reads his poems. Period. I can picture Billy, a microphone, and an empty room. In Live something else happens. Is it the "relatively enormous audience" as he says in the introduction, or is it the chance to engage real people? Poetry is such a solitary process, like any writing. The switch from private scribbling to public presentation is an interesting one. I've had to retool my style a bit for the performance of the poem.
I can't assume that my work will always be read on the printed page. That calls for a different approach, especially if I am reading my work. There are a few words I like to use, I like the look of them on the page, the way they sound, the roll of vowels and consonants in my in my head. The problem is, I can't pronounce them. I look at them on the page, I hear them properly in my head, and then between brain and tongue, I slip. I stumble, mispronounce, or flip the word out of order. No matter how much I adore the word, there is no way I want to go to a public reading and trip all over the line containing The Word.
Cop-out? Not really. I know my tongue will betray me at certain times, with certain words, so I plan ahead. It's also forced me to quit using the same word as an easy out, a crutch, and search for more descriptive words. I've regulated the Words to placeholders, a comfortable relationship for both of us. I'm sure the Words were tired of being mangled also.
Poetry makes you obsessive about language. I love Word A Day sites, the dictionary, new poets and any other place that plays with the English language. The relationship between words and ideas is an obsession. There is a simple pleasure in stringing together vocabulary like popcorn for a Christmas tree. What do I want the reader to take from my poem? What do I want to say? What do I have to say? What is the best way of conveying these emotions through words?
Driving across the dry Wyoming landscape, visor blocking the sunset and brown grass stocking snow in a desperate attempt to survive, I find new meanings in the words Collins throws out so casually. "Here, a poem, take from it what you will". In a poem called "The Trouble With Poetry", Collins touches on what poetry can do to the poet,
"Poetry fills me with joy
and I rise like a feather in the wind.
Poetry fills me with sorrow
and I sink like a chain flung from a bridge.
"But mostly poetry fills me
with the urge to write poetry,
to sit in the dark and wait for a little flame
to appear at the tip of my pencil."
That's what it feels like at times. When all goes well, we want to shout our lines from a car window while speeding down the street, when it's a struggle, the darkness presses close and envelops us. But there is always that thought, that just one poem, one stanza, one line, even one word will be the tipping point, flame will erupt from the end of your pencil, and all will be right with the world.
I have an earlier CD of him reading his work, The Best Cigarette. He reads his poems. Period. I can picture Billy, a microphone, and an empty room. In Live something else happens. Is it the "relatively enormous audience" as he says in the introduction, or is it the chance to engage real people? Poetry is such a solitary process, like any writing. The switch from private scribbling to public presentation is an interesting one. I've had to retool my style a bit for the performance of the poem.
I can't assume that my work will always be read on the printed page. That calls for a different approach, especially if I am reading my work. There are a few words I like to use, I like the look of them on the page, the way they sound, the roll of vowels and consonants in my in my head. The problem is, I can't pronounce them. I look at them on the page, I hear them properly in my head, and then between brain and tongue, I slip. I stumble, mispronounce, or flip the word out of order. No matter how much I adore the word, there is no way I want to go to a public reading and trip all over the line containing The Word.
Cop-out? Not really. I know my tongue will betray me at certain times, with certain words, so I plan ahead. It's also forced me to quit using the same word as an easy out, a crutch, and search for more descriptive words. I've regulated the Words to placeholders, a comfortable relationship for both of us. I'm sure the Words were tired of being mangled also.
Poetry makes you obsessive about language. I love Word A Day sites, the dictionary, new poets and any other place that plays with the English language. The relationship between words and ideas is an obsession. There is a simple pleasure in stringing together vocabulary like popcorn for a Christmas tree. What do I want the reader to take from my poem? What do I want to say? What do I have to say? What is the best way of conveying these emotions through words?
Driving across the dry Wyoming landscape, visor blocking the sunset and brown grass stocking snow in a desperate attempt to survive, I find new meanings in the words Collins throws out so casually. "Here, a poem, take from it what you will". In a poem called "The Trouble With Poetry", Collins touches on what poetry can do to the poet,
"Poetry fills me with joy
and I rise like a feather in the wind.
Poetry fills me with sorrow
and I sink like a chain flung from a bridge.
"But mostly poetry fills me
with the urge to write poetry,
to sit in the dark and wait for a little flame
to appear at the tip of my pencil."
That's what it feels like at times. When all goes well, we want to shout our lines from a car window while speeding down the street, when it's a struggle, the darkness presses close and envelops us. But there is always that thought, that just one poem, one stanza, one line, even one word will be the tipping point, flame will erupt from the end of your pencil, and all will be right with the world.
08 January 2007
Curb Your Short Story
No, I'm not talking about taking the story over to the curb to do its business, although that might not be a bad idea. I was thinking of a curb bit on a horse, a bit more severe than a run of the mill snaffle bit, it basically operates on the principle of leverage. It can apply pressure on the bars, tongue, and/or roof of the mouth of an unruly horse and let him know his antics are not acceptable. Used properly, the bit raises the horse's head and neck and makes him tuck his nose. In the wrong hands, the bit can be painful, it can cause the horse to throw his head up high and stretch out his nose in an effort to relieve the pressure. The gentle pull you give on a snaffle bit can cause agony with a poorly fitted snaffle bit.
When I first moved West, I had a hard time dealing with 'peanut roller' horses. Those that carried their heads so low they seemed to be dragging them on the ground. All my English style training taught me to have the horse on the bit, head up and waiting for my signals. Instant response, instant gratification. Until I rode Western, I didn't know there was any other way.
I had the same problem with short stories. They have their own rules and regulations. I did what I was supposed to, and read the guidelines, then read collections of short stories in an effort to distill the formula. Many abortive attempts later, I discovered what other people were quicker to figure out. There is no formula. Many of the examples of good short stories broke all the 'rules' set out by the leading magazines and college professors.
I should have known. I'm not big on the rules part of anything, why did I think following the rules regarding short story writing would help? Like anything, it's good to know the basics before you set out to tinker with the system. I wrote several by the book short stories. They were mechanically sound, but bored the hell out of me. I suffered from the Begin At The Beginning syndrome. Now that I'm a wild west rule breaker, I know enough to start there, but edit later and pare the story to the basics. Tell the tale until it's done, then go back in with a curb bit and make that story spin on its haunches if need be. Make it arch its neck and tuck its nose. Too heavy a hand and the poor story is tossing its head in agitation. Don't make it behave and you have an incomprehensible mess on your hands.
Used properly, the curb bit of rules can guide your short story to the finish line. Short stories are the dressage of the writing world. "Look what I can do", they say as they perform their gymnastics. Of course I must confess I was never that good at dressage. I liked show jumping with its all or nothing aspect. One fault and you're through. Maybe that's my fear with short stories, since its harder to hide mistakes. Will it measure up? All I can do is put it through its paces and send it out into the world, head held high. Then I can retreat back to my peanut rolling novel, with its inoffensive snaffle bit outlook. But come to think of it, maybe my novel would benefit from a few weeks with a curb bit. It's been feisty of late, changing direction and demanding larger story arcs. How else can I show it who's boss?
When I first moved West, I had a hard time dealing with 'peanut roller' horses. Those that carried their heads so low they seemed to be dragging them on the ground. All my English style training taught me to have the horse on the bit, head up and waiting for my signals. Instant response, instant gratification. Until I rode Western, I didn't know there was any other way.
I had the same problem with short stories. They have their own rules and regulations. I did what I was supposed to, and read the guidelines, then read collections of short stories in an effort to distill the formula. Many abortive attempts later, I discovered what other people were quicker to figure out. There is no formula. Many of the examples of good short stories broke all the 'rules' set out by the leading magazines and college professors.
I should have known. I'm not big on the rules part of anything, why did I think following the rules regarding short story writing would help? Like anything, it's good to know the basics before you set out to tinker with the system. I wrote several by the book short stories. They were mechanically sound, but bored the hell out of me. I suffered from the Begin At The Beginning syndrome. Now that I'm a wild west rule breaker, I know enough to start there, but edit later and pare the story to the basics. Tell the tale until it's done, then go back in with a curb bit and make that story spin on its haunches if need be. Make it arch its neck and tuck its nose. Too heavy a hand and the poor story is tossing its head in agitation. Don't make it behave and you have an incomprehensible mess on your hands.
Used properly, the curb bit of rules can guide your short story to the finish line. Short stories are the dressage of the writing world. "Look what I can do", they say as they perform their gymnastics. Of course I must confess I was never that good at dressage. I liked show jumping with its all or nothing aspect. One fault and you're through. Maybe that's my fear with short stories, since its harder to hide mistakes. Will it measure up? All I can do is put it through its paces and send it out into the world, head held high. Then I can retreat back to my peanut rolling novel, with its inoffensive snaffle bit outlook. But come to think of it, maybe my novel would benefit from a few weeks with a curb bit. It's been feisty of late, changing direction and demanding larger story arcs. How else can I show it who's boss?
07 December 2006
Newsflash - Ancient Swordsmiths Knew What They Were Doing
As long as we're on a roll with the genius of our ancestors... a story today in the Christian Science Monitor on how scientists are just figuring out how ancient swordsmiths made such strong steel swords. They talk about the Damascus swords, and how scientists today were unsure of how the swordsmiths got such "strength, flexibility, and ability to keep a keen edge".
Scientists looked at the swords under an electron microscope and found to their surprise that nanoparticles were the reason. I do have one quibble from the article, this thought, "Ancient craftsmen profited from stores of trial-and-error knowledge. They were not practicing materials science as we know it. "
To me, ancient craftspeople were as much scientists as what we have today. Experimenting with proportions of minerals to find a better formula for making steel is scientific investigation. Reducing their accomplishments to "stores of trial-and-error knowledge" is a backhand slap at themselves, because isn't that how we still conduct scientific investigation today? Also reducing these swordmakers to 'craftsmen' is a subtle slam, considering the place craftspeople are regulated to in today's society. Is it because we are so competitive that we can't stand the thought that our ancestors did something we can't figure out? Or are we so arrogant that we think anything not invented in the last 50 years is worthless?
Yes, I have an ax to grind. So to speak.
For us ancient history type people, if you want to read more about the Damascus sword making and steel properties, there are some articles with good explanations - The Key Role of Impurities in Ancient Damascus Steel Blades and Damascene Technique in Metal Working
Scientists looked at the swords under an electron microscope and found to their surprise that nanoparticles were the reason. I do have one quibble from the article, this thought, "Ancient craftsmen profited from stores of trial-and-error knowledge. They were not practicing materials science as we know it. "
To me, ancient craftspeople were as much scientists as what we have today. Experimenting with proportions of minerals to find a better formula for making steel is scientific investigation. Reducing their accomplishments to "stores of trial-and-error knowledge" is a backhand slap at themselves, because isn't that how we still conduct scientific investigation today? Also reducing these swordmakers to 'craftsmen' is a subtle slam, considering the place craftspeople are regulated to in today's society. Is it because we are so competitive that we can't stand the thought that our ancestors did something we can't figure out? Or are we so arrogant that we think anything not invented in the last 50 years is worthless?
Yes, I have an ax to grind. So to speak.
For us ancient history type people, if you want to read more about the Damascus sword making and steel properties, there are some articles with good explanations - The Key Role of Impurities in Ancient Damascus Steel Blades and Damascene Technique in Metal Working
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