On Wednesday I wrote a first draft of a poem directly on my computer, in Word. Scratch that. I wrote a draft of two different poems. On Thursday I deleted the first poem which I saw as a warm up.
Warm-up poems--and stories--are, for me, always the same quick flow of autobiography that goes nowhere. I am initially driven and soon bored.
But the second poem? I'm hanging onto it. I'd just read The Morning of the Poem by James Schuyler. I read the collection, but reread the title poem. Published in 1976 if moves through time, memory, geography, the body, the concrete detail.
I read repeatedly to get down the rhythm and sounds and because I had to. It's a wonderful book with a siren call.
That poem was the engine for me to change my method of writing poetry. Previously I wrote every first draft in longhand. No exceptions. I had my reasons, which were perhaps effete and ultimately grounded in fear. If it ain't broke and all that.
But it was broke. My poetry of late hasn't been poetic. I've been unhappy, relieved to have gotten one book out and figuring that just might be it for me. Then Schuyler mentioned typing his poems. It sounded to me like he might be typing first drafts. I haven't delved into his life although there is probably a fair amount of information available.
Motivated by an if-Schuyler-can-do-it-so-can-I impulse I did it. It wasn't just the typewriter. Morning moves across the page like music, classical, jazz, pop. I respond to music.
My new poem is in its infancy. The siren song of rewrites is beguiling. I'm not going to stop buying my 8-1/4 x 6-7/8 pads. Every new purse must still accommodate same. But my arsenal (bang! bang! poetry) has expanded.
image from anacrespodeluna.blogspot.com/2010/03/biografi...
Working on perfecting your submission letters? Here's a template. "When the Sun Sets Like a Nice Salmon Mousse"
Dear Editor:
Enclosed are three of my six poems. The others appeared, like the Riddler in a Tarot deck, in South Dakota Lit, North Dakota Letters and The Dakota Fanning Review, along with its web presence, dakotafanningreview.blogspot.com.
Most recently I was a paint stripper, a male stripper and a glued strip over the lintel needing sanding. I converted Cardinal Newman to a screened deck, didn’t share feelings but created pretty good replicas, showed my body a fair time {I’ve had worse}, did the same for the Allies, flew the Atlantic, walked the Pacific, rode handrails from first to second grade, lifted shocks, made a name for myself of natural fibers which I wove into a tail fit for Mr. Ed.
Until I discovered ancient history was history I was a Cretin. I huffed puffed rice, ate it, blew a full house down, molded gold into Jigglers, told only a few close squirrels. I was the oracle at Phoenix International, the gadfly of Milwaukee. It was I who fired the shot that started a revolution in menswear, following which I mended an emperor’s new suit after he fell on the playground during Parcheesi practice. I became an armoire’s armoire and a hydraulic lift’s pump, proved a quart-sized Thermos to be center of the universe, rolled over my options, turned my coat, scared some fairies, repented, rebuked, recanted and on my deathbed spilled cracker crumbs.
I never missed Married With Children, yet found my key to the Greek citystates, yet lost the way to make work work. I spread jam on my husband, bought airspace, set up camp and tangled with a sticky web during deception practice. I alone bit a tarantella.
I served, projected, was shot from a papal canon and studied Latin in traction. When the Rapture came I ascended and when it clocked out banged my elbow. I typed “cast” many times.
My M.F.A. in very concrete poetry was earned in a nonresidential treatment center. Hope you enjoy my poems “Ode On, Baby,” “Ode In, Thor” and “Odeyoos, Amigos.” They sing like horses and disappear when the sun sets like a nice salmon mousse.
Thank you very much indebt,
Poesy Parker
"When the Sun Sets Like a Nice Salmon Mousse" is reprinted from The Future Is Happy, BlazeVOX [books], Sarah Sarai, 2009. Order from Amazon or Small Press Distribution.
* image from Old Maps Expeditions and Explorations. This one of Dante's world.
On Wednesday I wrote a first draft of a poem directly on my computer, in Word. Scratch that. I wrote a draft of two different poems. On Thursday I deleted the first poem which I saw as a warm up.
