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I grew up disliking poetry. Not exactly hating
it, but seeing it as irrelevant. I'll bet many of
you share my history: over-analyzing poetry in high
school or college, draining the life out of it by
analyzing all the iambs, anapests, rhyme schemes,
obscure symbolism. And reading over-familiar stuff
repeatedly so that I never wanted to see another
piece by Frost, e.e. cummings, or Shakespeare.
Getting involved in men's work provided a different
perspective. After all, some people call it the
mythoPOETIC movement. Well, some of the poetry works
as slices of life, distillations of emotion. Bly,
Hillman, and Meade - together and separately - included
poetry in their workshops and retreats, finally
collecting a huge amount of it in "The Rag
and Bone Shop of the Heart." Now I see copies
of it at men's gatherings; sometimes it's so well-read
that it's held together with duct tape.
When I discovered Rumi (at gatherings and collected
in "Rag and Bone"), my appreciation deepened.
Here was a guy (through western adaptations by Coleman
Barks and others) whose words often reached the
heart's ear long before they reached the head's
ear.
So I began reading and appreciating poetry - and
writing it only very occasionally. One occasion,
in fact, was the annual Men's Wisdom Council at
Rowe. Larry Murphy, one of the facilitators and
a prolific poet, got us to integrate and focus our
feelings and experiences and put them on paper.
He didn't exactly "teach" poetry; he "encouraged"
it. The results, shared among the men, were remarkable.
My output doubled - from one to two poems a year.
What were my roadblocks? Same as for lots of men:
I was suspicious of "flowery" language,
yet the ordinary stuff didn't sound very "poetic."
I felt I had nothing to write about (except in extraordinary
circumstances like the intensity and safety of the
Council). My attempts during the "ordinary"
part of the year ended up in the trash - too sentimental,
too awkward.
Then something happened. Or a few things, actually.
I had been writing, but not poetry. In fact, I've
been writing for pay for over 30 years: textbooks
for grade-school students, newsletters, technical
documentation, and the like. My "recreational"
writing was essays - fillers for the back page of
a church newsletter.
I began to write about certain aspects of my life,
things like memories of my dad or adventures I had
as a kid. One of the first pieces was a poem (written
at Wisdom Council) about my oldest son, but you
could have unwound all the lines and stuck them
together, and it would have read like an essay or
short story. The language was plain. Nothing rhymed.
I paid a little attention to the rhythm of the words
and tried to make the images sharp, but that was
about it for poetic technique.
One essay, about a year later, was about my dad.
I sent it to my brother, and he wrote back that
the piece sure sounded like Dad, but it would work
better as a poem. Aw, shit. Somebody telling me
- a writer - how to write. Well, his reasoning was
pretty good: By dividing the essay into shorter
lines, I would be forcing the reader's focus on
particular thoughts. I tried it. Damn if it didn't
work. I started carrying around a little notebook
to jot down half-remembered phrases, brain residue
from childhood, stuff I heard on the radio.
So now I write more, a couple poems a month on
the average. It's not much, but they add up. And
I learned a couple things that you might find helpful.
1.
What to write about. You. Your life. What you see,
hear, smell, feel, remember from ten minutes ago
or ten years ago.
2.
How to write it. One way is to start with a single
image or idea and see where it takes you. The poem
about my dad started when I was wiping bird shit
off my car and remembering my dad (who died 8 years
ago) fussing over bird shit on his car. (Ultimately,
it led to a major reconciliation in how I felt about
him. Another story for another time.) Use some poets'
tricks of the trade. Repeat sounds, words, and lines
for emphasis. Pay attention to the rhythm of the
words and maybe the music in them. For instance,
if you begin a few words with the same sound, you
create a different kind of image. "I was unwise,
overweight, and middle-aged" might become "I
was foolish, fat, and fifty." This sometimes
happens later, when you're editing or rewriting.
For first drafts, it may help to just write as if
you were taking notes for your own use.
3.
Who(m) to write for. You. Only you. No one ever
has to see what you write, so you are your most
important reader. If you can satisfy yourself, no
one else matters. But you may be surprised when
you share your poetry and see other men nodding
their heads in recognition.
4.
Where and when to write. Any time, any place. I
find it useful to carry a small spiral-bound notebook
and some sticky notes. I want to be able to rip
out a page I don't like or crumple up a sticky note
when I make a false start.
5.
What to write. This is different from "what
to write about." Write short stuff, long stuff,
single impressions, whole remembrances. Write prose
or poetry; it doesn't matter. I always had the attitude
that I had to get things perfect in my head before
I wrote anything down. If that works for you, fine.
But I changed, and now I write stuff, sometimes
literally "stuff" that I know I'll change.
6.
How to keep focus. Shorten. I've almost never written
anything that couldn't be made shorter and more
vivid. Wait a week and look at something you've
written. Is there one essential truth in your essay
or poem? Is it hidden by other stuff around it?
Yank out the good stuff and polish it. Keep the
other stuff as raw materials for another poem.
7.
How to get at the truth. Lie. Sometimes you can
get closer to the truth by bending it a bit. It
may be as simple as changing the location, time
of day, color of the car, and so on. Or you may
want to add a detail or character from some other
event. Make connections. The bird shit poem connected
to a lot of other quirks I share with my dad, none
of which I liked. Another poem, about alternate
realities, linked drunk driving, a flying grapefruit,
and dozing off at a concert.
8.
Why to do it. To get at the truth. Your truth. To
create a record of your life. To make connections.
(Sometimes the process of writing itself is very
revealing.) To remember what you did and thought.
(One of my short poems is about driving my son to
school. We were silent. He was using his electric
shaver. That's all that happened. In ten years I
can read that poem and recreate the moment.)
Here's the bird shit poem. It may do nothing for
you; that's OK. I offer it only as an example of
how you can take an ordinary event and turn it into
something meaningful to you.
While cleaning bird shit off the car
Dad and I weren't close.
Not good at communication, either of us.
I don't think I liked him much.
He had some mannerisms--
a tone of voice
a too-often-repeated turn of phrase
a splay-footed walk
a laissez-faire way of avoiding conflict
an elaborately slow way of moving
when he was concentrating
or trying to make a point.
I tried to eliminate all this--and more--
from my way of being.
But I see or hear one or more of them
In me every day.
He reaches out from the ashes to say,
"Like this."
My car, stolen once already,
Sits under a bird feeder at the
safer end of the driveway,
Close to the house.
Every morning, I wipe off bird shit.
And I remember Dad
Fussily wiping off gull shit--
One of his daily retirement routines--
To prevent the acids, concentrated by
the Florida sun,
From eating through the wax and
into the paint.
I fuss over bird shit. Like Dad.
I talk and walk funny. Like Dad.
I avoid conflict. Like Dad.
My movements, under stress, are elaborately
slow. Like Dad.
Dad and I weren't close.
We didn't communicate much.
I wasn't sure I actually liked him.
Now he's gone, we communicate every day.
I cannot learn to love myself
Until I learn to love that man.
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