One reliable test for checking out the effectiveness of a poem is to read the poem out loud. Even if you never plan on reading the poem in public, it's a good exercise to find stumbling points in a poem. In fact, an even better exercise is to have other people read your poem to see if they stumble in certain spots. I'm telling you this, because this week's workshopped poem is one I felt compelled to read out loud from the first line.

Here it is:

Surrogate, by Kisha Hughes

To be a godmother means to hold the baby and shut your mouth.
The job is kind of morbid--it doesn't become official until death takes everyone else.
In the meantime, I smile and appear at family functions.
It takes my godson a few hours before he remembers that I'm OK,
that I'm family--although I look nothing like his mother and father.
He rubs my face to see if the color comes off on his tiny hands,
to see if I'm just dirty although he doesn't know the word.
He grabs my lips and wonders at their fullness.
He pulls my hair and thinks of lambs.
Bah, bah black sheep.
is this what they call wool?
I have to wonder if this is what he'll think;
if one day I'll have to answer the question, "Why are you brown"
or "How are you mommy's sister if you're black?"
Not hard questions to answer, but will he understand?
Will he look at me like his father does.
will he wonder why I'm here?
Wonder why this black bitch is holding and cuddling and loving
his son like he does?
These looks hold me back, but my friend, his mother,
Her looks hold me there.
The smile in her eyes when she sees him surrender to sleep on my breast:
the giggle in her voice when she muses on how he's always been
comforted by me.
It is also the memory of holding him until my arms went numb
and my back tied itself into knots like a boy scout manipulating a rope.
It is the memory of the first time he smile at me,
The memory of dancing him around the kitchen while he sucked my thumb.
The hardest part of being a godmother is not holding the child, but holding my tongue.

*****

I really love that opening line: To be a godmother means to hold the baby and shut your mouth. And I really love the closing: The hardest part of being a godmother is not holding the child, but holding my tongue. Plus, there's a lot of really great material in between, but how do we get the most effective poem possible between the awesome beginning and closing?

First, we need to figure out what is essential to this poem. The opening and closing lines are soooooooo good that I really think that's where the strength of this poem lies.

That said, I think this poem really needs to focus on the content that underscores the godmother's dilemma of holding (or not holding) the baby but also holding her own tongue. Since there is an obvious tension between the narrator and her brother-in-law, this relationship should probably be the focal point of that middle part of the poem between the beginning and the end.

In fact, I'd recommend making the middle of the poem a scene or encounter where the narrator has to hold her tongue, even though the reader of the poem would totally support her giving the brother-in-law an earful. Maybe she's even on the verge of cussing him out when the godson grabs her hand, looks up into her eyes and smiles--forcing her to remain quiet.

Plus, I also recommend breaking the lines slightly different to make them a little more punchy.

Here's kind of what I'd envision a 2nd draft looking like:

Surrogate, by Kisha Hughes

To be a godmother means to hold the baby
and shut your mouth. The job is morbid with nothing
official until death takes everyone else.
Like my brother-in-law, who...

(...description of a scene or encounter in which the brother-in-law does or says something bad, or he does a series of bad things that drive the narrator to her boiling point when...)

I feel a tiny hand grip my fingers; I look down to see
my godson looking up at me, a smile on his face, full
of love. The hardest part of being a godmother
is not holding the child, but holding my tongue.

*****

Of course, I'm sure Kisha can phrase that better than me, but I just wanted to give an idea of what I think would serve this poem best.

There's a lot of great material in here that will have to be cut to service this poem. That's the price of writing a great poem, and I believe this could be a great poem. Any excised material can always be used in other poems.

One last thought: I would give the godson a name. That way you can refer to him by an actual name, which will make him more real for the reader. Maybe give him a name loaded with meanings, which will make it more fun for your more sophisticated readers.

So here are the recommendations on this poem:

• Keep the opening line
• Keep the closing line
• Connect the two lines with a scene or exchange that shows the truth in those lines
• Break the lines for more effect
• Give the godson a name
• Have fun with the revision process

*****

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*****

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Friday, October 09, 2009 12:23:03 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)    Comments [12] 

Today is the first day of October, and we're more than a week into autumn now. So, I think it's appropriate that we look at a poem from the season that has just passed: summer. From Alberta, Canada, Kathy Larson has provided us with "Summer School."

Here's the original draft:

Summer School, by Kathy Larson

They file in each morning slack-faced,
Sleep still in their hair, and on their cheeks;
It falls in dusty crustlings from their eyelashes.
They barely acknowledge my cheery 'good mornings'.
Sometimes, a mumbled "lo', but no eye contact.

That's okay, though, I get it.

It's summer, and they're IN SCHOOL.
I feel sorry for them; wish they were still in bed,
To wake hours from now tangled in sweaty sheets.
Rising, like the undead,
In rooms filled with the fumes of their fetid mouth breathings,
Their hair plastered in greasy strings across shiny foreheads,
Pawing blindly, dumbly for the one thing with power enough
To move their leaden limbs - the shrill, siren call of a cell phone.

Believe me,
I am sincere in my wishes.
Far too soon the realities of life will prohibit
Any chance of sleeping in through lazy summer days,
Being surly, smelly and obnoxious.
Serious relationships, jobs, rent to pay, a car to finance,
Perhaps the ball and chain of tuition will take car of that.
In that not-too-distant-future,
They will rise programmed to face each day
With smiles and enthusiasm,
Driven by necessity, not desire.
Right now, a little slack is all they need.

Far too soon, they'll be me.

*****

First off, I love the idea of looking at summer school. And I love the idea of taking it from the teacher's perspective. For me, though, there's not a point in the poem as it currently stands where something sticks with me. That said, I think Kathy has plenty of options for her next draft.

Option 1: Make the poem more personal. This poem is written in the 1st person, so it would make sense for the narrator to explain why summer school is so important to her. Sure, this narrator talks about how she empathizes with the students, but we don't get a picture of how that relates to the narrator. Was she a summer school student? Did she not take things seriously? Let the reader know why it's so important to the narrator to share her views on summer school.

Option 2: Make it funny. Perhaps, you want to lighten the mood on summer school. You can do this by highlighting the ridiculous nature of summer school--perhaps with the intent of saying, "Cut them some slack." Maybe even make it rhyme.

Option 3: Make it specific. Instead of focusing on the whole big idea of summer school and all of the students, focus on a specific exchange between the teacher and a student or between two students (perhaps overheard by the teacher). Don't focus on the BIG idea, because that only muddies the waters for readers; specificity in small scenes can grab readers so much easier and allows them to come at it with their own lens.

Option 4: Do all of the above. Suddenly, this feels like one of those multiple choice tests where students can circle their answers. But seriously, one option is to make the poem more personal, funny, and specific.

Anyway, that's my take on the poem. If you agree or disagree or have other comments to make on Kathy's poem, feel encouraged to comment below.

I believe this poem has a lot of potential, Kathy. Thank you so much for sharing with the group!

*****

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*****

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Thursday, October 01, 2009 3:40:44 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)    Comments [14] 

I'm one of those writers who is always coming up with these great ideas and concepts for poems and short stories. Where I usually fall short is making sure that I follow through on that idea or concept to write the best poem or short story I can. It's almost like the idea is so great that I can't deliver on the promise of the title. That's probably why many of my "great idea" poems don't get published while my unassuming pieces do.

Sharon Cameo Franz has shared a very great idea with her poem "The Delicious Man" in this week's workshop. Here it is:

The Delicious Man, by Sharon Cameo Franz

Like a French croissant;
Smooth as butter and flaky.
That was this delicious man.

1. Have the narrator swallow him whole. In this scenario, the narrator finds the delicious man so savory that she can't even enjoy him; she just swallows him whole.
2. Have the narrator pass on him. In this scenario, the narrator has had her fill of sweets (or she's watching her figure). Even though he looks so incredibly delectable, she feels she has to pass on his deliciousness.

As you know, I love the idea behind this poem, and I feel it has every opportunity of being a tremendous (and delicious) poem after a little more work. It's already a cute poem, but let's make it completely memorable. After all, you don't want your readers spitting out the delicious idea. (Question: How many times can I use the word delicious in one blog posting? Answer: Apparently at least one more time.)

• Focus more on the delicious man. We need a little more than he's like a French croissant, though that was a clever simile.
• Use specifics to describe the delicious man. What's his hair like? His skin? His odor? (Yes, food does smell--hopefully in a good way.)
• Remove the delicious woman. Give her a poem of her own, sure, but this is the delicious man's poem. Feel free to keep the woman narrator, but don't make her delicious. Instead, make her hungry or full.
• Don't spit the delicious man out. If he's delicious, it doesn't make sense to spit him out once he's in your mouth. So, either swallow him whole or pass on him (because the narrator is already stuffed or counting calories).

Final thought: I wish I'd thought of this idea, Sharon; it has a lot of potential, and the revision process should be a lot of fun. Thanks for sharing!

*****

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*****

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Thursday, September 24, 2009 2:23:44 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)    Comments [8] 

I did not think I'd have time to do a poetry workshop this week, but I surprised even myself with how much I've accomplished through Wednesday. So, let's get workshopping!

This week's poem comes from Jane Penland Hoover of Durham, North Carolina.

Here's the poem:

On Writing and Love, by Jane Penland Hoover

Always a middle
somewhere to come from
somewhere to go

I imagined I could fall in love
with gardening, if only
I could be close to those
who loved the taste

of green, the feel of bloom
upon some stem.

and so I joined them
the little club
that met each week
in someone's den.

listening and talking
about hydrangeas, seedlings,
sufficient moisture, and
what the sun might do.

But I didn't fall in love
with gardening.

One must get closer
kneel into the damp
earth, reach deep into
its darkened soil

rise up again and again
fingers dripping dirt.

And so it is with writing
still, the smell of ink
bleeding into skin, words
trailing back lead me.

*****

There are some obvious errors with capitalization and punctuation, but this is a pretty good start for the poem. What I really love in this poem is the metaphor Jane uses. Recently, I've been reading an advance copy of Robert Frost Speaking on Campus (due out at the end of September from W.W. Norton), and Frost was very much into metaphor.

In fact, I think there are two good ways to immediately strengthen this poem. One, correct the capitalization and punctuation. Two, strip out anything that does not directly relate to the gardening metaphor.

Here's the second version of Jane's poem after doing those two things:

On Gardening and Love, by Jane Penland Hoover

I imagined I could fall in love
with gardening, if only
I could be close to those
who loved the taste

of green, the feel of bloom
upon some stem.

And so I joined them,
the little club
that met each week
in someone's den.

Listening and talking
about hydrangeas, seedlings,
sufficient moisture, and
what the sun might do.

But I didn't fall in love
with gardening.

One must get closer,
kneel into the damp
earth, reach deep into
its darkened soil,

rise up again and again,
fingers dripping dirt.

*****

Already, this poem is much stronger. It still works as a possible metaphor for writing, but by focusing squarely on gardening, this poem also works as a metaphor for any hobby that someone could love. "Whether you're interested in writing or cooking or whatever," this poem is now saying, "you can't fall in love with something by merely talking about it. You have to actually work at it."

Notice: The only word change I've made so far is to swap the word "gardening" with "writing" in the title. Everything else is in the same order and same voice as used by Jane originally.

Sometimes, it really is as easy as cutting off the beginning and ending of a poem to make it that much stronger. But just because this poem is stronger now, it doesn't mean we're completely finished with it.

The poem may be done now, but I'd advise Jane to play around with trying to add a few more specific details to see how they affect the poem. For instance, I feel that it might be more interesting to have the name of a person instead of "in someone's den." You don't have to use a real name; make one up. This is where you can get into the business of telling the truth but telling it slant (as Emily Dickinson would say). 

In the same vein, I'd advise Jane to try playing around with adding specific details and conversation (again, can slant the truth here) about these gardening club meetings. By adding specific details, this poem may become even more interesting. Or it may not. But Jane won't know until she tries incorporating details first.

Regardless, I do like Jane's poem very much and love that she provided such a great example of how metaphor can be used in our poetry.

*****

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*****

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Thursday, September 03, 2009 1:40:00 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)    Comments [8] 

I really look forward to these Poetry Workshops. They've been tremendously helpful for me (and hopefully you), because looking at others' poems reminds me what I should be looking for in my own poems.

This week's poem is "A Lady and That Woman," by Harry Coss. It's one of those poems that already feels good, but there are still some ways for the poem to be improved.

Here's the original version:

A Lady and That Woman, by Harry Coss

I met a lady one autumn afternoon, years ago,
for just long enough to help her with her jacket.
It was in an old tea shop, she entered just behind me.
Noticeable were her white gloves and cautious walk.

She had difficulty taking off her light jacket, leaving,

one arm turned inside out, hanging on a hook.

She sat taking care to not wrinkle her skirt.

Her hair soft curl at her shoulder and high on top.

There was a hint of makeup at her chin line.

Her eyebrows arched.  She had the bones

of a beautiful but aging face. Her lipstick

was dark red--her mouth unsmiling.

She sat straight, lost in thought looking

at the small hexagon tiles on the floor.

She sipped her tea slowly, breaking off small bits

of scone with graceful well manicured fingers.

Her dress, close around her waist, a tailored bodice

and shoulders padded in the style of the 1940's.

I thought of young lovers torn apart by war,

sensing her heart may still be living in that era.

Finished,  she got up to leave but had difficulty

with her jacket, I rose and helped her,  as our eyes met 

she brightened and said, with a slight British accent,

"Thank you dear sir." I sensed some expectation.

Her right hand, palm down, was slightly raised. 

I thought to take it and say how nice she looked. 

In fact, I had a  fleeting impulse to kiss it;  But I didn't,

I only said, "Your welcome". She hesitated briefly.

She donned her gloves, turned, unsteadily walked

slowly toward the door.  I saw her bump

into the wife of a middle-aged couple entering.

apparently unaware of the encounter.

As they were seated she was saying to her husband,

"Did you see that woman who hit me, she reeked

of alcohol, her makeup was awful and her dress

is way out of style, way too young for her." 

Every once in a while I recall that lady, remembering

with sorrow, not telling her how nice she looked.

*****

It is a very good poem. I particularly like the 7th stanza. While I like that this poem has a delicate pace to it--like the lady the poem describes--I also feel that this poem could be made even stronger than it currently is by a little tightening.

For instance, the 1st stanza could lose the second line completely, because the poem will actually show the narrator helping the lady with her jacket. Also, the 9th stanza uses the passive voice when it should be active, "...she was saying to her husband..." All of these are slight revisions, but sometimes, it's these small revisions that can make all the difference when someone is reading your poem (or any writing for that matter).

Here's my attempt at tightening this poem:

A Lady and That Woman, by Harry Coss

I met a lady one autumn afternoon, years ago,
in an old tea shop. She entered just behind me.
Her white gloves and cautious walk caught my
attention, and she had difficulty removing her

light jacket, leaving one arm turned inside out
hanging on a hook. She took care to not wrinkle
her skirt. Her hair curled soft at her shoulders and
high on top, a hint of makeup at her chin line.

Eyebrows arched, she had a beautiful but
aging face. Her lipstick was dark red--her mouth
unsmiling. She sat straight, lost in thought looking

at the small hexagon tiles on the floor. She

sipped her tea slowly, breaking off small bits

of scone with graceful, well-manicured fingers.

Her dress, close around her waist, a tailored bodice

and shoulders padded in the style of the 1940's.

I thought of young lovers torn apart by war,

sensing her heart may still be living in that era.

Finished, she got up to leave but had difficulty

with her jacket. I rose and helped her. As our eyes

met she brightened and said, with a slight British
accent, "Thank you, dear sir." I sensed expectation.

Her right hand, palm down, was slightly raised. 

I thought to take it and say how nice she looked. 

In fact, I had an impulse to kiss it, but I did not;

I only said, "You're welcome." She hesitated briefly,

donned her gloves, turned, and walked unsteadily 

toward the door.  I saw her bump into the wife

of a middle-aged couple entering. As they sat,
she asked her husband, "Did you see that woman

who hit me? She reeked of alcohol, her makeup
was awful and her dress is way out of style.” 

Every once in a while, I recall that lady, regretting

that I did not tell her how nice she looked.

*****

As you'll notice this is still the same poem, still the same voice, still the same tempo. The one thing that has changed is that the poem has 8 quatrains (instead of 9 quatrains) matched up with the closing couplet, which I changed slightly to make a more complete thought.

Since we're reading both versions together, it may be hard to simulate, but the tightness of the 2nd version makes the poem a lot easier read just by cutting down some of the excess.

Here are some of the edits I made:

• Deleted the 2nd line of the 1st stanza. As mentioned earlier, why tell what's going to happen later when the poem will actually show it?
• Took the passive voice out of the 9th stanza. Whether you're writing poetry or prose, passive voice is usually something to be avoided.
• Chose one adverb for the 8th stanza description of the lady walking. The narrator used both "unsteadily" and "slowly," so I chose "unsteadily," because when I think of an unsteady walker, I also think of a slow walker. Using too many adverbs and adjectives can seriously weaken a sentence, whether used in a poem or any other form of writing. 
• Removed the 4th line of the 8th stanza. The reason behind this is that it should be apparent that the middle-aged couple were unaware of the encounter between the narrator and the lady (or that woman).
• Tweaked the final couplet. The word regretting is tighter than the phrase "remembering with sorrow," it allows the narrator to complete his thought.
• Removed "fleeting" from the 7th stanza. This is the stanza I love the most, but I feel that the adjective "fleeting" weakens the exchange here. The narrator does such a good job of showing that it was a fleeting moment by not kissing her hand that I think it's best to remove the word. Simple case of showing vs. telling.

I really like this poem. A lot. Thank you, Harry, for submitting it. And be sure to read the Comments below. I'm sure the Poetic Asides gang will be throwing in their two cents.

*****

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*****

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Thursday, August 20, 2009 4:35:31 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)    Comments [18] 

Some poems include too many details; many don't include enough. Most poems (mine included) are often too abstract, but sometimes it's not abstraction that's the problem, which can make it very hard to critique a poem. On the surface, the poem can seem almost complete. Such is the case with David Gorgone's "How To Be Idle," which I was tempted not workshop because of how it does feel almost complete. These are the toughest to revise, so let's try.

Here's the original draft:

How To Be Idle, by David Gorgone

When you find the time
grow some vegetables and keep a spare
loaf of bread in the cupboard.

Do not nap, but sleep,
stretch out on your couch.
Find comfort in dreams.

See your children. Visit the orphan.
Comfort the widow. Where they are
one can meet a brief paradise.

When visitors over stay their welcome
offer them a glass of water. If they refuse
poor the water over your vegetable garden.

Enjoy the vegetables you grew,
laugh with the orphan,
and sleep seeking paradise.

*****

I think you'll agree that this seems like a very nice poem on the surface. Most poets would only be able to offer that a comma could come at the end of the second line in the fourth stanza or that "poor" in the third line of the fourth stanza should be spelled "pour." Very superficial types of edits, to be sure. And why? Because this poem IS very close to being there; in fact, it wouldn't even surprise me to see a poem like this accepted for publication.

So why workshop it? Because this poem could be even better. If done right, this poem (or any poem really) has the potential to go from just being a good poem to being a very good poem or even great poem.

Poets need to know when to walk away from a poem (so that they don't wreck it like George Lucas wrecked his original Star Wars trilogy), but often poets get to that "good" threshold and abandon their poems too soon. I'm not saying that David has a bunch of orphaned poems, but he wrote the poem I'm looking at this week.

To find the flaws in this poem, we need to study it carefully from the title all the way through to the last word. The title, "How To Be Idle," is a good one. I like "how-to" titles, because they offer up a lot of room for fun. The poem can actually show a reader how to be idle or how not to be idle. And this exposes the first flaw.

The first stanza advises growing a garden and keeping a spare loaf of bread in the cupboard. Great opening! Second stanza advises to sleep instead of nap, to find comfort in dreams. Reasonable, yes. Third stanza advises a plethora of activities--all very vague figures without shapes or personalities--and then caps off with meeting "a brief paradise." Fourth stanza is maybe my favorite with the visitors overstaying their welcome and pouring water on the garden. Fifth stanza attempts to tie things together.

By looking at the title and each stanza and how each stanza works with the title and how each stanza works with each other stanza, here are my recommendations:

• Go ironic and humorous. Since the title is "How To Be Idle," show how not to be idle. There's already a lot of that in here. From visiting orphans and having visitors overstay their welcome to maintaining a vegetable garden, the "you" in this poem is not being idle.
• Expand the characters. You don't have to introduce everyone by name, but maybe have an exchange or two between them. "Comfort the widow," is so vague. With other vague statements, it really weakens the poem. Try something like, "Comfort Aunt Matilda, who lost her husband to a car wreck 27 years ago. Let her know things will eventually turn around." With the tercets, you can make each exchange its own stanza, which reminds me...
• Keep the tercets. It was a great choice for keeping the poem moving. Remember: you don't have to end every stanza with a period. Just look at my poem from yesterday's poetry prompt to see how you can jump from one stanza to the next to keep the reader moving down the page.
• Take out the final stanza. That last stanza is a tie it all up stanza. I'm guilty of writing them myself, so I know. With the poem you have now, it would be better to end with pouring the water on the vegetable garden. Or, in a revision, you may decide to end the poem with the "you" waving the visitors off. Or with the "you" deciding something like: "Next time, go to Hawaii."

So it seems as if I've come down hard on this poem, right? Not really. This is a good poem--as I've mentioned--but we, as poets, should always be looking for ways a poem might improve. Once we've reached that point, then move on. But we should try to avoid abandoning poems prematurely. And I don't feel David's done so here; obviously, he submitted it to be workshopped--so even he felt there was something that needed done.

Hopefully, my comments will help as he makes tough decisions on where to take his poem next. And hopefully, you'll all add your words of advice and encouragement in the Comments below.

*****

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*****

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Thursday, August 13, 2009 2:42:10 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)    Comments [18] 

As you've probably noticed (if you've been reading this blog for any length of time), there are so many possible poems out there waiting to be written. This week's poetry workshop will look at an event poem by Jane Eamon.

Here's the original draft:

Black Friday, by Jane Eamon

I was 24 that day in '39

They call it Black Friday now

But it was a day like any other day

Ole Frank Burns rang up to say

There was a fire burning

At the pine plantation and

Would I like to come along to see it

I seen a little fire on the telly

Fought with bulldozer, a grader

11 tankers and helicopters

All to fight a scrub fire we could

Have put out with 20 men

I grabbed my horse and my rake

And went along to see

It was a fire all right, burning in the dry top of the ridge

It went right across the Rubicon

Another 20 miles

I got to working with the other boys

Me with my rake

Them with crosscut saws and shovels

It looked like we'd made a difference

But she'd only pulled in for the night

The wind had other plans

Blowing fearsome, hot from the north west

That fire roared its presence

We couldn't do anything

We couldn't go anywhere

We bedded down in the bush

In the heat of the day

So we could fight it in the cool of the night

But we weren't making no difference

That fire was burning hungry

30 miles along and

Eating everything in its path

We found Ruth

Just lying in the road

Clutching tobacco and looked to be sleeping

She must have died from the smoke

Hermon's sawmill went up in the middle of the firestorm

All them trees just disappeared

No stumps, no nothing, like they'd never been there

The river dried up

14 miles up the Acheron Way

They say the river actually stopped running

For three hours

We did our best, we fought it

It came to rest

Sated like with a full belly

It took 71 lives that day

And burned to the ground over 5,000,000 acres

It's a day I won't ever forget

Funny how it was Friday the 13, January 1939

And here's a little note that Jane included after the poem: Inspired by the 2nd largest natural disaster in Australia's history – the Victoria Bushfires of 1939. Taken from an eyewitness account of Murray Thompson.

*****

I don't think the note is needed to explain that this was a fire, but I'm glad Jane included it, because knowing this was a huge event (as opposed to a minor one) can help a poet think about scope when dealing with the subject. We'll look at scope in just a few, but first, let's look at what we have here.

First, I'm not sure how close Jane is sticking to actual accounts. Hopefully, she has taken a real account and fictionalized that account. I'm going to make the assumption that this is the case with this poem.

Second, there are some great details in this poem--from Ruth, who "must have died from the smoke," clutching her tobacco to the narrator grabbing his horse and rake. There's a lot going on here.

Third, there's a lack of punctuation. I don't see a reason not to include proper punctuation. So, that's something.

Finally, this poem feels like it could be tightened. Of course, I love the narrative voice, but we can retain that voice while still tightening up the language. For instance, I would take out the first line because it adds little to the poem. We learn he's 24, but that doesn't factor into the story at all, and we learn that it's 1939 later in the poem.

In fact, we shouldn't even mention it's 1939, because the actual year isn't overly important. It's more important that it's called Black Friday and that it's Friday the 13th.

That brings us to scope of the poem. This poem is trying to take on a huge event--much like the narrator was trying to take on a huge fire. It took a team of people to fight the fire, and I think this event probably requires a team of voices to do it justice.

Recently, I read a very good collection of poems by Ted Kooser dealing specifically with the blizzard of January 12, 1888, on the Great Plains called The Blizzard Voices. He collected several fictional accounts based on actual recollections and recorded documents and let the individual poems create a document for this huge and devastating event. This is what I think Jane should do for Black Friday.

By collecting accounts, this would give each poem the freedom to focus on the event from the perspective of each narrator and allow for a more personal connection to how this fire changed lives. Each slice would then create a more complete portrait of what Black Friday really meant.

Of course, I'm asking Jane to do a lot of work. I'm asking her to do a significatnt amount of research to figure out what the various stories are. I'm asking her to write a lot of poems in different voices. But if she does put in the work, she should have something that is not only poetically signficant but also historically valuable. To achieve greatness, one has to be willing to roll up his or her sleeves and get at it.

So here are my recommendations:

• Expand the scope of this poem/project. This poem deals with a big event that changed many lives. Instead of trying to make the poem cover everything, let it focus on one aspect. Then, write more poems--in other voices--to make the event more complete.
• Keep adding in the great details. This poem has wonderful details--the kind that really help a poem (or a collection of poems) stick with a reader. As you add more poems, keep flexing your muscles in this regard.
• Tighten the language in places. Keep the voices unique and personality-driven, but don't let them ramble. In conversation, it's easy to gloss over when narrators ramble too much. This is even more true on the printed page.
• Add punctuation. There's no reason to avoid punctuation in these poems.
• Research. As you've probably noticed, I'm making the assumption that this one poem really needs to be a series of poems. To write a series of poems based on a historical event, there needs to be at least some level of research. Don't go overboard, and don't include every detail. Use what's essential and discard the rest.

As usual, realize these are just my thoughts on this poem and that many others will probably say they love the poem just as it is. I'm not going to argue that point, because judging each poem is a very subjective process that finally comes down to what the actual poet decides. In my mind, I see a very great collection possible if you're willing to put in the time and effort to expand this one poem into a series.

Thanks so much for sharing, Jane!

*****

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*****

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Thursday, July 30, 2009 6:06:06 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)    Comments [22] 

Sometimes the hardest part of attacking a poem is figuring out what the real poem should be. In my opinion, such is the case with this week's workshop poem by Dianne Ryan. I'm not saying that she does a bad job with the way she wrote her poem--just that the more interesting poem would emerge with a shift in focus.

Here's the original draft:

Pebbles, by Dianne Ryan

It's been six weeks maybe more

since I left you standing at your door.

You wanted me to leave

not ready to take us to another level you said -

whatever that means.

So now I'm gone and out of your life.

You seemed so cold

not one tear or a trace of regret.

Did you care for me at all?

Was I just like a pebble that

you noticed and then kicked away

never to wonder where that pebble was today.

If you took the time you would have found

that this pebble was in fact a rock

solid but a little unsteady

waiting and ready

for someone to pick up

and notice what a wonderful

rock this pebble turned out to be.

*****

Before I get into why I think this poem is focusing in the wrong direction, let's take a look at a few things to avoid in general.

First, the opening two lines throw off the rhythm of the next stanza because they rhyme. As I've said before on this blog, I have nothing against rhymes, but when the first two lines rhyme that sets up an expectation on the part of the reader. This is repeated in the final two lines of the fourth stanza with "away" and "today" as well as in the fifth stanza "unsteady" and "ready." The fifth stanza rhyme is not as bad, but the fourth stanza rhyme seems intentional and a little forced--and since there's no consistency to the rhyme, it just seems more than a little out of place.

Second, there's the problem with abstraction. Stanza three especially is loaded up with them: "You seemed so cold"; "trace of regret"; and you have to be careful any time you use tears in a poem, because it's a loaded word and image that is often used too frequently.

Third, metaphor and simile are important and useful tools for a poet, but let's think about how they are used in this poem. The narrator is trying to make the reader feel good about losing her because she's now a "rock." I know the intent, but I don't think many ex-lovers are going to worry too much over leaving a rock behind. So, I'd just suggest thinking about how the metaphors and similes actually read before using them. 

Now as to the focus of the poem, I think this poem. I feel that the spurned lover thing has been done so many times. You really have to have a fresh take on the subject to grab the interest of your readers. At the moment, what interests me the most is the conditions of the actual break up.

Here are my suggestions:

• Avoid the rhyme. You always have to look at this on a poem-by-poem basis, and in this case, I don't think the rhyme is a factor in the poem.
• Avoid abstraction. Try to focus on actual descriptions, whether descriptions of physical objects or actual actions.
• Think about metaphor and simile. I would advise in this poem to avoid them outright. There are definitely times and places to use them, but I wouldn't suggest doing so for this poem.
• Write in third person narrative voice. Try writing this poem without "I" and "you." Instead, use "she" and "he." I think you'll be surprised how this can help focus the poem.
• Focus exclusively on the actual break up. Start with him telling her what he tells her. Then, let her actual actions show what she's thinking. Do this without telling what either actually feeling; remember to avoid abstraction. Just let their actions take over. This will allow your narrative voice to show instead of tell. I think you and your readers will be very surprised with the results.

So those are my suggestions. You can take them all; you can pick and choose the ones you want; or you can write me off as an idiot. As I've said before, there are rules and guidelines, but all of them are breakable and bendable.

*****

Do you want one of your poems workshopped? Click here to find out how you could possibly make it happen. 

Thursday, July 23, 2009 6:02:07 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)    Comments [24] 

Okay. I think the first workshop was a success. Not because of my feedback alone, but because several other poets got involved with their own feedback, including refuting some of my ideas. That's how it should be in a workshop environment. I'm not the final voice on your poetry (and neither is any other poet), you are.

This week, we have the following poem from De J. Jackson:

Musings, by De J. Jackson

My Muse must be a mermaid.
The water's call is strong.
The gentle whisper of the waves.
The pull of siren's song.
My soul sings in these places
Where toes are made for sand.
My heart beats in the spaces
Where water kisses land.
She's fine and finned and flowing
Weaving poems in her hair.
She's poised and praised and glowing
Leaving prose and phrase so fair.
She swims to water's edge
Where I wait, pen in hand.
Waves words my way with flowing tail
Writes lyrics in the sand.

When De submitted this, she mentioned she'd had trouble placing this poem, and I have a few ideas on why that might be. After a few reads, this poem does not seem bad. But editors are not looking for "not bad." So where could this poem improve?

The rhyming? Unlike many contemporary poets, I have nothing against rhyming. In fact, I think that if a poet can work rhyming into a poem naturally that it adds strength to a poem. But be aware when trying to publish poems that some editors specifically state they want no part of rhyming poetry. (Their loss.)

Poems dealing with the muse? These poems are natural subjects for poets to investigate. I've written so many (no, so-so-so-so many) poems about the writing process, my muse, etc., though none are published. The main reason: It's a subject that has been tackled by so many poets that it's hard to come in with a unique angle. And the poem is often only interesting to the author of the poem (or, at best, a handful of other poets). Such poems often come off as self-serving (and remember: I write many of these myself).

Poems incorporating abstractions? Abstact language can kill writing fast, whether we're talking poetry, fiction or nonfiction. The subject of this poem is the abstract idea of a muse, so the poem is centered around an abstraction which already places it on shaky ground. Then there are abstract phrases such as: "The gentle whisper of the waves" and "My soul sings..."

Here's the thing: I actually like this poem the more I read it, but De has come here for some help. So, though it may appear to some readers that I'm being overly harsh on De's poem, I'm just trying to give some new directions for her to try with her poem.

My recommendations:

• Try to write the same poem without rhyming. As mentioned earlier, I actually like rhyming when done naturally. But sometimes it's a good exercise to try stripping out the rhyme to see if you come up with a more concrete poem.
• Try focusing more on the mermaid. Try focusing on the concrete image of the mermaid. In your mind, you can know that this mermaid is actually your muse, but you don't need to spell it out for your readers. This helps open up your poem to multiple interpretations.
• Watch those abstractions. Writing about abstract ideas like your muse and soul and whispering waves often weakens poems. Try cutting those abstractions completely out of your poem.

Note: All rules are meant to be broken or bent. But these are some good paths to try when re-working your poem.

I'm sure everyone else will come up with some great feedback as well.

*****

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Thursday, July 16, 2009 4:42:04 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)    Comments [37] 

As you may have noticed, we're workshopping poems at Poetic Asides. Once a week (or so), I'll select a poem and give feedback to the poet. While I hope the feedback helps the individual poet, my grander goal is that it'll help out the rest of the Poetic Asides group as well by providing fresh ideas for looking at their own poems.

If you're brave enough to have your own poem discussed and evaluated by hundreds of other poets, then follow these rules:

• Use the subject line: Workshop My Poem
• Submit one poem in body of your e-mail
• E-mail to robert.brewer@fwmedia.com
• Be sure to include your name

Simple as that. Not every poem submitted will be used, but every poem submitted has the same chance of being used. If your poem is used, I will send you notification and a link to my feedback when I've made the post.

(Special note: I will not be using any poems that I consider perfect as they are. The point of workshopping is to look for new ideas to work your poetry--not to hear that you're perfect as you are. Good poetry is a lifelong journey not a destination.)

Thursday, July 16, 2009 3:52:58 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)    Comments [5] 

I've been meaning to incorporate revision tips into this blog in a helpful way since it first started, but I've had trouble figuring out a good method for doing so. Finally, I had one of those "light bulb" moments when the answer seems so obvious: I'll just workshop a poem each week.

The original poems submitted to me to get us started were submitted via Facebook. Members of my Poetic Asides group on that site were sent a message soliciting poems that I could try offering feedback. Not every poem submitted to me will receive feedback or appear on the blog, but every poem has the same chance. (I'll include directions on how to submit your own poem--if interested--in a later post on this blog.)

It should be noted that my feedback should not be considered the final word on any poem. As poets, we have to make the final decisions on what works and does not. But I will try to give many suggestions and ask the kind of questions any good reader or writer of poetry should consider.

Today's poem was submitted by J. Era Martin. Here it is in its original form:

Childhood, by J. Era Martin

They named me Era,

As though somehow the Word alone would empower me.

A man of Signs, my father

lifted me, a Tin of Elements,

to the moon and shouted Kunte Kente,

somewhat inappropriately, I’m sure.

He favoured the Yin and the Yang

without any clue to Balance;

he would fight and lose teeth—

three times he lost and replaced and finally lost

the front one.  But he never stopped

Smiling.

It was sort of maniacal, really.

You could tell he just wanted

to please, but there he was, unfolding

a Thousand Visible Lies right

to your Face. 

Christmas he’d spend

the morning with us, the afternoon

with his Illegitimate Family.  I would

hang up on his Mistress when

she phoned.

He’d keep a Job no more than five days:

having told his boss a better way

of pouring concrete, he’d be fired.

Daddy smelled like Budweiser when

I hugged him.

I would feed it to him and his buddies

in their F 250 Trucks in the driveway to our house.

I was a Good Girl.

Our family always rented.

The second floor was converted

to a Bedroom from a Game Room

For my parents and my baby sister.

Wolf Spiders hung above her crib.

The previous tenant had committed

Suicide in that room.

I remember I would wake up

to woodpeckers.  Their

Irregular Beats were fierce.

My father came home less and less often.

I think this is how The Story always goes.

His partying was excused:  better to

Stay The Night than Drive Home Drunk,

my mom explained.

*****

My first question: Why are so many words in uppercase? Signs, Tin of Elements, Balance, Face, etc. I'm assuming these words are meant to be emphasized, but doing so with a device like capitalization (or bold and italic) is often distracting for a reader. It was for me, and I can't see a good reason for emphasizing those specific words.

Next, I know the title of the poem is "Childhood," but I'm not sure if this poem is as much about the childhood of the narrator as about her father. It seems like shifting the focus specifically to the father would benefit this poem a great deal.

In fact, the strongest parts of this poem--for me--were when describing the father's teeth and his other family. So, a good strategy after discovering what this poem may be about is to cut out the rest of the excess.

*****

2nd version--taking out caps and excess information

Childhood, by J. Era Martin

A man of signs, my father

lifted me, a tin of elements,

to the moon and shouted Kunte Kinte,

somewhat inappropriately, I’m sure.

He favoured the yin and the yang

without any clue to balance;

he would fight and lose teeth—

three times he lost and replaced and finally lost

the front one.  But he never stopped

smiling.

It was sort of maniacal, really.

You could tell he just wanted

to please, but there he was, unfolding

a thousand visible lies right

to your face. 

Christmas he’d spend

the morning with us, the afternoon

with his illegitimate family.  I would

hang up on his mistress when

she phoned.

Our family always rented.

The second floor was converted

to a bedroom from a game room

for my parents and my baby sister.

Wolf spiders hung above her crib.

The previous tenant had committed

suicide in that room.

My father came home less and less often.

I think this is how the story always goes.

His partying was excused:  better to

stay the night than drive home drunk,

my mom explained.

*****

After the second version, I still feel this poem could be tightened quite a bit and made more immediate. In fact, I think the title should change to focus on the family element of this poem.

To make the poem more immediate, I'm going to once again strip out anything that does not relate to the tension in this family. And, as you'll probably notice, I'm going to flip the ending image to the front, because I feel like it's just sticking out at the end.

*****

3rd version--changing title, moving lines around and ever tightening

Our Family Always Rented, by J. Era Martin

My father came home less and less often.

"Better to stay the night than drive home drunk,"

my mom explained. A man of signs, my father

favoured the yin and the yang without any clue

to balance; Christmas, he'd spend the morning
with us, the afternoon with his illegitimate family.

You could tell he just wanted to please, but
there he was unfolding his hands like the lies

he fed us. It was sort of maniacal, really,

the way he would fight and lose teeth—

three times he lost and replaced and finally lost

the front one.  But he never stopped smiling.

*****

For me, this third version really gets the message across in a concise manner. In the beginning, this poem sets up the familiar story we're used to hearing about the father with a family on the side. Where this poem twists in a new direction is by focusing on his fight with his teeth. Trying to keep them, but ultimately losing the one in front. Regardless, he never stops smiling.

Great poem, J., and I hope some of my feedback has helped.

Of course, my feedback is not the end. I hope that the readers of this blog will jump in and offer their own feedback on J.'s poem. Plus, don't be afraid to refute my feedback and edits. I totally think the best way to workshop is to have several different opinions. The more the better. Plus, with more feedback, J. will have even more options for which direction she ultimately wishes to take this poem.

Thursday, July 09, 2009 4:54:32 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)    Comments [37]