A poem’s birth and life cycle – fed with chance and patience
“I’m not ready to take my place among the dead…” was a prompt given us by Aaron Smith three years ago during a week-long poetry boot camp. I scratched out some unsatisfactory lines of a poem start in my journal and moved on to other work. Other prompts, other starts.
This was the beginning of my poem, “Fresh Earth.”
I happened over those notes two years ago during one of my MFA residencies at West Virginia Wesleyan College. I had a flash of inspiration, I confessed then, during one of the lectures, and fleshed out a number of lines of this poem and worked on it over the next few days. I read a short incarnation of it during that week’s student readings.
With the assistance of my advisor, the poem went through revisions half a year later during periodic packet work for that semester.
The poem was revised further and included as part of my final thesis collection half a year ago.
The poem is included in what became an edited and longer collection now on submission to a publisher under the book title, PORCH.
The poem, I’m happy to report, was honored this month with 2nd place in the George Scarborough poetry contest at the Mountain Heritage Literary Festival, geographically only a mile from where Aaron Smith gave us that original writing prompt.
While every poem we write doesn’t travel this trajectory, shouldn’t we have a kind of patience with our work that allows the possibilities of time to unfold them? So they have a chance to be a fullness only scrutiny over time reveals?
I felt good about early versions of my poem, “Fresh Earth” (which is one of three possible titles as well), and might have easily stepped away and started submitting it.
But it lacked something. That something is hard to see with your own eyes and hearts. Another reader, an advisor, mentor, writing group, trusted friend who won’t spare your delicate poet’s heart, even a stranger, is often required. Who will say, This ain’t done, buddy. Take it back down into the mine.
Some writing feels emotionally perfect on a first pass. Lots, actually. But few poems are perfect on a first writing. Very little writing is. Most things in life require revising. Usually several times. With others for help. With their unbiased eyes along with your biased reflections on the world your trying to mirror.
And sometimes, by the time the light goes out, hits something reflective, comes back bending, to our eyes, and the eyes of others, the world sees just what you were trying to say.
“I’m not ready to take my place among the dead…” was a prompt given us by Aaron Smith three years ago during a week-long poetry boot camp. I scratched out some unsatisfactory lines of a poem start in my journal and moved on to other work. Other prompts, other starts.
This was the beginning of my poem, “Fresh Earth.”
I happened over those notes two years ago during one of my MFA residencies at West Virginia Wesleyan College. I had a flash of inspiration, I confessed then, during one of the lectures, and fleshed out a number of lines of this poem and worked on it over the next few days. I read a short incarnation of it during that week’s student readings.
With the assistance of my advisor, the poem went through revisions half a year later during periodic packet work for that semester.
The poem was revised further and included as part of my final thesis collection half a year ago.
The poem is included in what became an edited and longer collection now on submission to a publisher under the book title, PORCH.
The poem, I’m happy to report, was honored this month with 2nd place in the George Scarborough poetry contest at the Mountain Heritage Literary Festival, geographically only a mile from where Aaron Smith gave us that original writing prompt.
While every poem we write doesn’t travel this trajectory, shouldn’t we have a kind of patience with our work that allows the possibilities of time to unfold them? So they have a chance to be a fullness only scrutiny over time reveals?
I felt good about early versions of my poem, “Fresh Earth” (which is one of three possible titles as well), and might have easily stepped away and started submitting it.
But it lacked something. That something is hard to see with your own eyes and hearts. Another reader, an advisor, mentor, writing group, trusted friend who won’t spare your delicate poet’s heart, even a stranger, is often required. Who will say, This ain’t done, buddy. Take it back down into the mine.
Some writing feels emotionally perfect on a first pass. Lots, actually. But few poems are perfect on a first writing. Very little writing is. Most things in life require revising. Usually several times. With others for help. With their unbiased eyes along with your biased reflections on the world your trying to mirror.
And sometimes, by the time the light goes out, hits something reflective, comes back bending, to our eyes, and the eyes of others, the world sees just what you were trying to say.