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| Newest Draft, Read First. |
I think learning the way someone writes a piece is really intriguing and cuts a lot of labor out of trying to figure out what the author had intended. That being said, revealing the process of a poem is generally a big no-no. It takes a lot of the mystique out of the art form and peals away some of the layers of meaning and thus the overall enjoyment of the piece. See, a lot of what makes a poem appealing, outside of sound and imagery, is its ambiguity and interpretation. Contrary to what you may have learned there is a right way to read a poem, but that does not mean that your way is unacceptable. There is a world of difference between artist's intent (what I want to to convey in the piece) and how it makes you feel. Sometimes how a piece makes you feel totally changes the way you go about unpacking and scanning a poem (a process of analyzing the poems imagery, meter, word choice, allusions, and form) by skewing the lens in which you do so. This means your emotional reaction changes the way you can intelligently decode a poem. This can put distance between artist's intent and your interpretation.
or not.
maybe not at all.
Good poems live in this realm of clarity and ambiguity where you can know nothing and know a piece is beautiful. Sometimes the poet intends something and what is on the page is not that at all. The process can be somewhat akin to trying to nail a cube of jello to your forehead; it's gonna be hard, it probably wont work, and the process might hurt your head.
Poets are also very, very fond of taking credit for brilliance within their work that is entirely accidental, so me revealing how I do something cripples my ability to say I sought to achieve something when in actuality, I blindly tripped, dick over fist, into it.
Anyway...
The Process of Writing a Poem: Seriously, its like a bunch of work.
1. Inspiration
| Cliche |
The first part is the raw idea; the little line that creeps into your head somehow without you noticing. This is the cool part. This is the line(s) that you hope will one day be someones year book quote that someone attributes to "anonymous" because they didn't feel like googling it.
For this poem it occurred in two parts. The first occurred months ago during a conversation, I think. We were talking about what motivated artists and I said "Artists really just want to create something that will outlast them. They want something so some part of them will outlast their memories." That was the first boom. Typically when that happens to me I announce "Ohh, that's mine, you cant have it." No one argues because no one really cares. I write that line down in the notes section of my phone.
Sometime later someone mentioned to me how weird it was that dead people have facebook pages that don't get taken down if their family does not know about the page or the password. She called this strange thing a "facebook ghost". To which I replied "or immortal". And then I got annoyed because I began to think about how all artists want to do is create a masterpiece that will allow something of them to live on forever; some way to steal immortality. And now with facebook ghosts, people can do the same thing while attributing absolutely nothing to society or art.
Then I remembered that line I had written before and the click happened.
2. The Roughy
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| It's not a diary |
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| It's a journal. And it smells of leather and lonliness |
So now I have had the idea of what I want to do. I want to write a poem about how people have created a new afterlife/source of immortality, free of actually having to do anything noteworthy, through social media. I want to convey this in a way that reads more "intrigue and disappointment" than "condemnation and trendy". One of favorite ways to convey this "slow thought intrigue" is by using the extended dash (--) to create a long pause/break in the narrative. So I'll pepper some of those fellows in after lines that have to deal with death.
I also want to use a lot of "oh" sounds to reflect the digital nature of the subject matter (binary is the language of computers and it is made up of a series of ones and zeroes).
I also prefer pen and ink for first drafts because it forces me to slow down and pay attention to the words.
The first draft reads:
Our real ghosts are one's + oh's
It's the new afterlife
all made up by us
the new ghost story
is one of hope
all we ever wanted
,really,
is for some part of us
to be remembered
after we had stopped--
something we'd done
to last
a little longer
make people know
that we
were here
without remarkability
not all can write
or shoot, paint, draw, model
prove, explore, discover
but no one wants to be forgotten
so into servers we store our souls--
+ silicon
where social media makes us all
either phantoms
or immortal
Im not too sure
which--
3. Rewrite
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| I apologize if my dainty fingers are distracting |
First I would like to point out that this draft is on graph paper. I really love doing initial rewrites on graph paper because it provides a very simple way to measure meter.
I am rather fond of iambic pentameter (10 syllable lines with each syllable alternating an unstressed and stressed syllable). Writing on graph paper allows me to allot two boxes to each syllable and split each syllable with an empty box. Each foot (an unstressed and a stressed syllable) gets one line on the graph paper. This way I can very easily keep track of the foot count with a simple 2x5 pattern.
So on this draft I will rewrite the poem keeping track of the feet and see if I can easily put it into meter while still making sound good when spoken aloud. All poems must be aesthetically pleasing on the page and sound good spoken.
This draft reads:
our real
ghosts are
ones and
ohs -- (I like to cheat and use the dash as a dropped syllable so that I can still brag about meter)
the new
post life-- (shit I cant pretend it's not one here. you must follow the rules you set on the page)
made up
by us| for us| with us| of us|
our new
ghost sto
ry is
one of
hope --
all we
ev er
wan ted
-- really-- (I thought beginning a line with a comma would be an interesting way of showing how something was not right. Then I thought it was too pretentious)
was for
some part
of us
to be
re mem
bered -- (still trying to cheat)
af ter
we had
stopped -- (so I can stop using the dash as a dropped syllable for a long pause and counting it metrically and lose the ones where I cant count it, or stop counting it)
so in
to ser
vers we
store our
souls --
hea ven
is gold
+ sil
i con
where so
cial me
di a
makes us
eit her
phan toms
or im
mor tal
i'm not
too sure
which --
Also, notice that I scrapped the whole "remarkability" section. It was too specific, elitist, and bitchy for the desired tone of the poem.
So I can make a few tweaks and make this metrical. I have the option of going iambic pentameter, tetrameter, trimeter, or alternate. I wont be sure until the next draft. But I really have to ditch the dash as a dropped syllable.
4. Rewrite... Again
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| "I'm a hand model, mama. A finger jockey. We think differently than the face and body boys... we're a different breed." - J. P. Prewitt |
I use graph paper again for this write because I'm really just playing with syllable counts, trying to make a cohesive form.
This one reads:
Our real
ghosts are
ones and
ohs-- (still? Im gonna try and cheat still? No, bad Hayden)
the new
post life, (better, dont overuse the dash, asshole; you are not Emily Dickinson)
made up
for us
with us
by us
of us
-- I guess
just like
the old -- (dashes are deliberate here to draw attention to the fact that this is a sidethought from the narrator. I like these)
but (At first I was shooting for an alternating tetrameter/trimeter form, but I gave up on it right here)
our new
ghost stor
y is
one of
hope-- (it's a meter crutch, shut up. Maybe I dont want to give up on it yet. Maybe I'll decide to use it to simply signify a long pause)
all we'd
ev er
wan ted--
really --
was for
some part
of us
to be
re mem
bered af
ter we
had stopped
and so
in ser
vers we
stored our
souls --
a hea
ven of
gold and
sil i
con
-- where soc
ial me
di a --
makes us
eit her
phan toms
or im
mortal
but im
not cer
tain which
I can still tweak into a metrical form at this point. I could make it repeat 4,3,4,3,5 or I could make it alternate between 10 syllable clusters and 11 syllable clusters to again reflect the binary code. But I don't really feel like it for a poem destined to be deliberately hacked up on the internet. And after I am done writing it, I read it out loud and decide that it does not need a form. It sounds good-ish as is (most likely laziness again.)
5. Read it Out Loud
Make a note of what sounds off. This is trickier after you decide to abandon meter because you have no fence to narrow your play with words in if you dislike something.
6. Surprise! Rewrite it Again
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| Instagram! |
I have completely abandoned a strict meter and form now and am free to play with the words on the page solely for the sake of aesthetics and to convey how I want the poem read.
This one is all like:
Our real ghosts
are ones
and ohs--
the new life,
made up
for us with us by us of us
...I guess
just like the old
but
our new ghost story
is one of hope--
all wed ever wanted
...really
was for some part of us
to be remembered
after we had stopped
and so in servers
we stored our souls
--a heaven of gold and silicon
where social media (the vagueness of this annoys me)
made us
either phantoms
or immortals
... but im not sure which
So poems are to be read with a rhythm. There is a flow that accentuates the subject matter and tone that one must struggle with to show the readers solely by how you make their eyes read. This is why you indent and add dashes and break lines. You want to stall or emphasize and make them not breathe till the line is over so that they can hear the words the way you speak them to yourself.
7. Go to Sleep
Seriously. Wait a day or two before you get back to rewriting the piece. Put some distance between you and it so that you can look at it more objectively.
Theeeen...
8. Type it
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| art? |
After the day or two has gone by you rewrite the bastard again with fresher eyes.
This is the slightly smoothed draft:
our real ghosts
are ones
and zeroes
this new post-life
made up—
for us of us with us by us
I guess just like the old one
but
our new ghost story
is one of hope—
all we had ever wanted
really
was for some part of us
to be remembered
a little longer
after we had stopped
and so in servers
we stored our souls
—a heaven of gold
and silicon
where facebook
made us
all either
phantoms
or immortals
but I am not too certain which..
I hope this gives you a new appreciation for what goes into this and how to tell the difference between something someone has crafted and something someone takes eight seconds to bang out.
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