How often do we write letters these days? That is, real letters, not emails? Can a letter become a poem?
For this prompt, let's experiment with writing a poem/letter. The form will be similar to that of a letter. The body of the work may be stichic (one long stanza) or may be composed of several stanzas. Alternatively, you might write yourself a memo, or you might write a letter to someone else (see Renee Ashley's example below).
Letter Poem Example: "For Brigit in Illinois" by Renee Ashley
Memo Poem Example: "How to Be Happy: Another Memo to Myself" By Stephen Dunn
What things might you say in a letter or memo to yourself?
What's uppermost or most hidden in your mind?What things have happened to you that you've thought, but never written, about?
Some things to consider:
Confront yourself.
Confront something that troubles you.
Confront your feelings about a relationship.
Congratulate, comfort, forgive yourself.
Focus on the present or perhaps on a challenging time in your life.
Write from the perspective of your childhood, or write from the future (looking back at yourself as you are now).
Write from the perspective of your childhood, or write from the future (looking back at yourself as you are now).
Wonderful idea! This type of writing is sometimes used as a technique in counseling.
ReplyDeleteI especially like the Renee Ashley poem you cite as an example.
Keep the prompts coming, Adele!
Máire Ó Cathail (Ireland)
Something interesting about Emily Dickinson: "Letter Poem, A Dickinson Genre."
ReplyDeletehttp://www.emilydickinson.org/letter/letintro.htm
See also: http://www.emilydickinson.org/letter/jl912.htm
I love this idea and have written a letter poem that's too personal to post - but writing it was very healing! Thank you!
ReplyDeleteJamie
Hi Adele,
ReplyDeleteI was working with this prompt and remembered William Butler Yeats's great poem "A Dialogue of Self and Soul." It isn't a letter poem, but the sense of it is similar to what you've asked us to try this week. I love the last three lines:
We must laugh and we must sing,
We are blest by everything,
Everything we look upon is blest.
Jamie
The Yeats poem that Jamie mentions is brilliant. Here's a url for anyone who'd like to read it.
ReplyDeletehttp://oldpoetry.com/opoem/2580-William-Butler-Yeats-A-Dialogue-Of-Self-And-Soul
Thanks, Maire! Glad you enjoyed the Ashley poem. She's a great poet!
ReplyDeleteThanks so much, Bob's Mustangs. The Dickinson material is great!
ReplyDeleteJamie! So interesting that you thought of the Yeats poem. I did too when I was working on this prompt. Thanks for your comment.
ReplyDeleteThanks much, Bob.Fiorellino, for the "A Dialogue of Self and Soul" url. Such a brilliant poem by one of my favorite poets.
ReplyDeleteExcellent ideas--I'll be teaching the letter poem soon so I appreciate this.
ReplyDeleteThanks so much, Miriam! I'm delighted to hear that the ideas will be useful in your teaching!
ReplyDeletehttp://mywordsarealive.blogspot.com/2011/02/letters-to-myself-at-fourteen.html
ReplyDeleteI Have His Letters Still
ReplyDelete≈
When I was young
they were kept in a shoebox.
Then, in late middle age,
in an old leather correspondence case,
found at a flea market,
kept in the bottom desk drawer.
Handwritten in flowing cursive script
by original Lewis Waterman pen
point dipped in a well
the fountain of personal essence
the blue flowed with emotion
like the waters of life.
Soul captured not by Lucifer
but by the fiber of the paper
crafted in Egypt along the Nile
history nested so deeply between the reeds
weaved invisibly
between the threads of papyrus.
The envelope, self-sealed in a meticulous way
with wax, monogrammed
engraved so beautifully on the back,
The Steamboat Savannah stamp
hand canceled – May 24, 1944
a distinctive ink which marked its journey
as would a traveler his journal
from South Carolina to Baptistown, NJ.
I treasure this letter, and its envelope.
When I pick it up and read
I feel him rising
through the warmth of the words,
grasping my hand…
this post saved in the attic of my memories.
While I have other poets today
their presence I see just fleetingly
on the computer screen,
my palm touch against the monitor
only makes work for me
with Windex.
Though a friend taught me about the “Save” button
I feel as if I have saved nothing, and lost much
each time I push/click -
their correspondence lost –
in impersonal set aside.
Why time took this treasured means of human discourse
there is no answer.
Does it have no sense of history -
permanency?
Upon my death, for what
will they use my leather satchel?
Thankfully -- I have his letters still.
Ray Brown
http://raybrown.wordpress.com
Thanks, Tania!
ReplyDeleteRay! The title poem from your book! Thanks so much for sharing it with us.
ReplyDelete