This week our prompt deals with narrative poetry (poetry that tells a
story). The goal is to write a poem in which you tell the story behind a
special memory. Sounds easy, right? NOT!!! For this poem, I’d like you to stay
very focused on not simply telling a
story but, rather (and here’s the challenge), on what the story means.
A lot of people who write poetry work from a prose impulse and a prose
logic that they arrange in lines and stanzas. This is especially prevalent in
“memory” and memoir poems. It’s way too easy
to tell a story in a format that looks like a poem. Often, we see memoir and
confessional “writings” that tell something of someone’s story, include a
couple of good images, throw in few similes or metaphors, come up with a clever
ending, appear in lines and stanzas, and masquerade as poems. Sure, that kind of writing may generate
applause from readers or listeners who have had similar experiences (especially
in open readings where there isn’t enough time to “know” the poem well), but
it’s not truly poetry because it never reaches beyond the poet’s impulse to
“tell.” The poem has to be more than the
story – it has to be about what happened because of the story; thus, the story becomes subordinate to its
telling.
Beware of writing/telling too much in your poem. Remember that a poem
should contain an element of mystery or surprise – first to the poet and then
to the reader or listener. A lot of the poems being read and published today
are so cluttered with superfluous detail (and way too many adjectives) that the
poems become claustrophobic experiences (I call it TMW – too many words). A
poet, beyond competence, has to trust readers to fill in some of the blanks.
Some people who write poetry become so occupied with telling their
stories that they (the writers) are indelibly superimposed over their poems.
There is definitely a finding and loss of the self in poetry writing – that
sounds contradictory, but it isn’t. The poet enters the poem to learn
something; once written, the poet necessarily exits. The poem shouldn’t carry
the poet along with it – all that bulk and bone will cast shadows.
Be careful about abstractions, generalizations, and sentimentality.
There is a big difference between image and abstraction. The best lesson a poet
can learn is to write little – to go
to the minute on the way to the large, and that means avoiding abstractions and
generalizations. A good poem does take risks – artistic and emotional – but
never through concepts and notions or simplifications. Every poem needs a strong emotional center that doesn’t smother meaning
with sentiment. A poem should be about poetic sentiment without schmaltziness. Subtlety is good,
overstatement and the obvious must be avoided. Think of your poem in terms of
what your personal story means in the larger, more universal perception of
human experience.
Poems to Read Before Writing:
Note: What is Stafford really “telling”
readers in this poem? The sense of what was and how good it was, and how we
sometimes only recognize that much later?
Note: Gerald Stern has said,
“It’s the poet’s job to remember.” In this poem he remembers what it was like
in Pittsburg, 1945. This poem is very specific to Stern’s experience (as memory
poems should be). How does it speak to you? What, specifically, strikes a chord
when you read this poem? What is Stern telling us?
"Linguini" by Diane Lockward
Note: In this poem Diane Lockward skillfully uses food and a deliberate lightness to draw the reader into the "story." The reader can almost feel the wild abandon of the "linguini moments" Diane writes about. Note that this poem isn't about a single moment; rather, Diane incorporates related "threads" (or should I say "strings of linguini?") to provide insights into a relationship.
"Linguini" by Diane Lockward
Note: In this poem Diane Lockward skillfully uses food and a deliberate lightness to draw the reader into the "story." The reader can almost feel the wild abandon of the "linguini moments" Diane writes about. Note that this poem isn't about a single moment; rather, Diane incorporates related "threads" (or should I say "strings of linguini?") to provide insights into a relationship.
Now ... what’s your story? Write a poem about a special memory – tell your memory's story!
Here is a poem I wrote from a recent memory that unexpectedly moved me. I'm going to work more on this idea of memory poetry. I like the way you describe the prompt and the pitfalls. Any suggestions for improvement on the following are always appreciated.
ReplyDeletehttp://hoofprintsinmygarden.wordpress.com/2012/05/11/riding-the-canal-street-trolly-car/
Thanks so much, Annette and welcome back! Thanks, too, for sharing your poem. I really like the memory!
DeleteThis is fantastic! Something that a lot of writers should read. How many times have I attended an open reading and then sat through what felt like hours of long, rambling poems that were more like prose than poetry. I'm definitely going to share this with my students when the college starts it's autumn semester. Thanks, Adele!
ReplyDeleteJamie
Thanks, Jamie!
DeleteI'm so glad you like this and that you plan to share it with your students. I hope they find it helpful.
Ciao, Adele
ReplyDeleteI have the story but it is in Italian, alas!
Just few verse in English:
"nearby, /just outside the ghetto /in a clearing between the low houses /a woman lives /that each day taught me to not love you /she suffered much for love /she knows the mysterious keys, to exit /from the labyrinth / where I was locked up by you..."
I thought to be out of this / maze. I thought to be out of this/
That I am now writing. You look/ at me. You smile. "You get closer ,we should not..." We know/ what to expect , a fine rain , we are in hurrying, La Regola..
It's raining hardly, the wind has/ ceased,The storm/ is far away...You cry, you smile/you cry.We /walk embraced under the tall plane trees / on the riverside.
______________________________________
"La Regola" is a quarter, very old, of Rome, close to the "Isola Tiberina", the "Ghetto", "Campo de' Fiori"
Jago! This has such a wonderful mystical/mysterious quality! It's also very visual. I'd love to see the Italian version for the musical sound of the language.
DeleteWould "fine rain" be "acquerugiola" in Italian?
Thank you so much for posting this!
Thanks, Adele.
ReplyDeleteYou are incredible! ( or I am really a good writer): you have the capacity to understand the focal point of a text, in this case "the mystical/mysterious quality", in so few verse.
"Acquerugiola" is literally correct, but my text in italian is " una pioggia fine", I mean something like delicate/small, may be thin?
Thank you for your kind words, Jago! The world of translation is a new one for me, and I'm so grateful that you introduced me to it. "Thin rain" is a beautiful way to express the "fine rain" - does it add to the mystical quality?
ReplyDeleteSo many interesting things happening here! Another great prompt and much to enjoy in the various comments and poems posted by readers.
ReplyDeleteThanks for the kind words, Bob!
Delete(for Adele)
ReplyDeleteLà vicino, appena fuori del Ghetto, in uno slargo tra le casette basse, vive la donna che mi insegna ogni giorno a non amarti , una donna che ha sofferto molto per amore e conosce le misteriose chiavi per uscire dal labirinto in cui mi avevi rinchiuso.
Ho pensato di essere fuori da questo labirinto. ho pensato di essere fuori da questo che ora scrivo.
Mi guardi. Sorridi." Ti avvicini,non dovremmo..."
Sappiamo cosa aspettarci , una pioggia sottile( fine or thin rain?), abbiamo fretta, La Regola. Piove appena, il vento è cessato, la tempesta è lontana ...
Tu piangi, mi sorridi, piangi.Camminiamo abbracciati sotto i platani alti. Sul lungofiume.
Ah, Ales/Jago!
ReplyDeleteBeautiful! I wish I had a command of the language! Even reading the words without knowing all the vocabulary, there is so much music and resonance. Thank you!
I See Them
ReplyDeleteThere was a rabbit
Loose in the grove.
She taught me how to enter
The silence of its fear
So it would know
My innocence.
There was an old clock
Whose tic and toc
Was heard by those
Who could only imagine me.
She taught me how to travel
Through the sound
Into their hearts.
In spring her orchard was full
Of birds and butterflies.
She pressed her warm fingers
Over my eyes and said:
See from where
All pretty things come.
Her old Siamese
Loved his pie-pan milk
Steaming on the back porch.
One winter he was gone.
I remembered how still he sat
With folded paws
And cloud-blue eyes.
Looking into heaven
He finally found his way,
She whispered,
Close your eyes
And see him.
I see them.
Thanks for posting your poem, Russ! It's always great to hear from you!
ReplyDeleteWhat's My Story?
ReplyDeleteWhere I came from?
Where I'm going?
I don't know
but
today is great
The sky is a soft eggshell blue
grass dramatically chromed
birds twee tweet tweeting
Who cares about my small personal history?
It's past.
It's done.
It's brought me to
this beautiful place
of inner peace and happiness
a stillness and security
in ever changing life
Such a positive and uplifting poem, Risa! Interesting, too, the "smallness" of the personal "story" in the bigger picture. Thanks for sharing!
DeleteThis was such a good prompt that I wrote another... I tried to meet the goal of showing, not telling or explaining.
ReplyDeletehttp://hoofprintsinmygarden.wordpress.com/2012/05/29/facing-reality/
Hi Annette! I'm delighted to hear that the prompt worked well for you not once but twice! Bouquets to you! Thanks so much for sharing it with us via the link you posted.
ReplyDeleteShowing, not telling or explaining, is really key to effective poetry. I think it's natural for most of us to want to tell -- the craftsmanship comes into play when we avoid that.
The darkness of night
ReplyDeleteHe listened her in silence /while a fine rain began to fall / She was so terrible and desiderable / a woman predicting storms / he called her once / and now the storm was comin' from the sea / carrying an hint / of seaweed / and bitter loneliness / the darkness of night on the / emptiness of their lives...
Wonderful, Jago! Thanks for posting and sharing!
Delete