Dear Fellow Word Weavers,
(As I've already mentioned recently) at age 86, with approximately 20 years since publication of my last full volume of poetry (as distinct from chapbooks and collaborations) – Secret Leopard: New & Selected Poems 1974–2005, which is now only available as an ebook – I thought it was time to look through my blogged poems from 2006 onwards, to assemble either a new great big book or several chapbooks on different themes.
I’ve started labelling the poems by themes, as well as marking
them with a tick, cross or question mark.
I began with the earliest, written in 2006 (on my old blog, 'The Passionate Crone') – and was soon blown away by their stunning mediocrity! What’s worse than writing a really bad poem? Writing a mediocre one. (Of course mediocre is a form of ‘bad,’ but a form that is not even interestingly atrocious.) I do hope I’ll see some improvement in my later writings, but at this stage I can’t be sure.
Perhaps it is partly to do with writing to prompts and/or churning things out daily for particular projects such as the April poetry month, plus not going back to revise – or not back far enough, anyway. (Revising too soon can mean I still miss things, not having gained sufficient objectivity yet.)
It all made me remember a Poets Union event in Melbourne years ago, when a panel of poets onstage discussed a question, the exact wording of which I've long forgotten, but it was along the lines of, ‘What’s the essential ingredient for good poetry?’ They were all pontificating solemnly and boringly, and arriving at no conclusion, then Adelaide poet Jenny Boult (later known as MLL Bliss) put up her hand from the audience, and yelled out in her characteristically smoky voice, ‘Deeply felt, for God’s sake – deeply felt!’ She brought the discussion to a sudden halt, as we all instantly recognised the truth of what she said.
Sure enough, my few pieces so far that seem worth putting into a book were written from deep feeling.
Another recollection is of my late friend Ridge, who was not a poet but a clairvoyant, getting a message for me from his guides (or maybe from mine): ‘Let the poems come to you; don’t you chase the poems.’ I didn’t altogether follow this advice, of course, which is one reason for now thinking belatedly that maybe writing to prompts was not my best idea.
Ah but, we all need to practise the craft, don’t we, and what better time than when we’re between our great inspirations? And sometimes – bonus! – what was intended as a mere exercise turns out to be a poem worth sharing with the world. So I’m not going to repine at this late stage.
I also have to take responsibility for the fact that I have often quite deliberately cultivated a low-key, conversational tone – which, I see now, can perhaps slip too readily into the mundane. Which is not a matter of feeling so much as style.
However, to write from deep feeling seems to take care of style.
Your optional prompt this week, then, is to write on something about which you feel deeply.
Reminder: Remember, you are always free to ignore or even subvert the prompt. Or you might choose to write about deep feelings instead of – or as well as – with them.
Guidelines: One post per person, 369 words max (excluding title and any notes), on prompt or off, old or new, verse or prose. Please enjoy reading and commenting on what others share; and chat to us in the comments below if you wish or need. (Also, take a quick glance at those comments below; some may be meant for you personally, not only for the admin team.)
Next week: We will invite you to find inspiration in one of the following quotes:
1. “Although I was born in April, I’m quite certain I was not fully awake until October.” ~ Peggy Toney Horton
2. “It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.” ~ George Orwell
3. “April is the kindest month. April gets you out of your head and out working in the garden.” ~ Marty Rubin
4. “It is spring again. The earth is like a child that knows poems by heart.” ~ Rainer Maria Rilke
5. “April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull root with spring rain.” ~ T. S. Eliot
