Tag Archives: advice

Writing Poetry for The Times That Are In It (more unsolicited advice)

150 (3)

 

Writing Poetry for The Times That Are In It

Avoid the polemic, the rant,
the bromide
be all you can be
avoid the hackneyed phrase
the weak-kneed phrase
the self-consciously poetic line
the moon, a pale orb in the evening sky
never call the moon “an orb”
never call the sun “a fiery ball”
your waves should not
crash on the shore
they should collapse
like marathon runners
avoid foliage
excessive leafiness
too many trees
the reader needs to see the poem
and remember it’s unlikely
that your poem
will be an agent of change
no one is going to march through the streets
chanting your poem
unless your poem is a three word slogan
but your poem can chronicle change
bear witness to change
and one day someone might read it
at a rally in front of a large crowd
if the lines resonate
if the lines generate heat
meanwhile concentrate on
impressing yourself
avoid lines ending in “ution”
the rest will take care of itself.

 

The prompt from Brendan over at earthweal is as follows:

“For this week’s challenge, write about the challenges you face as a poet trying to write sufficiently to the moment. What is most difficult to capture about the time? What new tools or calibrations might be required?”

The above poem is a stab at it. It’s a very interesting question, because is it possible to write sufficiently to the moment? Yeats wrote his poem “Easter 1916”, about the Irish Easter Rebellion, between May and September of 1916 but the poem wasn’t published until 1921 in the collection “Michael Robartes and the Dancer”. Undoubtedly the poem must have gone through countless revisions in the interim period and of course is a better poem because of this. If Yeats had a blog, he might have turned out something more immediate and inferior. But it’s interesting to look at how the first verse ends:

Being certain that they and I
But lived where motley is worn:
All changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.

The last two lines are repeated at the end of the second and the last verse, almost like a chorus. I think there lies an answer to how to write more immediate poetry, poetry of the moment – use a form that is close to that of a song, get yourself a rhyme get your self a chorus. It may not turn out like Yeats but hey you don’t have the time for that.

Here’s one from a little while back:

IMG_0269 (10)

Drain The Swamp Rag

(Walk that back
walk that back
I know I said it
but I walked that back.)

Attack dog surrogates
inveterate invertebrates
re-stock the swamp
with old white males.

Post logic, post truth,
snake oil and kool-aid
re-stock the swamp
with old white males.

Mike Pence, John Bolton
Rudy Giuliani
re-stock the swamp
with old white males

Inveterate surrogates
attack dog invertebrates
re-mail the stock
to the old white swamp

re-stock the swamp
with old white males.

 

Short Unsolicited Advice on Writing Poetry (redux)

 

img_0494-4

Short Unsolicited Advice on Writing Poetry

write long poems on short days
short poems on long days
you don’t need a drummer
but you do need rhythm
avoid melodrama
your head cannot explode all the time,
there is uncharted territory
between ecstasy and despair
look after your images
they should splash like cold water
on the reader’s face
observe, always observe.

 

img_0498-2

 

 

 

Don’t Play in the Traffic

IMG_0508 (2)

 

Don’t Play in the Traffic

they met on a zebra crossing
it was a pedestrian affair
she had an air of competence
he…just had an air
they went downhill from there
to her house
in the middle of a roundabout
near the station
one morning they looked out
and the cars had changed rotation
the clouds were tinged
with a tawdry shade of orange
the sky was diffident
the sun judgmental
things would not be the same
would not be the same again.

 

IMG_0535 (2)

Short Unsolicited Advice on Writing Poetry

 

Short Unsolicited Advice on Writing Poetry

write long poems on short days
short poems on long days
you don’t need a drummer
but you do need rhythm
avoid melodrama
your head cannot explode all the time,
there is uncharted territory
between ecstasy and despair
look after your images
they should splash like cold water
on the reader’s face
observe, always observe.

 

img_0498-2

Taking part in Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Writing Poetry

 

 

Poet’s Corner 9 – Slim’s Advice Part 1

I ‘m talking to Slim, or I should say, he’s talking to me about Manchester United and their new Dutch coach, Louis Van Gaal. Slim is disappointed in the team’s progress since Van Gaal’s appointment at the beginning of the season. He is convinced that their problems are due to the coach’s stubborn insistence on playing three centre-backs.

“It’s just too much inertia, too much plod, no team can take the weight of three centre backs plus a slow holding midfielder like Michael Carrick. Also, wing backs?? Who knows how to play that position? Antonio Valencia, maybe, but who else, certainly not Danny Blind…he doesn’t have the speed.”

Slim has the bit between his teeth and from my experience, it can stay there a long time. I look past Slim along the bar and out through the window, there’s a construction crew outside working on a hole in the road. It’s a sunny day. I need to interrupt or this will turn into a rant that lasts the whole lunch.

“Talking about games” (awkward, I know) “have you any advice for people starting out in the poetry game”

“It’s not a f***king game”.

“Business, then, the poetry business”

“It’s certainly not a business, you hardly ever get paid and when you do, it would be barely enough to pay for this lunch”

“Why do you write, then? Slim looks thoughtful.

“I write poetry for the same reason that a dog licks his balls.”

“And that is?”

“Because I can and because I like to.”

“Wait a minute”, I said,” you can…”

“For Chrissake’, Slim roared, and banged his glass on the bar,

”I’m outta here!”

A guy in a business suit at the other end of the bar looks up from his newspaper. I stare at the full pitcher of pale ale and the mound of nachos covered in melted cheese, jalapeno peppers, diced olives, tomatoes, onions and topped off with something called shredded beef although it looks suspiciously like cat food sitting on the bar in front of me. I have an image in my head that I would really like to erase. The door to the bar opens and a lady wearing a hard hat and a high vis vest enters. Her hair is bleached blond and her face is red and weather beaten, she’s carrying a sign that says “Stop” on one side and “Slow” on the other. The “Slow” side faces towards me. I take this as a sign.

“Would you like some nachos,” I say “I’ve got guacamole”.

To be continued.