When we say we want to write Organically, what does that really mean when nature is so patterned and ruled by math? I get that organic = shuffling meter off the mortal coil, but I suspect we may not be saying what we think we are.
A facebook site says, Keep it natural. Ok, what about fractals? (It’s a beefy math-tastic formula in which you plug a number and get an answer, then plug in that answer for another answer. The Mandlebrot set is the Mother of these dudes, and when you plot the points on a graph it looks like this:
The important thing is that when you zoom in, the image keeps repeating itself. Scientists are using the Mandlebrot set to make calculations in nature that weren’t previously calculable. Measuring shorelines and estimating oxygen production in forests. So is writing organically might be writing in a structure that repeats itself on a sliding scale. Then what?
Another site gets wispy and teary about an arboreal metaphor: “Be the soil that your writing grows from…” Ack. I’m just saying that nature is much more patterned, mathematical, and precise than we remember at times. Nature’s got its bits under control—tight control.
Here’s where I get intimate with you all: I decorate my mother’s grave with stones. (See Melina’s post from yesterday–Jean Michel Basquiat.)
All the stones are from bodies of water. The first set came from the Wisconsin River about a year after she died. It seemed natural to sweep off her gravestone with dead grass and line up a handful of rocks. Then I’d talk (or not) and head out. Simple. Read more »
Shakespeare apps, spin the bottle for themed poetry, rhyme finders, Frostisms (Whitmanisms??) poetry readings “enhanced” by reading along on a glowing screen?
I don’t know, friends. Internet on the phone with fancy apps and whatnot makes me believe I would stray farther away from poetry than I already have. Basically, I’m unconvinced by Bob Tedeschi’s argument. To me, it’s just more portable internet.
The apps don’t seem that impressive, or maybe they feel more for people who spring breeze through poetry than people who grave dig for poetry.
Bookslut’s got a hugely interesting interview between Matt Rohrer by Ruth Tobias. It makes me want to meet him. I remember not being outrageously impressed with Rise Up, but I feel like I should take another look. He put out A Plate of Chicken in 2009, which is much more formally technical book and worth a look, and his newest, Destroyer and Preserver, comes out next spring.
In the interview, he names Creedence as his poetry’s soundtrack and responds to the “where do you see politics in your poetry,” question with, “Uh, yikes.” And says more charming things like:
“Nothing is more boring, because nothing is risked.”
“Well I love trees. And I think nature is great. Hooray for nature.”
“I always wish a poem were as emotionally direct and powerful as a rock and roll song… Lyrically, rock and roll doesn’t have to be anything special — it’s the emotion that the music imparts to the song that takes everything to the new level. Which is why I get so tired of hearing those conversations about POETRY and LYRICS, or WHY BOB DYLAN IS (or isn’t) A POET, and blah blah blah.” (This one hit me right in the heart like a high-five.)
Shira’s got me thinking about the parallels between creative writing and comedy. The major concepts are the same: think, write, workshop, revise, and get on the stage. I’m finding that I write much more for myself with poetry, much more aware of the audience for comedy.
The good news for me is that most of the comics in the general Spokane area are pretty amateur. Makes me think I can slide in more seamlessly. So, here’s where I’m at in the process.
I do homework. AKA, I netflix standup and take notes on joke structures. Notes might say something like: use simile to get out of a heckling retreat, or counting out the timing between echoing a previous punch line.
Then I write. Self-explanatory.
Then I workshop, which means trying jokes on friends until they reconsider being your friend.
Then you rewrite jokes, and practice verbal cues.
And then I land on stage in October. I’d appreciate it if you’d stop by. Also if you have patience while I’m imposing comedy workshops on ya.
And also speaker. And also screamer. I saw this “band” over a year ago, and they kicked my face in. I write aggressively, with muscular language some would say, but these fellas are intense. I mean, do you bring a washer and an axe handle/bat with you everywhere?
The charm for me here is that aggressiveness. They’re bluegrass and metal at the same time. Minimalist yet thick. It’s got all the angst one could want in the lyrics, and dude performs amazingly, almost uncomfortably in the moment of the lyrics.
It’s an exciting challenge to work with slam poets on their pieces. It’s freeing to forget about the line. I get to consider sound and emotion and pacing when I would usually be in there with a safety pin and tweezers trying to do something sneaky with enjambment or connotation.
For the most part, we’re supposed to write what we know, but does it matter how we know it? As a rule, I think most writers stick closer to experience and supplement it with research. I most often write from a memory or an interesting observation. Research less so, and I think I could use it more.
Poets seem to pull from their cannon more than prose writers. We write about Icarus and Lot’s wife and the like so much it feels like a rite of passage. Louise Glück’s Averno and James Wright’s “Saint Judas” come through this kind of research. That’s right kids, allusions fall into this category, too. But let’s not hate on Eliot again. Read more »
Back in the day I got all gushy about the axis between visual art and poetry. Well, in the Wall Street Journal, Judith Dobrzynski wrote about Charles Demuth’s homage to William Carlos William’s poem, “The Great Figure.” The article itself mostly describes the painting in a where’s waldo/photo hunt sort of way, but I’m thankful to find this kind of cross-genre, pseudo collaboration.
It’s like the reciprocation for all those ekphrastic poems. There’s a collection of Ekphrastic poems called, Elastic Ekphrastic if anyone’s interested. It makes sense to me that ekphrastic poetry has such a long tradition and has a fairly consistent popularity, much like writing in a form. Also, I keep finding that many of the images in contemporary poetry are visual. Visual first. As if sight is #1 in the battle of the senses. With digital cameras, and super-awesome lenses of fanciness, and authors who are collaborating to include photographs in their books (Mary Oliver and her partner for example, if I remember right). Photography is the new painting, yo.
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