Writing Poetry for a Clearer, More Centered Self
Writing poetry, no matter what genre you usually work in, is truly an experience of re-creating a self. In writing poems from experience and from meditative and reflective moments, we are the makers of something that helps us come to know ourselves and have increased intimacy with ourselves. From this intimacy comes the creation of selves that are clearer, more centered, and more willing to engage life with a full range of senses and emotions. Writing poetry, we come more fully alive.
Poet and critic Ralph Mills Jr. wrote:
…the poet invites us to share in his pursuit of identity; to witness the dramatization of the daily events of his experience–so closely resembling our own; to be haunted by the imagery of his dreams or the flowing stream of his consciousness; to eavesdrop on relationships with friends and lovers; to absorb the shock of his deep-seated fears.
The poet, Mills tells us, wants “to speak to us, without impediment, from the deep center of a personal engagement with existence.”
I have offered the following exercises over the years as strategies to help writers of poetry and prose slip into this deep center of personal engagement. Here they are again as a reminder of simple ways to access your writing self. As we are called in so many directions every day, exercises that work are a valuable tool for getting centered in our writing.
****
Abantu
At the heart of a poet’s ability to evoke engagement with experience is the use of metaphor to make images come alive. With metaphor, the poet compares one thing to something else that is very different. The juxtaposition makes the writer re-experience the original image more fully. In Africa, the people of the Abantu tribe developed an oral tradition in which they did this. They created two line poems in the rhythm of their work. The first line was an image spoken by one person and the second line an “answering” or corresponding image spoken by a second person. As reported in a book entitled Technicians of the Sacred, by Jerome Rothenberg, one person might say, “The voice of an angry man” and a second person answer, “The sound of an elephant’s tusk cracking.”
Here are some two-line Abantu created in classes I have taught:
The straps of my Birkenstock sandals
Two highway overpasses
Me in the bathtub full of water
A seed inside an avocado
Smell of fresh baked bread
Clothes just out of the dryer
Wind through the grass
My husband rustles the Sunday Times
Cornflakes in my bowl
Little dolphins swimming
You get the idea. Create a first line with images from what is around you: A space between two parked cars, the blinds on the living room window, rose bushes along the fence, boys playing soccer, cars stuck in traffic, the sound of a trumpet, for instance. Then go back and find second lines that seem to evoke a fresh experience of the first line image through juxtaposition. For instance:
The space between two parked cars
The space between my two front teeth
The blinds on the living room window
Jail clothes in so many cartoons
The sound of a trumpet
Seals during feeding times at the zoo
Now it’s your turn. You can make up the opening lines in the morning and challenge yourself to filling in the second lines at odd moments during the day. You can have a friend make up first lines for you and you for them and then show each other the finished two-line Abantus you come up with. You can post first lines on the refrigerator or a bulletin board and let the others at home or at work fill in second lines. Whatever way you do this, it is an exercise in metaphor making, and it keeps the creative mind supple.
****
Nobody Knows
The poet Emily Dickinson wrote that we must come at things slant. To find out what is at the bottom of our minds and hearts, we must sometimes write about something else, something we think we know. We will find that the truth of our feelings comes out if we tie this idea to a strategy. Sometimes that strategy can be one of telling secrets, even secrets we are keeping from our selves. Here’s a writing idea that will allow you to do this.
Think of an irritating situation in your life, such as a neighbor who makes noise, a relative who is angry with you, a boss who never says thank you, a person who breaks promises.
Decide on one such irritating situation and then title a poem about it, for example: “When I Saw My Neighbor Get into His Car and Heard the Blasting Stereo Again” or “When You Didn’t Come Home Again for Dinner.” Now use the template below to get a poem going in two stanzas:
I didn’t say ______________
I didn’t see_______________
I didn’t _____(an action)_____________
I said ______________________
I saw_______________________
I ___________(an action______________
You will be amazed at what you find out by inventing what you didn’t do and then reporting or inventing what you did do. You can feel free, by the way, to add more things you didn’t or did say, see or do. Just keep the didn’t say, see or do part first and the did part second. The contrast between the two is what allows you to get at the bottom of your mind and heart.
****
When I Saw You
How many times have you suddenly been overcome with strong feelings just watching someone do something? Think of people you remember watching when these deep feelings occurred.
You might want to stay away from anger, which usually covers up a more basic feeling such as sorrow or fear. And think small. Instead of choosing something large like the time your husband surprised you with a new car, try the time your son came home from the pet shop with his first goldfish. What did his clothes look like? The bag in his hand? His hair and his eyes? Did he know the fish needed to stay in the bag in the sink for awhile until the water in the fish bowl became room temperature?
You might think of a list of times like this:
When I saw you put your hands in the soapy dishwater
When I saw your peanut butter cheek
When I saw the ring that pierces your brown eyebrow
When I saw you raking leaves.
Let the “When I saw you” line be the title and then describe what you saw making sure you use the five senses to describe this. For example, if you saw your mother raking leaves, what was she wearing, how did the rack and the leaves sound, was there a smell in the air, what did you taste or touch while you were watching — the wool ties on your childhood hat, the lint inside your jacket pockets? Speaking from the senses is an important part of writing poetry. You can also use a metaphor in this poem. What did the lint in the pocket feel like — pebbles in your shoe? Was the sound of the rake like the sound you often made marking the sidewalk with a rock? Sensory imagery and metaphor will bring the situation alive and also help you find out what you really experienced in the moment you are remembering.
****
The Voice of Robert Desnos
The French poet Robert Desnos named one of his poems “The Voice of Robert Desnos.” In this poem, the poet lists all that happens when he calls to the one he loves. His voice makes many things happen — trees bend, tornadoes come, the smoke of volcanoes clothes him, and storms roar at his feet. But despite all that happens as a consequence of his calling out, the one he loves does not hear him.
We all feel unrequited at times in our lives. Often this is in love, but sometimes it is at the office or in our families or organizations. Think of a place where you feel unrequited or unrecognized and feel strongly that you should not have to be in that situation. Then, like Desnos, title a poem using your own name, for instance, “The Voice of Sheila Bender,” was my title when I created a poem after Desnos’. Next make a list, as fantastic as possible, of what you call to using elements from the situation you are thinking about:
I Call to the Ski Slopes of Breckenridge
After Robert Desnos
I call to the ski slopes of Breckenridge;
I call to the trees on the slopes of Breckenridge;
I call to the snow and the ice hanging in their branches;
I call to the snow on the run and the melted layer of that snow iced over. I call to my son, to my son in his thermal clothing, to my son, twenty-five years old and snow boarding, headed into the trees.
I call to my son to tumble off the board and never reach the trees.
I call to my son not to worry about looking clumsy,
not to worry about finishing his run.
I call to him and I call.
Next, make a new list of what happens when you call:
The ski lift stops with its human
cargo, quiet and still and trees begin to lean,
but they are slow, and the snow and the ice on their boughs
fall in clumps to the ground, batter on a spoon I can not see.
My son does not hear me,
but I call over the weeks between then and now
to the hospital and time of death: 3:30 December 28, 2000
and he does not tumble where I want him to.
I call clear as the moon, single eye I howl beneath, a coyote
licking pebbles from a wound. I call and I call. The wound
weeps holy water over my eyelids, hands, knees, feet
that will carry me the rest of my days.
You may recognize this as a poem I later published. Poets use list making and the repeating of words and phrases as a technique for drafting. Notice that I also use a metaphor to describe the snowfall.
I did not expect to write this particular poem when I did the exercise. Writing poetry always offers a surprise. Whatever we write about, even the hardest truths, we receive some refreshment from having given voice to our fears, sadnesses and irritations as well as our tenderness and love.
****
Try your hand at these exercises. Use them more than once with different occasions as the subjects. I think you will enjoy practicing these techniques and finding out how they help you get to the essence of your experience.
