30 Poems in 30 Days: Developing Your Voice
September 9, 2007 by John Hewitt
This is Day 6 of 30 Poems in 30 Days
Poetic Voice
As you can see from the previous topics, there are many poetic styles to choose from. We have already covered poetry of place, personal poetry, issues oriented poetry and persona poetry. These are all unique approaches to poetry. They have nothing to do with meter, diction, rhythm or form. Once you combine all of those poetic concepts, you can see that there are many diverse approaches to the writing of poetry. Some people write well using very specific styles while others jump from style to style easily.
Poetic voice is something that exists outside of all of these concepts. Poetic voice is, quite literally and broadly the way that you write. It is your choice of words, the order of your words, the length of your sentences, the length of your poems, your use of description, your choice of subjects, your attitude and everything else that goes into the writing of a poem. While any of these aspects of your writing can change from one poem to the next, general patters will emerge over time. It is sort of like the difference between climate and weather. Weather can change daily or even hourly, but the climate rarely changes. It is the guiding force behind the weather.
Developing your poetic voice is a process that continues as long as you write poetry, but in general your voice will become more specific and pronounced over time. When people first start to write poetry, they tend to mimic the poets (or even musicians) they have heard in the past. They have an idea of what poetry should sound like, and they try to force their natural voice into the styles they imagine. As writers grow more comfortable with their writing, their own unique voice comes to the forefront. This doesn’t mean that they put all of their past influences aside, it merely means that those influences serve less as a conscious guide and more as a subconscious inspiration.
It is only natural, even for an experienced poet, to adapt aspects of a new poet or style that they find interesting or inspiring, just as they may react against a style or poet that they find distasteful. As a poet grows more confident in their voice, those influences will have less and less impact.
So, how do you develop your poetic voice? You write. You write and write and write. You also read other poets, not to copy their style but to learn from them. As you continue to write and to read, you will keep the influences you like and discard the ones you don’t, all as a natural part of your development. You will also find that your voice will begin to win out.
Other things to remember:
- Listen to the way you speak.
- Don’t try to write in a style that is dramatically different from the way you speak.
- Don’t use words in your poetry that you wouldn’t use in conversation.
- Incorporate influences from other media such as television, movies, news, talk radio, fiction, non-fiction, music and the people around you.
- The greater the number of influences you have, the less dominant any one influence will be.
- Accept that you don’t have to sound like other writers to be successful. Your own voice and experience will be better than anything you try to simulate.
Today’s Poetry Assignment
Take at least five minutes to meditate in a quite room free of outside influences before you write today’s poem. Try to clear your head of stray thoughts. Once you feel like you are clear and calm, write your poem. Let the topic be about whatever comes to mind after your meditation. If you have never meditated before, simply sit in a chair with your eyes closed and try to relax.
Today’s Recommended Poet
Leslie Adrienne Miller deftly combines three of the writing styles we have been discussing. She writes poems from a deeply personal place, but uses that to address wider issues, and she incorporates her travels into her writing, giving her poems a distinct sense of place. She also incorporates today’s concept, the persona poem, as she stretches to capture other women’s lives (and deaths). I highly recommend The Resurrection Trade. It is one of the most accomplished books of poetry I have read in recent years.
Books by Leslie Adrienne Miller
Eat Quite Everything You See
Ungodliness
Eclipse
Northing is ever remembered the way it was
The good times are always better, and the
Bad times, forgotten, when it comes to love
Sometimes I move one step forward and one memory back
Recalling his deliberate purpose, his calculating
Reticence, the intrigueing imagining of his hot touch
His possible evility luring my
Staulking gaze into the shadow of his soul
Nothing is ever found to be the way it appears to seem
Even when the dream rises from the mist materializing
Like a passionate wish, a heartful longing for
Some searing moment of complete connection
Just to know that he understood the female heart totally
Was enough for a decade, but no more
Eternity escaped his gaze, like hot bath water
Scalding first flesh, draining away all resistance
Leaving a warm soapy ring around the tub
I recreate his mirrored glance returning the Iris of my crystilian
Gaze, blue and measured. It is for him I sometimes feel
The need for that emptiness he could not fill
And the warm darkness that comes in every
Full moon lunar eclipse
The word goes slowly
over and over in my head –
Goodbye. I say it aloud.
Goodbye. So final.
A sort of relief. I can give up
that singular focus.
I used to scry for you
across the great water
by sun and moon.
Child of light, my apprentice,
I took your guardianship
seriously. But you grew.
Now you seek to conform.
I always told you
that was the danger.
And I told you the truth.
Truth is so hard to believe!
We want what is easy.
The Goddess kissed you
at birth. The mark is still there
on your forehead. Feel it.
Your feet must find their way
back to the ancient path.
But that will come later.
Now the Goddess and I can see
your need to be as others.
When you tire of that finally
She will still be waiting.
Probably I shall be gone
like a feather blown on the wind.
Rosemary, I feel this loss . . . I love your internal rhyme, the repetitions, the calling in of the elements . . . . and it is all about letting go.
Dear Connie, thanks for getting it so absolutely! I was worried it might be a bit too obscure. Yours is gorgeous with its heightened language, personal detail and calm philosophising all at the same time. I like particularly the first line, the ending, and above all “Even when the dream rises from the mist, materializing / Like a passionate wish”.
Dear John, looking forward to yours. And may I say thank you - it is such a treat to be doing this! I also know a couple of people who are doing it and not posting here (one because she is travelling and has only spasmodic internet access). Just thought you’d like to know.
And there are others reading . . . .
Thanks for the kind words Rosemary,
The five minutes to meditate has kept me from doing my own assignment! It was my 40th Birthday this weekend and quite pleasantly busy. I plan to post my new poems tonight before I finish tomorrow’s article.
Many Happy Returns!
Listen to the words of the Crone: It’s true what they say about “life begins…”
Connie: I loved this. There are so many wonderful phrases, lines, ideas, that I don’t know what to praise. Let’s just say that it spoke to me, and what more could I ask of a poem or a poet?
Rosemary: Again and again your writing is beutiful, lyrical and powerful. And the use of the Goddess, which I can read both literally and figuratively, reveals that I haven’t yet tapped the depth of what you do.
And while we are handing out praise… John, Maestro, what can I say… It seems you have created an orchestra of all our strange instruments through this project. I love to read them here, together.
And now I should get back to playing my part and try to catch up.
My Entry:
Early Bird
I get up at five in the morning
I don’t remember falling asleep
It must have been just after I ate
Which isn’t good
But it isn’t the first time
I open the motel room door
And the air is already hot
Or still hot really
It’s September
Shouldn’t this part
At least this part
Have cooled off by now
I walk barefoot to my van
Braving the sharp pebbles of the parking lot
To search for the shaving cream
I could have sworn I brought with me
But no luck
I will have to settle for bar soap
And hand lotion
A solution I came to long ago
At lease I have lotion
It’s harder without the lotion
I shave
The first strip of skin doesn’t respond well
But then it is ok
I get dressed
Go to work
Get there before the security guards
Have made it to their posts
In two hours I complete every task I had scheduled
A whole day finished
With eight hours left
To stare at and waste
Until I brave the hot air
Back to the hotel room
Eat dinner
And fall asleep
Or watch TV
Or stare at the ceiling
Whichever option the night gives me
I pass the time until I can go home
Driving fast down the freeway
One hundred thirty miles back
Back to my wife
Back to my family
Back to my friends
Back to obligations that mean something
To me
R&C: Amazing how spiritual and contemplative your work got after meditation.
No Worries
I am free
of anything wrong
just for tonight
I’ll breath calmly
just for tonight
I wont worry about anything
my head is light
my body takes form of a feather
I go where the wind takes me
I’ll go with your flow
just for now I am what I am
you are on your own
my body is free of poison
I feel pure and innocent
If only for just one night
If only just for one sitting
I feel confortable
and satisfied
my body is mine
my body is perfect
I am free spirited
Love
Riannon: It sounds like the meditation did you some good. Glad you found some peace.
Yes, nice one Rianon. I like this best of anything of yours I’ve seen so far.
Stillness
“Take at least five minutes to meditate in a quite room free of outside influences before you write today’s poem.”
–30 Poems in 30 Days
Never allow that kind
of quiet into my life.
Making the fresh, New England snow
into a giant caterpillar climbing
a cedar tree, the girl I loved
turned to me and said,
Can you stop talking for a minute?
And later, my silent college roommate
with phenomenal email skills
told me, over dinner,
that I’d probably used up
all my words for the day.
My professor pulled me aside
and said, You tell too many jokes.
But the beauty of the dorm
was that there was always
another person awake,
wandering between the mistuned pianos,
holding the book that just
revealed the story of his life,
desperate for somebody to listen.