30 Poems in 30 Days: Say What You Want to Say
September 27, 2007 by John Hewitt
This is Day 24 of 30 Poems in 30 Days
Let the Reader Decide
On October 15th, 1995, when the Internet was first getting noticed, I sat down and wrote a list of tips for poets. This was long before poewar.com, when I had a little spot on a newspaper’s server and dial up access that went out whenever it rained. I don’t quite know what made me think I was qualified to give advice. I was five years out of college with a degree in Creative Writing and I guess I thought I knew a thing or two.
The funny thing was how popular that article got. It was soon after I wrote that little article that my site started getting noticed. When I transferred my pages to poewar.com, the article stayed popular. Just going by today’s stats, it is the fourth most popular page on my site, and that includes my homepage. It gets between one and two hundred hits a day, consistently. Every once in a while, StumbleUpon remembers that its there and I get about a thousand hits in a day. The shysters over at poetryamerica.com even went and published most of it as if it was their own.
Twelve years later, I still pretty much stand by my advice. I was young and a little too sure of myself, but I was on target for the most part. I may have been a little too strident about unnamed poems (I still get angry comments about that) but overall I think the tips were helpful and I have reinterpreted a few of them for this project. One of the best pieces of advice that I gave was this:
Say what you want to say and let your readers decide what it means.
The advice was so good that I eventually turned it into a whole article. The essential point though, is that you can’t spend all of your time worrying about what the audience will think of your poem. They may love it or they may hate it. They may understand what you are saying or they may interpret it in an entirely different way. You need to accept that and let it happen.
You also need to respect your audience. Don’t waste precious lines by trying to make things obvious. Don’t be purposely vague, but don’t try to tell people what to think about what you write. If you do, be ready for them to disagree or worse, wonder why you thought they wouldn’t get it. A poem isn’t an essay or a manual; it is an attempt to capture a piece of the universe and save it on paper. That piece of the universe may be beautiful or ugly, amazing or mundane, but chances are it can’t be explained. If that sounds too philosophical, so be it.
Today’s Poetry Assignment
Include a verb in every line of your poem.
Today’s Recommended Poet
I was out wandering today (which is why today’s article is so late) and I came across a book of poems by Ginny MacKenzie called Skipstone. I’ve finished the first half of the book and I love her voice. She has a real gift for setting small scenes that echo with meaning.
Poems by Ginny MacKenzie
Skipstone
Ossabaw Island, Georgia, April 4th
Mary Magdalene at the House of Simon
Aunt Lena Is Committed to Bellefonte State Hospital
Retreat to the Country of Pure Drought
Related links
- 30 Poems in 30 Days: Persona Poems (1.000)
- 30 Poems in 30 Days: About Forms and Lists (1.000)
- 30 Poems in 30 Days: A Brief Glossary of Meter (1.000)
- 30 Poems in 30 Days: The Good the Bad and the Meter (1.000)
- 30 Poems in 30 Days: Syllabic Verse (1.000)
Contact John Hewitt
Writing Content and Web Consulting
Email: hewitt@poewar.comPhone: (520) 261-6104
LinkedIn: poewar
Twitter: @poewar
Facebook: pwar2
“A poem … is an attempt to capture a piece of the universe and save it on paper.”
YES!!!
I’m going to be quoting that forevermore.
My favourite tip…
“When you can’t write, lie on the floor a while.”
I’m going to go and do that now. The meditation assignment has me completely beaten. My list poem was almost a list of everything I needed in order to meditate, and the last line was that in order to meditate, I need to not need to meditate.
But lying on the floor I think I can manage!
I think I’ll have to print that out and read each article you’ve got there. Interesting food for thought.
Mabon Moon
Last night she hid her face from us
Long fingers of dark clouds trailed over her
Brilliant countenance, moved along the horizon
Slipped across the golden sphere in hesitant strokes
As children peeping from behind trees in the dark play
A porch light from neighboring steps silhouetteting
Their profiles against the spiraling sky
I placed my camera on sports feature
The shutter responds eagerly to the framed vision
The lady in the moon dances toward the nadir
My finger freezes on the command
I linger longer, lovingly lasting out the moments
Later the dogs frolick in the moonlight
They chartle and whirl, frapping freely under her light
Paying homage to their Goddess
I meditate peacefully to the cacophony of their ritual
They call my name
I raise my voice to the heavens
And howl like a mythic banshee ’till
I lie exhausted in the emerging earth,
I live
9/28,2007
Invisible Halo
The tan line of wear my ring once clung to is fading
Sometimes I’ll still catch myself playing with the invisible silver and gold halo absentmindedly twirling it about
Mostly when I’m disconsolate and can’t stay still
I no longer feel it when I’m driving
That space between my flesh and the steering wheel is closed
I itch to reach for it…
in the bathroom medicine cabinet… replace it, but know very well that I cannot…
It no longer exists for me as it once did; a solid swirling tangle of gold and silver
I removed it temporarily
She flung it off with abrogated permanence
With the swiftness of tearing off a band aid
Funny… I can still feel it the way those who have lost limbs still feel like waving invisible arms
or traipsing on unseen legs long after they are gone
Sometimes I can swear that it remains there, the tiny metallic clink of everything
But when I look down
Silence
Just the tan line that is slowing fading
Soon, that will vanish too….
Sandra: Very powerful poem, been there . . . .
“I no longer feel it when I am driving” man, I had to learn to tolerate the cumbersome feel of that gold band again . . . I am doing the reverse of this poem . . . .
Connie: It was the sheer beauty of your piece that struck me most.
Sandra: Like Connie, I feel the emotional power of yours … and can identify, though for me that’s longer ago.
SPRING SETTLES IN
September goes out restless.
In the house, the cats skirmish.
Outside, pigeons squeal,
flashing across the lawn
chasing and pecking each other.
October comes in hot,
hitting you in the face
the minute you wake.
The haze radiates
flooding the whole horizon.
I bloom in the sun,
breathing in frangipani
that lingers on the air.
As clover thickens the grass
the nature strips dance with bees.
Hibiscus buds fall open.
Rosemary, WOW there is just something about you
Just Before Midnight
I can hear the whistle
But I cannot see the train from my hotel window
I can see the lights of an airplane
As it comes in for a landing
But the plane I cannot hear
Of the two possible sounds I prefer the whistle anyway
I can also see people working in the office building
That rises across the parking lot from me
It is a sports radio station or so the sign says
I would turn it on but I wouldn’t want the whistle to fade
A freeway runs behind the station
I can’t see the cars but the trucks are clear enough to watch
The hotel has also kindly placed a piece of art or something
In a frame that hangs by my desk
It is a fabric swatch with a white X painted in a corner
Abstract I would guess
In a frame made of plastic meant to look like marble
A helicopter flies over
Shining its spotlight somewhere near the highway
It circles twice and is gone
The train whistle has long faded
I sit waiting to hear it again
John: And never once did you use the word “lonely”. A brilliant and most evocative piece of “show-don’t-tell”.
incessant talk constant chatter never ending noisy demands
take a moment i don’t think so can you concentrate ?
something to say maybe if not talk anyway
about something about nothing but still the flow unchecked
persistent questions words are blending no time to answer so asked again
in the din something is missing
Listen.
For John
I have made 4 posts and think what you have done here is great ! I have been looking futher on the site (tips for writing poems) and am ashamed to say that I am (as you have may have noticed) one of the lazy ones. I have not named any of the 4 poems. I assure you it is not because I snobbishly ‘refuse to label my art’ but merely fear of stuffing it up. They do have working titles tho, so in future I shall use them in lieu.
Above is : James
Dear WK – and John – me too. That is, not from laziness nor yet snobbery (I trust!) but because I sometimes feel a piece is complete untitled. But thanks to your strong words on the subject, John, and certain practical points you made e.g. about readers being able to identify and access one’s work, I am resolving to use titles in future – if only, as you say, a reiteration of the first line.
WK: Wonderful evocation of frustration and being driven to distraction, in your piece above!
Dear Rosemary
Thank you for your comments here and on other assignments. Your input has been helpful and encouraging to me having a bit of faith in my own words. Also, I love your poetry and it has inspired me to try some more descriptive work and tell more of the story. (not yet up to posting those).
This was the best thing that i have ever seen today. This really did help me.Because i was feeling so bad today until i read this and it will make anyone want to read it.This is so sweet and the best on that i have read all today
I ALSO WHATED TO SAY THANK YOU AND YOU HAVE THE BEST WRITENING EVER
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A Working Weekend Away
Again and again, Michal, I will insist you
chase down your dreams and surely you will think
me, justly, a pedantic old fool who doesn’t get
whatever fool thing your generation invents,
but I digress.
I won’t say how I cried on the plane,
when you were eight months old, and I was
cleaving myself from you and mom, just for
a weekend, to pursue my own dreams. I won’t
let you know how stupid I felt as I landed, having
confused the priorities of my ambitions and my loves.
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