Saturday, April 30, 2011
The same is true of prose. A word often needs to be changed because it makes me uncomfortable for some reason, it might be the wrong word - too strong for the sentence or paragraph, not necessary, inappropriate, sentimental ... Or it could be that it doesn't have quite the right rhythm. The sentence or paragraph is a body and this word is the dicky hip. I keep coming back to it, I can't leave it alone, I know it needs changing. I try another one - and it fits. Ahh.
I know that my sense of the rightness or wrongness of a particular word is informed by my own interior sense of rhythm, and I often wonder what it is about a particular rhythm that feels familiar. It rarely comes immediately. I sometimes think I've stolen the whole thing (words and rhythm) without realising, and wake in a cold sweat.
Nervous - I focus on some of the likely writers I might have raided e.g. my prose favourites - Janet Frame, Colm Toibin, Anne Enright, Paul Auster ... It may not come immediately, if at all. When it does, it can be the oddest thing sometimes, not what I expected, not always literary: an advertising jingle, for example ... but there is no doubting that the phrase has lodged in me and been revived.
This happened this week with a poem I spent a few days on. When I got to the end of it, there was a penultimate line missing. It finished too quickly. Reading it aloud, the line came: whole, intact, absolutely right. I wrote it in, and then worried. Where had it come from? It felt too easy, and somehow familiar. I fretted over it (and about the ultimate line, which was also the first line ... had it come from somewhere? It seemed a double concern now the new line was bouncing up and down declaring itself from somewhere else unknown.)
I googled the ulimate line, nothing popped up. I tried variations of it - nothing.
I walked around with the poem for days worrying at it. I tried relaxing my mind (like I do when I'm trying to remember people's names) and flipped through some possible poet's names. Nothing came that sat easily with what I'd written. Perhaps I was imagining it. Then again, I read so many poems these days, it could come from anywhere.
Then after four days, the penultimate line clicked into place without fanfare. I realised its rhythm and its sense came from a poem written and read by a character in a not-so-recent Hollywood movie, that my daughter and I enjoy and have watched a few times together. Who would credit it!
With that revelation, the genesis of the final line (also the first line) announced itself. I realised it had come from a well-known scene in a play of Shakespeare's, one I've known since I appeared in it at the age of 17. Not the actual words, but the sense of them, the urgency, the rhythm.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Anyway, This reading of The Hollow Men with images from World War One seems appropriate for today. (For those far away, Anzac Day is when we commemorate fighting with the Aussies in WWI & gaining our nationhood).
If you haven't time to listen to the whole video, move forward to 3.43 where you have the stunning ending from 'Here we go round the prickly pear' to 'This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang but a whimper.'
Interestingly, these lines open the play Osage County by Tracy Letts that had me on my feet last week at Circa Theatre. Beverly Weston quotes them in the opening monologue prior to his suicide, dwelling on the lines 'Life is very long.'
Life has seemed exceptionally long this week with sick parents and a very dear friend and neighbour heading south. But, you know, I still had a Happy Easter. Mine began well with double yolks - not one but a whole dozen -
and there were red eggs too.
But most of all it was the company of family and friends that made it. I hope you had a Happy Easter too.
For more Tuesday Poems click on the quill in the sidebar. At the hub is a poem called The Heiroglyph Moth by Welsh poet Pascale Petit selected by UK writer Kathleen Jones.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
On the home page, you'll find the cover of an upcoming short story collection, and details about a fiction/memoir writing course, then how can you resist the 'Food File' with recipes Fiona's written about in her books or simply likes to make. She says,
'I am sometimes asked for the recipes my characters make and whether I have prepared them too. Yes, if my characters have made a dish I will have made it.'
I am tempted by the tomato soup, the zucchini slice and the oriental chew because the ingredients for those recipes are hanging about the kitchen at the moment (the zucchini is verging on a marrow in fact).
After relishing the food, I advise a sortie into the News file for Fiona's views on a cell phone tower in her backyard (a sobering story for us all), a photo of the street named after her, a photo of her grandson's wedding, the launch speech she gave for Sue Orr's (fab) book... and there's more...
Then there's the publications page, the 'About Fiona' page etc etc. Well worth a visit.
The webmaster is Jane Harris of Three Hats who also does the website for Randell Cottage which Fiona and I are both trustees for.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Another poem that's been around for awhile. I realised as I went to post it, that I've written something with a similar theme - which was posted here and on the Booksellers website - called How she holds her head. It's about my friend Christina at the carpark in Pak'n Save ...
arms swinging unhurried and wide nothing in her hands but rings
no wallet no cell phone not a damned thing
and a back so
straight and strong you knew it could without any
support a pair of wings
Go figure. And while you're working out why I see angels everywhere, go and check out the communal birthday poem at the Tuesday Poem hub. It's a fantastic creature written by 26 of us - line by line - over the week. It was so much fun to be part of and the end result is astonishing - no angels but lots of gods in that one. And then cast your eye to the sidebar with a whole host of wonderful poets from many countries - with their own poems and poems they love. Worth a visit for sure - and while you're there have a piece of cake.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
sky so clear and blue
swoop to the red roof
kids mad for chocolate
watch them swoop too
hair drying in the sun
hot coffee and a book
time to pull on boots
take a basket to collect in
pile high the table and
eat up together the garden
It's the First Birthday of Tuesday Poem - and this is a celebratory poem to add to the general euphoria. Hey sweet day, indeed.
Over at the Tuesday Poem blog, we're celebrating with a communal birthday poem that is unfolding over the week - poet by poet, line by line. I guess you'd call it a sweet week.
I asked other poets to join me, and they did, most especially Dunedin poet Claire Beynon; and we linked up, but it quickly became obvious we needed a central hub. So we created the Tuesday Poem blog, with each of us taking turns to select a poem to post at the hub, and all of us linked to it via the sidebar.
Each week, we Tuesday Poets post our own poem or one that we like (and have permission for). And then we read, we comment, we share, we're good to each other. We're a community - we like hanging out.
Claire became my co-curator, bringing with her South Island and US poets, and one Irishman. We had about a dozen poets at the start, and it grew to 30 (our limit), and currently hovers a little below that. We span four countries - NZ, Australia, the UK and the US - the Irish poet (hi John) has joined the alumnae list now but keeps visiting.
I've got a tremendous amount from Tuesday Poem - more than I ever expected: the community for a start. I have also written and polished a number of poems I am pleased with -- my writing no doubt stimulated by the 30 or so poems and poetry-related posts I read a week, and pushed into shape by the regular deadline. There is also something wonderful about the immediacy of the medium, and the direct and generous feedback.
Happy Birthday TP, I am looking forward to another sweet year.
Click on the quill in the sidebar or here to get to Tuesday Poem.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
It's called 'Tuesday' and I'm first up at 12:01 AM on Tuesday morning posting my 1-2 lines, followed by my co-curator Claire Beynon with hers in the early morning ... and off we go from there, line by line, poet by poet (26 of us are taking part at last count) until the poem is done one week later...
The idea being that we all get a go, and our blogreaders get to see a poem unfold. And why 'Tuesday'? Well, you'd be surprised how many people end up on our site looking for a poem about Tuesday.
The tricky thing is the different time zones - Philadelphia is different from Seattle which is different from Melbourne which is different from London which is different from Wellington. To add to the difficulties, we've just come out of Daylight Saving in this neck of the woods. But everyone seems amazingly sanguine about it all.
I have a spooky feeling this might be a world first. So do pop along to www.tuesdaypoem.blogspot.com and catch a glimpse...
We're an amazing bunch really. Happy Birthday to us! And thanks to all of you who have been part of TP this first wonderful year - visiting, commenting, sharing our blog on yours, donating your poems ...