I saw myself as a poet long before I envisioned myself a writer of fiction. In high school and college I was well-known for crafting verse rather than my literary works. So, when the opportunity arose this semester to return to the writing of poetry, I welcomed the opportunity. For years the busy-ness business of life has left me without the time to think about poetry - both in writing and reading, other than those wonderful poems that appear in The New Yorker each week, which leave me pondering for the few moments I have before I drift off to sleep.
I found it difficult to write on demand - I’ll be honest about that. In the past I could compose poetry on a whim: by Lake Champlain in Vermont, at my desk in school in between classes, and in the checkout line at the supermarket on the back on an old receipt. But this semester? I was forced to go beyond my limits and explore topics which I would not necessarily consider on my own. I missed the freedom of being able to compose when I wanted to, and to which subject I wanted to address. But what did this do for me?
It became the catalyst for the writing of more poetry...outside of the assignments.
This morning as I drove through the public library parking lot at 6:30 am an idea struck me, and I whipped out the iPhone and began to write a poem. I was inspired by my hometown local diner at such an early hour. The rush of getting that idea out in a unique manner through words was alive!
I’ll admit I’ve had my frustrations as a poet this semester. I prefer free verse. I am an over-achiever, and so fear that the use of free verse makes me appear lazy. I have so tried to write in iambic pentameter. Oh, how I fail! For the life of me I cannot do syllables in English. Give me Spanish - no hay problema. ¿Pero inglés? Hay problema. I so hate making my poems into cutesy pictures as well. Who wants to see a poem in the shape of something? My snarky side comes out and scoffs. Sorry, but I find it so kitsch. I wrote a poem about a pinup girl. Would anyone really want to see boobs and hips in a poetic form? (Well, probably, dare I ask!) For me free verse is accessible to all. It is unpretentious. When formed correctly, with the right breaks among lines and stanzas it has amazing impact upon the reader.
The poem which had the greatest impact on me this semester was One Art by Elizabeth Bishop (Vendler, p. 175). I have this poem photocopied and posted in my office next to my computer. In addition, I have highlighted the lines, “Write it!” Every now and then we, as readers, find a poem which speaks directly to us. This was my poem. I have dealt with huge loss over the past few years, primarily my divorce after fifteen years of marriage. I worry about the loss of my father, who suffers from CLL (chronic lymphocytic leukemia). He was given three years to live six years ago. I have yet to compose a poem about him. But when I do write, I try to make him proud.
Like Elizabeth Bishop, I see myself writing about everyday emotions in the future, perhaps even loss. However, as she does with keys, a house, and continents, I also wish to combine everyday items into my works so that the reader may view the ordinary into the extraordinary. I want my readers to be taken to new emotional heights with my poems, to undergo a paradigm shift in their way of thinking. Hours, days, months, maybe even years after reading my works I want them to have a moment where they exclaim, “Wow! I need those words by my computer!” For the reader to grow, transform from my words would be the ultimate honor.
Poetry is a glimpse, for me, into the madness and wonders of the world. A poem can capture you up in a matter of minutes with just words, then stay with you and never leave. This semester I’ve tried to explore such topics as mania, alcoholism, and self-identity. Where will my fountain pen go next? One can never know. I’ll have to go take a drive and see...
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