Poetry Friday: Seven Ways of Looking

September's challenge was to write a poem in the vein of Wallace Stevens' Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird---except we were only going to attempt SEVEN ways of looking at something.

It turns out the hard part was not the number of stanzas (looks?) but deciding on a thing worth looking at.  In theory, all things are worthy of poetry, but the brilliance of the original poem begins with the fact that Wallace Stevens chose to feature a blackbird-- something that is both ordinary and symbolic, and also dynamic--the bird can move, swoop, circle.  As a result, we get a gorgeous swirling, dipping in and out of reality feeling as we read his poem. 

Oddly enough, though, we learn little of the blackbird itself, for this is not fact-based poem, seeking to illuminate the bird's unique qualities. Instead, after we read the poem, we wind up thinking less about the blackbird and more about  how everything is connected. (Or at least I do---here's my extended dive into the poem, if you're interested.) 

How in the world to replicate that? 

I was at a loss during our ZOOM writing session, so I decided to hew closely to the original poem, seeking to imitate its rhythms.  I find that approach often works as a place to begin, and then I can manipulate the draft so it isn't a complete copy-cat.  However, I still had the problem of what to write about, so I took the object at hand---the poem itself.  Yup.  Maybe a dodge, but this poem has always called to me, and writing about how it made me feel was the best I could manage this month.  

Here it is: 

Seven Ways of Looking at a Poem

The poem is beating its wings.

My heart must be flying. 

I know free fall,

and updrafts. But 

I know, too— this poem

is dense as spun glass.

The poem circles

and circles and circles

the snowy mountain.

It was morning

all day. I eat

nothing. The poem

preens. 

 

I don’t know which

to prefer—reading the poem,

or the silence afterwards.

Later, when I 

walk between the hedges,

the poem shoots a bird

out of the sky,

lays it at my feet.

On the page,

the only thing breathing

is the poem.

                                                ---Sara Lewis Holmes (all rights reserved)

My Poetry Sisters "ways of looking" can be found here:

Liz

Tanita

Tricia

Kelly

Laura

Mary Lee

Poetry Friday is hosted today by Irene Latham.

 

Poetry Friday: Wabi-Sabi Poems

Ruins of a banquet hall,
Sudeley Castle, UK

June's challenge was to write a poem capturing the idea of wabi-sabi, the Japanese concept of impermanence and imperfection.  Here's a quote that Tricia shared from the book, Wabi Sabi: The Japanese Art of Impermanence by Andrew Juniper:

Wabi-sabi is an aesthetic that finds beauty in things imperfect, impermanent and incomplete. Taken from the Japanese words wabi, which translates to less is more, and sabi, which means attentive melancholy, wabi-sabi refers to an awareness of the transient nature of earthly things and a corresponding pleasure in the things that bear the mark of this impermanence.

Now, I've written about wabi-sabi before, and seemed to remember it being about celebrating "the crack in everything."  And, on our recent trip to Wales and England, I reveled in taking photos of glorious ruins of castles and abbeys.  (I do love a good ruin.)  But this time, the phrase that haunted me from that quote was "attentive melancholy." 

I'm not by nature a pessimistic person--not that I can't be negative or grumpy at times, but melancholy implies a sort of marination in sadness that I'm not capable of sustaining.  But what was I missing by not looking with that sort of attention--the kind of attention that doesn't try to change things for the better, but acknowledges what is unfinished, and imperfect, and sees the beauty in that?   

I'm so curious to see what my poetry sisters came up with in answer to that question. As for me, my only idea came from looking at my hands and thinking that I'm as spotted now as an old leaf. 

This leaf

this leaf will dry

the color seep away

the veins break

this leaf will fall

lose its light

unmoor from the tree

the road will go away

the fence, the barn, too

the house where I met him

this leaf will crackle

under muddy boots

this spotted hand let go

-----Sara Lewis Holmes (all rights reserved) 

Explore my poetry sisters' posts here:

Liz

Tanita

Laura

Tricia

Mary Lee

Poetry Friday is hosted by our own Tricia at The Miss Rumphius Effect.

 

Poetry Friday: Impossible Questions

Do tulips know how to kiss?

April's prompt was a fun one: write a poem inspired by "an impossible question."  It came to us via Laura Purdie Salas, who was inspired while listening to Georgia Heard talk about using this prompt with kids.  I'm not sure how Heard normally uses this exercise, but we kept it simple. During our ZOOM meet-up, we brainstormed impossible questions for five minutes, and then shared the pool of questions with each other.  Then we chose one (or two or ten) and were off and writing.  

Of course, there was some discussion of what an "impossible" question was. Maybe impossible only meant "hard to find out in a reasonable time frame"....like how many grains of sand in sandbox, or something "highly subjective"....like what is love?  In the end, I don't think it matters---the whole point was to get our brains spinning in new ways.

 For me, this prompt brought up memories of my dad telling me a riddle, which began like this: Why is a bicycle?  Of course, there is no why, but he had an answer ready:  Because a vest has no sleeves.  

YUP.  I didn't get it then, and don't get it now, but still....I LIKE it.  I like it in the way I like poems that I don't fully understand.  It's absurd, but then so is life, sometimes.  So for my poem this month, I celebrate impossible questions, and their impossible answers.  (Many thanks to my fellow poets whose pool of questions led me down this road, and to my dad for the riddle.)

I want answers...

How many dandelion wishes in a summer?

Do balloons cry when they burst?

How do you hold onto a smile? 

I would tell you—

if only I knew how many 

winks in “a while.”

Why is a banana not an apple?

Do tulips know how to kiss?

Who stole the sleeves from a vest? 

I would tell you—

if only I knew which subjects

fish schools teach best. 

How far do ants travel in a month?

Do trees remember your face?

Who first tried to carry a tune? 

I would tell you— 

if only I knew where

to find East of the moon.

Do whales see themselves in the sea like a mirror?

Where does the Leap Year go on off years?

How deep is the deepest hole you can dig? 

I would tell you—

if only I knew when something

little becomes big. 

Which days do birds paint the sky? 

How long does kindness last?

How far does an echo fall?  

I would tell you—

if only I knew anything—

anything at all. 

            -----Sara Lewis Holmes (all rights reserved) 

My fellow poets impossible question poems can be found here:

Liz

Tricia

Tanita

Mary Lee

Laura

Poetry Friday is hosted today by Ruth.