Friday, September 27, 2024

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:

Mary Lee

Poetry Friday is hosted today by Irene Latham.


 






14 comments:

  1. Sara, your poem dances in the sky. Then, it lands on the page. Words find their connections with other words: "beating its wings/My heart must be flying". I prefer the "silence after writing". You captured that in up and down movements. The ending lines are brings a pause to reflect on- "the only thing breathing/is the poem."

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  2. Sara, a rollercoaster of a poem, which goes from beating wings to shooting a bird from the sky. How eloquently you demonstrate the life and power of the poem!

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  3. The poem preens. Love the power and truth of this poem!

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  4. Man, our Zoom calls are NOTHING like what we end up with, are they?

    I know free fall,
    and updrafts. But
    I know, too— this poem
    is dense as spun glass.

    As dense as spun glass - impossibly lovely. I'm so glad you got there - and imagine you standing stunned and blinking, as a poem lays a bird at your feet... This poem is definitely beating its wings.

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  5. Oof...there is so much here, Sara. I'd say you looked deeply at this winging, artful, daring, breathing poem.

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  6. Oh, I love this much more than the Stevens poem. And something about the phrase, "It was morning all day." I don't know why, but it enchants me!

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  7. Oh, spun glass. Gah, I love this. This could be our mascot poem, honestly...

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  8. I love what you wrote in the intro, too, Sara, and the poem, "your" poem, gives Wallace Stevens a loving tribute!

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  9. Wow--from the poem beating its wings to shooting the bird and laying it at your feet! As beautiful as spun glass.

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  10. Beautiful, Sara. Poems certainly have a life of their own - "dense as spun glass"

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  11. I really love this. The first stanza put a lump in my throat. I love the contemplation in the fifth stanza, and the sixth is magic.

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  12. Well, you already said it: "a gorgeous swirling, dipping in and out of reality feeling" — that's what you gave us. Thanks, Sara.

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  13. And I remember that analysis from 2008! xo

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