written and posted by members of Lancashire Dead Good Poets' Society

Showing posts with label editing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label editing. Show all posts

Tuesday, 27 May 2014

Iron Filings

07:30:00 Posted by Damp incendiary device , , , , , , , , 3 comments


electrons leap from atom to atom
we don’t ask to see their papers


These lines are shavings, iron filings, left on the floor after I had taken a poem through several drafts of attack.  I like the sentiment behind these lines, especially this week, given the political atrocities, but the thought was a distraction when set in a poem whose subject was the quiet moment after an argument with my daughter.  What I wanted was a sense of metal cooling.  These lines were inappropriate.



can she see yet?                                                                                  
how the silver slips through my fingers?
how I rust, unburnished? 


These lines are from the same poem.  Also discarded. The 'rust, unburnished' comes from Tennyson's Ulysses.  This was more appropriate in terms of subject but, by the time I came to the fifth draft, it didn't quite fit the narrative.  I had decided to focus on the conflict between the dark, quiet room and her heated words.  This introverted metaphysical questioning prevented the reader from directly relating to that scene.  Again, I like the lines but not in this place.

Looking back, I can also place a finger where I replaced the word 'unfathomable' with 'recondite' - following Norman Hadley's wise advice that four syllable words do not scan easily and therefore five syllable words should be kept for special occasions.  Recondite is pleasing because it sounds like a mineral and reflects the title of the poem: Among a mineral of metals base.

The title was taken from Gertrude's line in Hamlet.  It's a line which I only noticed for the first time when I saw the play in Stratford-Upon-Avon with my daughter.  It relates to a chink of morality among madness and Hamlet's tears after murdering Polonius.  This seemed appropriate. 

The poem in question has a sub-theme of metals as it was written for a competition on that theme.  In its initial drafts it was creatively arranged on the page, so that it read as three columns which could be understood separately or taken as a whole.  The feedback I received told me that this style was confusing to read and unnecessary.  The final piece is a simple poem, left-aligned, in six stanzas.  When I showed the final draft to my other half he told me he had quite liked it when it was arranged in three strands.  I reminded him that he had found this confusing to read, as had others, hence the change to a simple layout.  He thought I had lost something in conceding to my readers. 

I agree that I lost something of the elemental (if you don't mind) fierceness of the original layout when I rearranged it into a more standard page poem.  Having said that, in working those three strands into one I was able to concentrate the image into something more immediate.  It comes down to how hard I would like my audience to work.  I think they might have found the initial style more satisfying after a few readings but perhaps it's a tad rude to expect them to have to work that hard? 

What do you think?

 




 


Sunday, 12 August 2012

Thursday, 17 May 2012

They danced by the light of the moon

07:30:00 Posted by Damp incendiary device , , , , 3 comments
Back in March I posted a few lines of poetic prose on Facebook.  Nikki Magennis and Davina Geraghty helped me to make small changes to the language, to tighten it up.  I rather enjoyed the process of the communal edit.  Here's what we did:

Version 1

Evening soaking into the trees like broth into torn bread. Thickened air, like warm breath on a cool mirror. Magpie and Crow stream from the rushes, to the scandalized cries of the corvid community.

Version 2

Evening soaks into the trees like broth into torn bread. Thickened air, like warm breath on a cool mirror. Magpie and Crow rip from the rushes to the scandalized squalls of the corvid congregation.


So, this week I would like the help of you, Lear readers, to edit a new poem I'm working on.  All suggestions considered.  I am happy with the intentions behind the poem, it's the structure, rhythm, rhyme etc that I would like your help with please.  Ideally I would like to perform this at Lancaster on Friday. And so...


Poke Lear's Monster

Joy scribbles writhe in liminal puddles
Brutal and messy; compulsory corpses
Owl succumbs to Pussy Cat's splashes

Joy scribbles menace old watermills,
Harbours, cracked runcibles;
Metamorbid with their baggage of
Comments on Neo-Conservatives, loss
Or a childish compulsion:
Scab scoffing
Sand snacking
Glue grazing


Pica.  They call it pica.
Magpie.  Mudpie.
Picah-ah-ah-
Chew.

Bless You.