Showing posts with label write poems well. Show all posts
Showing posts with label write poems well. Show all posts

Monday, May 20, 2013

Is a workshop for you?


Let me introduce Ann Howells, my dear poet friend whose depth of experience makes this post a valuable one!



Bio: Ann Howells’s poetry recently appeared in Borderlands, Calyx, Crannog (Ire), Free State Review, RiverSedge, and Third Wednesday among others. She serves on the board of Dallas Poets Community, a 501-c-3 non-profit, and has edited its journal, Illya’s Honey, since 1999. Her chapbook, Black Crow in Flight, was published by Main Street Rag Publishing (2007). Another chapbook, the Rosebud Diaries, was published in limited edition by Willet Press (2012). She won first in The Legendary’s Bukowski contest in 2011, was a finalist in both NavWorks and Southern Hum contests in 2008, won first in the Southwest Writer’s Club poetry contest in 2006, and was named a “distinguished poet of Dallas” by the Dallas Public Library in 2001. Her work was read on NPR, and she was interviewed on local television in Annapolis, MD. She has been nominated twice for both the Pushcart and Best of the Net.


Picture the writer, an emaciated poet, bent over his desk, working late into the night by the light of a candle stub. He is wrapped in a blanket, but still shivers in his drafty garret room. Granted, our circumstances are likely not so dire, but writing is a solitary pursuit. Other than readings, lectures, and the occasional poetry festival, how can the writer make contacts with and benefit from other writers? Enter, the workshop.

I am, perhaps, a bit biased, as I have workshopped for over twenty years. During that time I have stayed consistently with Dallas Poets Community, but at various times, I have also belonged to two other groups. Each had its advantages and disadvantages. Not every workshop will be a good fit for a particular writer. It is a good idea, when considering a workshop, to visit once or twice (with or without bringing a poem) and take part in discussion. A poet who writes only sonnets might feel uncomfortable in a group where everyone else is writing in free verse; on the other hand, all participants might benefit from the mix. The sonnet writer might find a different type of critique helpful and be able, in return, to teach other participants something about writing in form. Also, if other participants are a bit more accomplished, you may learn from them. If they are less accomplished, you have an opportunity to teach and to view your poems as a reader might. If members are genuinely interested in poetry, offer constructive criticism and avoid ego, the group will work.

Finding a workshop takes a bit of research. You might ask at your local recreation center or public library where poetry workshops often meet. Check bulletin boards. Ask other poets for recommendations. Find a group on-line; there are many. Some have flourished for years. If all else fails, find several like-minded individuals and start your own group. I have heard tales of workshops in which name-dropping and self-aggrandizement seemed the norm and critique was often hurtful. I have never encountered such a group (and suspect they are urban myths). Another complaint about workshops is that, eventually, everyone’s poems begin to sound the same. I suppose that could possibly happen, but I find it hard to imagine a writer so willing to give up his own voice.

Some workshops charge a fee per meeting, some require you to send your work to other members up to several weeks ahead of the workshop. Some groups exist mainly to approve each other’s work and give little critique beyond spelling and grammar. Some have been meeting together for years and will be difficult for a new member to enter.

Let me tell you about my workshop group, Dallas Poets Community. Our group currently has eight to twelve attendees at each workshop, a good number for a two hour workshop. We have a good mix of sexes, ages (we’ve had as young as 16 up to mid-80s) religious preferences, and ethnicities. A wide variety of occupations are represented. Anyone seriously interested in writing good poetry is welcome. Our meetings are open. Those of us who have been with the group a while can generally recognize a poem by another member of the group by the individual voice (which we consider proof that workshopping has not made our writing generic).

We begin critique by having a member do a cold reading of another poet’s work. This allows the poet to really listen to what he has written. It allows him to catch sound patterns and places where his writing does not flow. Then, the poet rereads his work aloud. After that, he remains quiet as the group discusses the poem, trying to answer four questions:
What is happening in the poem?
What is working in the poem?
What is not working in the poem?
Where might the poem be elaborated or expanded?
We make it a point to critique the technique used and never the philosophy behind a particular poem, and we encourage everyone to voice their thoughts, even dissenting opinions. We also offer suggestions for places where the poem might be submitted, and let the poet know of any other poems on a similar topic or in a similar style that he might want to read. At the end of this discussion, the poet may ask any questions he has about the poem that were not answered or request further clarification about points made.

We bring enough copies of our poem for each person to have one on which is can write comments and either keep or return to the poet. A good workshop will allow you to see your work as an editor might see it, encourage thoughtful revision and allow you to develop your own voice. The Dallas Poets Community workshop has been meeting twice monthly for twenty-three years. We have included high school students, college students, retirees, MFAs, PhDs, and even the occasional songwriter. Some have stayed, some have moved away, some have left and returned, and some gone on to other pursuits. I credit the turnover with keeping the group from becoming stale and predictable. That said, currently five of our members have books published by national presses; one has two. Most of the group has work in a variety of small press and university journals.

If you are new to workshopping, keep in mind that your work will be criticized. If you believe revisions alter the original thought and make it inauthentic, workshops are not for you. If you feel compelled to defend every word you’ve written, workshops are not for you. If you keep an open mind and consider changes other suggest, you might benefit from workshopping, but remember, it is your poem and recommendations put forth can be rejected as well as accepted.
Use what you like, ignore the rest.

TIP!
Find Dallas Poetry Community on Facebook or their website:

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Adding Escalators to Your Poems

I've been reading Elizabeth Bishop, and I see that this woman likes her escalators.  The poems contain a moment when the ostensible subject is revealed to be just the starting point, and the poem delves deeper or lifts higher.  It's a moment when the reader feels momentum under her feet, carrying her forward.  Escalator moment!

Here's an example from Bishop's "In the Waiting Room."  It begins:
In Worcester, Massachusetts,
I went with Aunt Consuelo
to keep her dentist's appointment
and sat and waited for her
in the dentist's waiting room.
As she waits, she reads a National Geographic.  She is amazed at the images of volcanoes, native peoples, and European anthropologists.  It dislocates her.  She goes on (bold font mine),
And then I looked at the cover:
the yellow margins, the date.
Suddenly, from inside,
came an oh! of pain
--Aunt Consuelo's voice--
not very loud or long.
I wasn't at all surprised;
even then I knew she was
a foolish, timid woman.
I might have been embarrassed,
but wasn't. What took me
completely by surprise
was that it was me:
my voice, in my mouth.
Without thinking at all
I was my foolish aunt,
I--we--were falling, falling,
our eyes glued to the cover
of the National Geographic,
February, 1918. . . .
The poem continues, but right there, the poem pulls the reader to a new level.  To me, it's a deeper level.  We've taken a quick escalator down into the collective unconscious, ridden toward the foundations of human nature.  Read the rest of the poem at: poets.org

Escalator moments take us up as well.  It's common for that up-escalator to appear in the final lines, as here, in Kim Addonizio's "Mermaid Song."  (bold font mine)
Mermaid Song
by Kim Addonizio
for Aya at fifteen

Damp-haired from the bath, you drape yourself
upside down across the sofa, reading,
one hand idly sunk into a bowl
of crackers, goldfish with smiles stamped on.
I think they are growing gills, swimming
up the sweet air to reach you. Small girl,
my slim miracle, they multiply.
In the black hours when I lie sleepless,
near drowning, dread-heavy, your face
is the bright lure I look for, love's hook
piercing me, hauling me cleanly up.


We, too, are hauled up.  Into hope, I think, and into appreciation of this young woman's potential -- maybe humankind's potential.  The escalator is love, and we ride it to a new vantage point.  The girl reading on the couch becomes something more than just a girl reading on a couch.

I want escalators in my poems.  Moments of new perspective on the starting topic.  Moments of depth and height.  But how can we do this without sounding fake or inflated?  Here's what I'm going to try:
1) Keep the language concrete, even as the ideas soar.  Objects, like Addonizio's hook, resonate with meaning, whereas abstractions run the risk of sounding holier-than-thou or more-insightful-than-thou.
2) Don't set out with a predetermined idea; let the process surprise you.   Surrendering to the creative flow leads us to surprising places.  Frost says, "No surprise for the writer, no surprise for the reader."  Let the writing itself lead you.
3) Take imaginative leaps.  Addonizio leaps with "I think they are growing gills, swimming  / up the sweet air to reach you."  This fantastical turn makes the escalator moment possible.
4) Shock yourself and the reader by writing the truth.  The truth of our lives is something we need courage to face and to speak.  Once a poem is underway, ask, "What is the truth of this situation?"  Boldly go there.  Ralph Waldo Emerson says, "Insist on yourself; never imitate."  Your reality and your individual understanding of this life should show in your work.  Be real, even as you work with fictions.

Enjoy those escalators!

Books of the poets I mention here: