Playing with Poetry

[Dee]

Brand new poetry writing course on FutureLearn:

Playing with Poetry



https://www.futurelearn.com/programs/cr ... nd-poetics

Fancy joining me, Ladies?

[DawnFae]

Thank you my dear friend !

Will you guide us a little bit though the course???
Would be great

[Dee]

Well, the course is fairly self- explanatory, but we can pick out interesting bits from it here. But the main reason for the thread is to share our assignments, so we could properly review one another’s poems, as opposed to the hit and miss nature of the reviews of the randomly generated reviewers on FutureLearn.

[Dee]

The first assignment was to write a poem about poetry, what it means to us. Here is the initial prompt/example:

Ars Poetica


A poem should be palpable and mute
As a globed fruit,

Dumb
As old medallions to the thumb,

Silent as the sleeve-worn stone
Of casement ledges where the moss has grown—

A poem should be wordless
As the flight of birds.

*

A poem should be motionless in time
As the moon climbs,

Leaving, as the moon releases
Twig by twig the night-entangled trees,

Leaving, as the moon behind the winter leaves,
Memory by memory the mind—

A poem should be motionless in time
As the moon climbs.

*

A poem should be equal to:
Not true.

For all the history of grief
An empty doorway and a maple leaf.

For love
The leaning grasses and two lights above the sea—

A poem should not mean
But be.

~ Archibald MacLeish

[Dee]

I’ve found this rather hard, because it’s a surprisingly complicated subject. Especially when you separate the reading and writing experiences as well.

In the end I decided to keep it simple and not attempt to cover the subject extensively but rather hone in on some of the most important aspects.

poetry

there might be grey skies
wild snowstorms raging
harsh winds chapping your cheeks raw
when you must venture out

or it might be christmas
fairy lights twinkling
timeless music humming softly
when your heart opens wide

either way you're hungry
and grateful for the bowl of
steaming spicy soup
when someone puts it in your

curiously bowl shaped hands
and on another day
you might put on your snazzy apron
and make a soup yourself

you might believe it’s good enough
you might pluck up the courage and
place it in someone else's
curiously bowl shaped hands in turn

~ AP

[Iris]

This is beautiful, Mz Dee! Warms the cockles of my heart. I particularly love the idea of placing your poem in someone else's bowl shaped hands like an offering to the gods. So gentle and full of compassion. Thank you!

[Iris]

Poetry

Poetry flows gently through one's body, the lilting cadences rising and falling as we inhale and exhale the strings of words.

We wrap our senses softly around each careful clause, grappling to glean the truth. Our own truth.

And if we find that truth, our own truth, our hearts burst forth, tingling with myriad emotions.

Tears may lay heavy in optic wells, cascading in rippling rivulets, staining our child-like cheeks.

Rapturous joy bursting into glorious hues, shining brightly into the darkest corners of our beings.

At times we reel, stupefied by unexpected, shifting comprehension; our safe worlds shaken.

We consume each feeling, some choking us, others nourishing our very essence.

We pause. Reflect. Ruminate.

Without warning, we have no choice but to unravel our own strings of words, opening up our yet unexpressed inner realms.

Undiscovered territories splatter onto the paper in frenzied disarray.

Self-indulgence abounds.

The starting gun fires. The race to commit our innermost feelings lest our courage diminishes.

Fear and doubt wrestle to pluck poetry’s pen.

The urgency to write nudges valour into action as we rise again, stumbling then sprinting to the final line.

Never a perfect literary battle but one of truth, honesty and audacious self-discovery.

[Dee]

Thank you very much, Mz Iris, I’m glad you liked it. It’s just exploring one particular idea that’s sprung first into my mind. There could be so many different ways to approach the subject of poetry, I might try something different another day.

Now let’s read yours, Missy!

[Dee]

Let me just start by saying you write beautifully, Heather.

You’ve managed to do what I’d shied away from: to give a comprehensive description of what reading poetry means to you, as well as what drives you to write. It’s a very passionate account, clearly showing just how important this is for you right now. The search for “our own truth” in someone else’s writing and releasing and finding it in your own.

You have a very distinctive style, kind of prose-poem like, as you tend to write in full sentences. You might find it fun and interesting to play around with form a little bit, try to break down some sentences into shorter lines, experiment with line breaks to highlight certain parts?

My favourite parts:

“as we inhale and exhale the strings of words” - so accurate


“Undiscovered territories splatter onto the paper in frenzied disarray.” - bloody brilliant

“Fear and doubt wrestle to pluck poetry’s pen.” - I really like this line too, though this is not “my own truth” as I don’t think I have any fear or doubt when I write. I write because I enjoy it or I’m moved to by a need, and the process is more important for me than the finished poem. I am fully aware though that other people struggle with self doubt. I’d say it’s a waste of time and energy - because we all primarily write for ourselves and then share it with people who we think might enjoy reading it, and/or get to know us and what matters to us better. They might understand, it might help them, it might result in deeper connection. These are the things that really matter when we share. Not that our poetic skills will be found lacking!

Thank you so much for sharing, Heather. Bravo.

You know, you could start a thread in Piccadilly Anthology just for your own poems? It would be lovely to see them all in one place?

[Lori]

Interesting assignment! Mz. A ~ I really enjoyed how you "skirted the subject" which really wasn't skirting it at all in my opinion. Your words depicted a flowing approach to an art form as a byproduct of so many creative or emotional situations - nourishing and necessary on any given day for many a mood. Then as an offering which showcases the gift of writing so well - putting on the "snazzy" apron and creating something to offer others and put out in the universe with "curiously bowl shaped hands" which speaks of giving exchange. Very lovely!

[Lori]

Poetry

Poetry flows gently through one's body, the lilting cadences rising and falling as we inhale and exhale the strings of words.

We wrap our senses softly around each careful clause, grappling to glean the truth. Our own truth.

And if we find that truth, our own truth, our hearts burst forth, tingling with myriad emotions.

Tears may lay heavy in optic wells, cascading in rippling rivulets, staining our child-like cheeks.

Rapturous joy bursting into glorious hues, shining brightly into the darkest corners of our beings.

At times we reel, stupefied by unexpected, shifting comprehension; our safe worlds shaken.

We consume each feeling, some choking us, others nourishing our very essence.

We pause. Reflect. Ruminate.

Without warning, we have no choice but to unravel our own strings of words, opening up our yet unexpressed inner realms.

Undiscovered territories splatter onto the paper in frenzied disarray.

Self-indulgence abounds.

The starting gun fires. The race to commit our innermost feelings lest our courage diminishes.

Fear and doubt wrestle to pluck poetry’s pen.

The urgency to write nudges valour into action as we rise again, stumbling then sprinting to the final line.

Never a perfect literary battle but one of truth, honesty and audacious self-discovery.

Okay, Mz. H! Where have you been and please don't ever leave...

I love the flow of your writing where each thought builds on the last with beautiful clarity. You've captured the myriad of emotions poetry elicits and invited the reader to stop and consider these words and how they reflect one's own "truths".

At times we reel, stupefied by unexpected, shifting comprehension; our safe worlds shaken.

We consume each feeling, some choking us, others nourishing our very essence.

Then, the richly-compelling urge to put pen to paper. I loved the phrase "pluck poetry's pen".

I imagine that means different things to different people. Mz. A, in her easy embrace of creativity, feels generally free and undaunted. That is a wonderful thing! She may welcome any emotion or result as part of the beautiful or exploratory process. (Pull my pigtails if I am wrong, Agi!) Another person may be filled with fear or doubt for various reasons. Do we fear what we will reveal to ourselves in the end about ourselves or the world around us and the people of import to us, for instance? Writer's block for the professional can be in play within those lines of fear and doubt. Is one writing for pleasure or writing with the reader in mind? It can be complicated.

"Poetry's pen" may be a fun tool or it may encompass an entire history of whispers that can imitate the various voices in our heads - a teacher who sneered at a poem or mantras of our own limitations, etc. The rich history of the medium itself can be daunting. I feel that way sometimes when I approach my piano which was once commissioned by Ray Charles to play on stage. It is a bit beat to hell but is a very deep, proud, and complex instrument. That piano requires something of me and if I give it true respect it is a meaningful experience. Some days, I am simply not up to the task and it lifts an eyebrow at me...I just know it!

Never a perfect literary battle but one of truth, honesty and audacious self-discovery.

Thanks for sharing this wonderful piece with us. I like the last line where perfection is never quite the intent - truth, honesty, discovery, and perhaps that giving fount called "expression" reign.

[Iris]

Ah, where to begin? Firstly, a huge THANK YOU to Mz. Dee and Mz. Lori! You are both so encouraging. I was quite uncomfortable about sharing yesterday's poem-ish on here (or anywhere!). It's all rather new to me. I know I have lots to learn about writing "real" poems rather than prose.
Mz. Dee, you are so right about having fun and trying out new ways of writing. Funny that you should like the line about the thoughts that "splatter onto the paper in frenzied disarray," for that is definitely the developmental stage I am at with my poetry. No structure, lack of technical awareness, rhythm etc. And wondering if newly gleaned knowledge of the above will help or hinder me.
Mz. Lori, so very true that Agi is totally at peace with her creativity; no qualms at giving things a go . . . unlike me! You have given me lots to peruse with your ruminations on why we allow the plucking of poetry's pen. Interesting parallels with your piano playing.
I am blown away by the time you have spent critiquing (sp?). Don't worry, Mz. Lori, I am planning to hang around as often as I can. I have been in a not so colourful world, like so many, over the last year or so, but now is the time to nurture myself a little and nudge myself into change. Thank you for starting me off on a very positive path