Friday, 24 July 2015

WRITING POETRY: FINALISING WORK

Hi All,

I've been busy over the last months working on a number of poems and 'honing' them so to speak.  I don't know about how you approach writing your poems but I tend to work on several at the same time. 

I get down my initial thoughts- sometimes there's also a concept involved in there but not always, and then work on them.  Sometimes there's an impasse and I leave them for several days (sometimes several weeks) and return to them again and pick up from where I left off.  I find that it is amazing how the break focuses the mind and can solve the problem you've encountered with the poems construction whether its word-choice, or scansion (scan). Some poems demand more time on them than others.  Some poems have been started eight-nine months ago, while others have been written and posted within a couple of days.  There's no magic formula and perhaps some poems demand time to ferment or grow as they are actually mirroring our own thought-processes and emotional responses.

Finalising the poem is also tricky concept.  When is a poem truly finished?  I'm presently working on six poems to differing degrees. When do you feel a poem is actually 'fit for purpose'?  Tricky...

When I used to teach poetry, I used to show my students a copy of the draft manuscript of Wilfred Owen's' Dulce et Decorum est'. They were amazed at the fact that the poem had taken several different forms and versions before becoming the famous poem we recognise today. 





 I hoped that this would help them understand that:

1. poetry rarely is the product of some muse or divine inspiration that allows us to write perfectly formed and finished verse (this equally applies to prose) writ on stone and inviolate like the Ten Commandments

2. poetry is graft and poems (and prose) have to be worked upon and may undergo many revisions and changes until the writer is satisfied that s/he has created a semblance of a poem, a finished version 

3.  even the great poets had to work on their poetry.  This was a great confidence-boost for my students who often thought that great and skilled poets could merely bang out a fantastic poem at whim. I should imagine this rarely happened.  The students always felt more confident about their own creations after this and saw the process of revision as a vital part of the 'craft'.

When I'm writing, I rely on a feeling that it may be good enough to at least be work in progress.  I often post poems that are work in progress and then return to them and revise later. You may have seen revisions in my poems when I've re-posted them on the blog. 

A great way of achieving a degree of quality control is to show your work to a trusted friend or friends whose opinion you respect and you know will give you honest and constructive feedback.  Never be afraid of asking for and acting on advice - it's invaluable and has helped me many times.




TAKING A WALK

Those times when I'm dearly in need of inspiration or at least some space to collect my thoughts, I find a short walk often helps. I don't try and force a thought, they seem to naturally arise from the walk, perhaps, the cadence of our steps naturally match the rhythms of our thoughts - but a short stroll generally works wonders.  Again, I take my notebook and record the idea before I forget!

I'd be really interested to hear if walking works for you or if you've found have any other activities help in the same way.  Please keep your suggestions respectable...  :-) 





APPS



There are also some useful Apps for mobiles that act as recorders for dictation.  These are especially useful if you want to trial some of your work for their sounds (for example assonance and alliteration) and rhythm. Reciting to the machine and then playing it back really does help you work on the sound dimension to your work.

Friday, 10 July 2015

Floral Dress

Floral Dress


That floral dress
You wore last night
On one of those rare occasions
When we make an effort to go out
I saw again today
In a photograph I'd  taken of 
You six years before
That very dress!
Revisiting this other women
Foolishly I thought I'd captured 
Revealed to me from darkness
Your inner-light
The camera seldom shares
Your singular  lack of vanity
The selfless frugality
You wear upon yourself

When it comes to paying the bills and
Catering for the children's needs
Their constant guardian at night
Your floral dress, that photograph
Your life-long love letter to us all
Shames every line I scheme to shape
Or any words 
I could ever hope to write.


© Stephen Evans 2015

A Coffee Moment



A Coffee Moment

Gazing at my coffee cup
Two-thirds empty
While row on row of wooden isles
The other customers 
Of me indifferent, live their lives
Consumed within their separate worlds
While I serve up these lines.


© Stephen Evans 2015

Thursday, 2 July 2015

GREETINGS!

Greetings!.  Three recent poems I've been working on.  Apologies for the silences as I think these blogs are meant to be populated with such revelatory information such as what I ate for breakfast and what really "sucks" - I'm pretty tardy in such matters and can only crave your indulgence and understanding.

 BTW toast and wasps are the answers to the above but not necessarily in the correct order.

Many thanks for your positive comments on the poems I posted fairly recently which is always appreciated.




Wednesday, 3 June 2015

WALL

WALL

On the first day I stood beneath you,
Your height hoarding the air
The sky no more than a bruise
That threatened thunder
Your top crowned with glass
Like the coronet of the king of Walls
Shark's teeth sharp and snarling down, 

Daring me climb and I must admit I was afraid
But promised to return

On the second day
I brought rope, pick and axe
Only to find you were made of the purest crystal
Your surface smooth and
Mirroring my frustration
As hour, upon hour, upon hour
Of axe and pick and cursing
Hour, upon hour, upon hour
Not one impression could I make,
Not one foothold could I gain
Into your imperious, insolent heart and
Your spikey grin wider than ever
All attempt to climb you postponed
I vowed I would return

On the third day
Spade and shovel I brought
To burrow beneath you
I'll bury you yet

(c) Stephen Evans

A BUXTON SNOW SCENE 1906


You stare back at me
From the photograph's sepia season
Forever frozen in winter



I trace your dark tracks strung out across
A sledding scene of nineteen hundred and six,
Atop the Slopes near Buxton park where the
Serpentine is stilled, its coils, cowed,
Inanimate, amid the season's chill.


Rows of children standing stiffly to attention,
Already cocooned in adulthood,
Wrapped warmly in parental wear,
And weighted down in bonnets and caps,
Stare at me from their walled-in lives,
Hung and framed like inmates in an ice-berg cell.


The modern convention of the inane smile has not
Yet corrupted the sensibilities of this scene,
As they pose for the photograph which takes an age to
Compose and capture,  their faces, pale, stern,
Frowning forever
Compressed upon the glacial plate,  
Yet on closer inspection, 
Through the camouflage of conformity,
Eyes etched with excitement,
Erupt and crater the still decorum.


You wait to take your turns like
Patient dominoes all in serried row,
Black on white and white on black,  
Peppering and dotting the all-prevailing snow,
A world uniform and balanced,
You grip your tiny sledges, 
Vulnerable,
Amid the winter's bleak attack.
At risk of being blown away,
At the whim of wind or fate,
Like leaves fallen haphazardly,
Your prints pattern the tilting ground,
All  crows' feet stitching amid
The raven’s ratcheting dance.

Senseless to your fate and the decade ahead
Your frozen smiles explode and
Strafe this frigid moment,
You thrill as you anticipate your reckless,
Raw descent,
Cut, tear and scissor the pallid quilt,
Which you forever rent,
Headlong, downwards, ever sliding,


Unhindered by the sombre angel yet to be built.

Stephen Evans June 2014


Wednesday, 13 May 2015

PACKING AWAY

Packing Away

Today I packed my memories of you away
Every last one 
Better stacked safely on the shelf
Than see them thrown into a sack
To drown
I moth-balled them and there they'll stay
Like a child stores away the toys someday
He eventually outgrows.

I close the cupboard firmly tight
Stare at it, frown: still work to do
I scrape the varnish from the wood 
And run my hands across the grain
Its smoothness softly shares my skin
Then take the paint I'll use as coat
But just as I begin.  Stop. 

I prefer it plain. 

(c)  S Evans 2014

Friday, 8 May 2015

WEDDING PHOTOGRAPHER




WEDDING PHOTOGRAPHER

My name's Charlie and I'm fifty-one
I've got four daughters and I've got a son
I've had three wives, more of less
and lots of other women when I've transgressed

I photograph weddings for my trade
and document the moment when your vows are made

Wedding photographer, now give me a smile
Wedding photographer, we may be here a while
Wedding photographer, please stand over there
Wedding photographer just relax, don't stare
Wedding photographer, now say cheese
Wedding photographer, all face right if you please...


My first marriage lasted over twenty years
A great deal of that time was spent in tears
I gambled and I womanised quite a lot
And drank heavily, I was quite the sot
Judith finally left me and took the girls away
And the divorce papers landed on the very next day

Wedding photographer, more to the side
Wedding photographer, please re-kiss the bride
Wedding photographer, bunch up some more
Wedding photographer, now lift her off the floor
Wedding photographer, no one make a sound
Wedding photographer, throw your bouquet to the crowd...

My second wife Penny was highly strung
She was needy and possessive and awfully young
Her parents disapproved of me and it led to a fight
I ended up cruising bars every night
It seemed like it was over before it hardly begun
She left me for a policeman but she gave me a son.

Wedding photographer, let's have mum and dad
Wedding photographer, please don't look so sad
Wedding photographer, the bride and her maid
Wedding photographer, don't stand too near the shade
Wedding photographer, just five more shots to take
Wedding photographer, now pretend to cut the cake

Yasmin, my third wife was a mail order bride
Packed and packaged and fragile inside
Once we'd been together for almost two years
I came home to find she'd disappeared
With the help of a PI I tracked her down
Where she'd hooked up with a woman in a north eastern town
Seems she'd had this girlfriend all along
I was too busy with my weddings to ever think she'd do me wrong

Wedding photographer, now give me a smile
Wedding photographer,I like the natural style
Wedding photographer, give them some room
Wedding photographer, let's have the best man with the groom
Wedding photographer, you'll want a close up of the ring
Wedding photographer, you're my first wedding this spring

I guess it would easy to be bitter and mean
And cynical and twisted by the whole marriage scene
But I'm a sucker for a wedding with ordinary folk
And a crowd of happy people full of cheer and love and hope
So when I see a newly wed husband and wife
I sincerely wish them both a wonderful life

Wedding photographer, try not to frown
Wedding photographer, I really like your gown
Wedding photographer, you won't know I'm here
Wedding photographer, I work through the year
Wedding photographer I'll re-take it again
Wedding photographer we might just avoid the rain


(c) Stephen Evans 2015