first and last draft of a new poem
After sharing my poem “Meditations in a Lunar Eclipse” I knew I was going to write one for the solar eclipse, and I was nervous. These titles are after Frank O’ Hara’s “Meditations in an Emergency” because eclipses are sort of like emergencies, so writing about this significant astrological event felt about as relaxed as jumping off a cliff.
Thankfully, through the magic of the internet, I know some great writers, and one of them, Alex Dawson, wanted to exchange feedback for a piece she’s working on for a contest. I’ll cut to the chase and show you her comments on mine—
I needed a push to kill lines I liked but that didn’t serve the heart of the poem. And sometimes the best feedback for an early draft is just that, the push of yes this is working for me and no this isn’t.
The morning of the eclipse, I couldn’t sleep, so I went to the kitchen at 3 am with my draft and Alex’s comments. It took a few hours of sitting with emotions of fear, frustration, and urgency, but I’m happy with how it turned out. Thank you Alex, the internet, the sun, the moon, the audacity of Aries, and insomnia.
Last week, paid subscribers shared their work in the comments and it was the perfect amount of lovely and honest and raw. Thank you all so much. Let’s do that again. Share what you’re working on in the comments below. Post a few lines or a whole poem, show some love, give and get that push you need.
I love seeing how other writer's creative process unfolds, and seeing Alex's edits also added another layer. Thank you for sharing! I would love any feedback on this draft:
Aspirational Ars Poetica
I want to write a poem that licks
the bowl clean. I want to write
as the stars: with a wink,
with remove, with an arching
that draws you close.
I want to write a poem
that takes my grief out
for breakfast. I want my words
to make a sound,
how a steel guitar silvers
through a song. I want to write down
to the bone, draw blood on my way
to the quick, before I reach something
white, whole, smooth as the paper
before it touched my pen.
I want my poem to earn
the moon. Rush like the wild
horses alongside the river.
Stay like a wasp stinger
singes under your skin.
I want it to hold
secrets like a childhood friend.
I want to write like the witness
bears the truth: how we bled,
how we lived, how death came
for us after all this loving.
Wow, so cool to see the changes ! I like how it turned out. It's always so tough to kill those lines that you love, so thank goodness for the writing buddies. I'm going to share a poem that I wrote this week from a national poetry month prompt, and I'd love feedback :) Thanks for opening this up, Isabelle!
"the shape of my body"
six blue butterflies, a candle waiting to be lit.
a book with dog-eared pages and that beach
in hawaii with the clear water, volcanic birthed
stone. a coast douglas fir with branches like domes;
the black heater from my room in hollywood.
the squeak of red dry erase markers during
calculus class. the taste of a strawberry just on
the verge. three burgundy cherries plopped
hand to mouth and the clack of white platforms
on a glittering stage. brown horses trotting
across the sands at sunrise, crumbling castles
dotting the golden hills. earth worms emerging
onto the cracked asphalt. the glacial waters
of lake lucerne. the creak of rope tethering
two boats, four downed glasses from Demeter’s springs.
the sound corn leaves make when you peel them,
white silk threads, glistening yellow kernels.