| THE SCIENCE OF POETRY | John W. Cooper | |||
| Introduction
The gods and muses and many humans know that I have a long way to go before I can stop learning and start teaching people how to write. I am sure that top-notch writers say much the same thing that Aboriginal Aussie didjeridu masters tell students of music: "Take the instrument into the woods, and let it teach you how to play." Writing poetry, even though the end product seeks outside attention, is one of the most introverted crafts I have ever attempted, and with the toils and elations come much experimentation and self-discovery. Those who travel through the wild intimate gardens of language must find their own ways through. It was into these gardens that I thoughtfully set foot over 20 years ago, and though I was occasionally divorced from poetry for years at a time, I was always called back -- sometimes with such force that I would not be available in the real world for any "responsibilities" involving much more than eating and breathing. Because of these often obsessive wrestlings with words, I learned (or convinced myself) that poetry is a lovely blend of soul and math, of dance and mechanics, that when done well describes reality in ways that science, religion, and philosophy cannot. For some reason (or because of reason) it was impossible for me to disect or analyze the soul of poetry. Don't call the muses, they'll call you: the very act of scrutinizing the dreamtime takes one away from it; the best you can do is read poetry and let its spirit find you. Meanwhile, the technical end of poetry was readily available for me to pick apart and record in notes and counted meter. Eventually I found a few techniques that had worked for me, yet I was curious to see others' discoveries. I had read various views from established poets, but what I really wanted to see was what the aspiring poets had to say. The feeling I had was similar to when I was learning how to ride a motorcycle -- I wanted to share my learning experiences with other beginners; the professional racers could wait (though of course I would still attend the races). But I have found that it is more difficult to pull out technical writing ideas from enthusiastic-but-unsure poets than to discuss corner shifting with enthusiastic-but-unsure riders. When the World Wide Web showed up, it open the floodgates of information; true, false, and everywhere in between. The perfect forum for poets! I thought that surely in the Web, where amature poetry runs rampant, there must be some pages devoted to strategies and tactics. Searching and surfing revealed a scant set, mostly the usual advice (peppered with a few good tidbits) from magazines and professors which run along the lines of "edit carefully and use a spell-checker" which is good advice but can only go so far. So here is my Personal Technical Manual of a Poet, set out for all in the ether to see some simple tactics that I use to summon poems from wherever they sleep. I hope that other poets will gain from my tricks; I further hope that I will eventually see other technical manuals and poetic tools out there, and learn some new tricks for myself. PAGE 1 OF 8
|
||||
| CONTENTS | NEXT | |||