(1) storytelling as retelling: e.g., the prologue and epilogue poems retell episodes from a Greek myth as retold by a Roman poet; "The White Bear" retells a Scandinavian myth; "Mrs. Dickinson" retells a comment by Emily D. from the point of view of her mother. Art goes backward as it goes forward: it dips into the past and reshapes or repositions it.
(2) form as storytelling: e.g., the sonnets sprinkled throughout the book arose deliberately from two actions: (a) I copied out all of Shakespeare's sonnets word for word over the course of a month; and (b) I kept a diary for a month in which all my entries had to be Shakespearean sonnets: that is, I had to write about whatever daily issue struck me within the boundaries of this form. So I had to learn what sorts of stories sonnets were best at telling.
Here's a sonnet from the collection that I think speaks to both of those impulses.
Shouting at Shakespeare
Dawn Potter
How can you make such outrageous modest claims—
“I think good thoughts whilst other write good words”?
Why invite pity from the copyist mouthing your refrains
Like an accurate parrot? Why burden me with this absurd
Maudlin plea? The problem, big Will, is that no one
Can possibly trust your coy ignorance—these self-slamming
asides,
These parenthetical sighs. You toss me a melancholy bone,
A morsel to sustain me as I dutifully admire your rhymes
And indiscretions. It’s too much like dealing with the man
Who broods so charmingly on why he’ll always love
My husband. I clutch the phone to my ear and fan
A panicked SOS into the resigned aether. Enough.
I’ve grown used to the common pain
Of being less. But don’t you
complain.
5 comments:
Dear Dawn,
I’m a great admirer of your writing as anybody reading my comments on this blog will know. On the other hand, I’m the only person that on occasion disagrees with you. I’m also the only person who quite regularly gets no reply, the last time being in my response to your saying that you found Elizabeth de Waal’s self-evaluation as a writer “extraordinarily sad.” I said not “sad” but “bitter-sweet,” and I went on to talk about writers who search for the “quintessence in experiences” as opposed to the “experience themselves,” such an important element in the well-examined life, and particularly among those who find themselves with the leisure to devote to such an unprofitable pursuit.
It seems to me that writers today have forgotten that a successful life in writing has only just recently been judged by the amount a writer gets published – which should be a huge topic in America with those writing programs on every block filled to capacity yet so few jobs. I would think this point would also be of great interest to you and your readers, Dawn, as all of us, myself included, have had to struggle so hard to get anything published at all. Yet we go on – and I suspect we all understand why we do too.
I myself wrote for over 30 years without ever sending anything out -- I submitted for the first time at 52.
What we must never forget is that up until very recently writing has been a way of life as opposed to a career for the vast majority of dedicated writers, and I’m referring to the countless letter and journal writers who have practiced the art for centuries from Virginia Galilei and Samuel Pepys to Ann Frank.
Story-telling is what you do so well, Dawn, but it’s not the whole story for writers. Indeed, when I point out the “quintessence” that lies behind your best poems you inevitably shrug your shoulders as if you weren’t interested in that, or that such an observation was just for dilettantes, i.e. for writers like myself who don’t know how to write.
No one could tell a better story in verse than William Butler Yeats or Robert Frost, but they rose to true greatness also because of their hard, uncomfortable poems like “Sailing to Byzantium,” “The Circus Animals Desertion,” “The Black Cottage,” “The Oven Bird,” and "Directive." My feeling is that once we have been taught by them to think like that we can read every word they write for the quintessence too.
You do too, but you talk as if all you need is style and a story.
Christopher
Christopher:
(1) I didn't find de Waal's self-evaluation sad because she hadn't been published. I found it sad because the remark itself was sad. And I didn't respond to you because I didn't have anything more to say about it. If you scroll back through the history of this blog, you'll note that often I do NOT answer comments for this exact reason. As far as I know, no one has been distressed by this.
(2) Regarding your comments about this post, which mentioned two thoughts that I had about the collection. These thoughts were offered in response to a specific request for two general thematic topics to include in a high school-level study guide. They are not my only thoughts about the collection, or about my writing, or about the task of the poet, etc., etc.
(3) I am not comfortable about using this blog as a public sparring match about the quality of my work or the way in which I think about writing. If you don't approve of how my mind functions, so be it. You may or may not be correct in your judgment. But I am who I am, and I am not going to bore or distress other blog readers by excoriating myself.
(4) Any reader who wants to talk with Christopher here should, of course, feel free to do so. I've made my own choice not to engage, but the forum is wide open for you.
To clarify my previous comment: when I say "public sparring match," I don't mean "give me praise not criticism." I recognize that Christopher and others do have nice things to say about my writing. I also recognize that I am a flawed writer and human being. However, I am extremely uncomfortable with long drawn-out "quintessence" conversations. To me, this is the private inarticulate life that the work frames. And I don't like flaying that privacy.
The quality of your work has never been an issue, Dawn, and I do apologize if I gave that impression.
"Sparring match?" That would imply that I'm looking for a fight, which you know very well is just not me. Looking for dialogue, on the other hand? Yes, I surely am, and I much appreciate your encouragement to others in #4.
C.
Your second comment crossed with mine in space — sorry.
I know this very well about you, dear Dawn, and try very hard not to push your buttons. The problem is that you feel so free to savage mine whenever you like, and that's just not fair.
C.
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