Whew, your poem about sending our boys to battle really resonates. After having my own son, I can't help but think about how innocent and vulnerable and dependent on connection all of us are. How/when does that get trained out of us? Is it slow and gradual or abrupt? My heart aches for the ways we disown each other.
There are signs along the way but sometimes it’s a watershed moment when we build a wall. More so than being cut off, I imagine we forget how isolated we are.
Lots of cogitating going on! For my money writing starts and ends with words. Just as painting a still life starts with paint, writing a fiction whether micro or macro starts with words, composing a melody starts with sounds. Mastering the affordances and properties of the material substance used to hold the art work together in the physical world is the difference between being an artist and working in that direction. A second point: Comprehending a literary text as a reader isn’t the same as comprehending the same text as a writer. There is a correspondence between them, the poem is about the moon not about a trip to Antarctica, but the transaction transforms the inner art object wrought during the magic of composition (the mental elements of the art aren’t copied or repeated but uniquely constructed by the reader), Writers usually do everything they can to create texts that invite readers to work hard successfully at the task of building their own inner object using the blueprint of the text while finding joy in the process. Sometimes hiding Easter eggs for the reader is nice, but deliberately or negligently setting up obstacles or obfuscation isn’t so nice. I don’t read writers who do so. It’s gaming or manipulation. That doesn’t mean that something complex or subtle on its face can’t be mind boggling even when the writer has done exquisite work crafting the text.
There’s room for, to use the music metaphor, a syncopated rhythm that gallops along and is beautiful in its complexity. But at a certain point, I wonder what it’s for. Even something intricately constructed can be overwhelming.
For me, it’s best to have some balance, mixing colorful palettes with stark background. The beauty is in the body of work representing a range of skill. But I like what you said about building the inner object with the words as a blueprint. Each will be designed according to the reader’s life and experiences or even how they relate to the writer. It’s interesting to think about. When you keep it simple, though, the construction looks more and more alike. Shared mental model.
A rule of thumb for me: If I wonder what a word or an image or a rhythm or rhyme is for, why it stays in the piece, it probably gets deep sixed. All elements in the work must contribute in a discernible way. I do see a lot of writing embellished, sort of glitz and sparkle. That’s not beauty. Re: shared mental model from the blueprint—yes. The poem is about the moon, not the Antarctic. That is a shared model. The fabric of the whole, however, in literary reading, the mental model of the reader, isn’t a replica of the author’s—can’t be because it was built imaginatively in the reader’s mind. Reading a science text produces converging mental models in the smallest detail. Reading a poem produces divergent mental models. Two different animals.
I really benefited from having a editor look at one of my stories and have her guidance in my head. It’s interesting to what fluff you’re adding and what happens when it’s cut.
I edited an academic journal for a time and served as a peer reviewer for several journals for many years—no literary journals though. The role of academic editors (beyond sifting and judging and supporting authors who get work accepted in polishing and ensuring complete documentation) is to reject manuscripts in a way that doesn’t discourage the writer but leaves the writer wanting to try again. Your editor did the job to perfection.
Not that you don’t find fragments of poetry in science texts. Similarly, you find fragments of science text in poetry. Lore has it that a Native American saw a European reading a book; the Native American picked up a book and tried to eat it. The book was a thing of value, that much was clear, but the function of the machine wasn’t clear. What a text is supposed to do, why a genre or text type emerged to do a thing—being crystal clear is crucial for writers, important for readers. Poetry isn’t just sweetness and light, exciting and fun. Science isn’t just dullness and drudge, memory and precision. Science writing can be exciting, poetry can be precise—functions are different. Two different animals once again.
Whew, your poem about sending our boys to battle really resonates. After having my own son, I can't help but think about how innocent and vulnerable and dependent on connection all of us are. How/when does that get trained out of us? Is it slow and gradual or abrupt? My heart aches for the ways we disown each other.
There are signs along the way but sometimes it’s a watershed moment when we build a wall. More so than being cut off, I imagine we forget how isolated we are.
Thanks for reading. 🙂
This was like traveling vicariously with you. Thank you!
Much appreciated. Thank YOU!
Beautiful.
Thank you!
Your poetry is fabulous! Keep writing.
Thanks so much!
Lots of cogitating going on! For my money writing starts and ends with words. Just as painting a still life starts with paint, writing a fiction whether micro or macro starts with words, composing a melody starts with sounds. Mastering the affordances and properties of the material substance used to hold the art work together in the physical world is the difference between being an artist and working in that direction. A second point: Comprehending a literary text as a reader isn’t the same as comprehending the same text as a writer. There is a correspondence between them, the poem is about the moon not about a trip to Antarctica, but the transaction transforms the inner art object wrought during the magic of composition (the mental elements of the art aren’t copied or repeated but uniquely constructed by the reader), Writers usually do everything they can to create texts that invite readers to work hard successfully at the task of building their own inner object using the blueprint of the text while finding joy in the process. Sometimes hiding Easter eggs for the reader is nice, but deliberately or negligently setting up obstacles or obfuscation isn’t so nice. I don’t read writers who do so. It’s gaming or manipulation. That doesn’t mean that something complex or subtle on its face can’t be mind boggling even when the writer has done exquisite work crafting the text.
There’s room for, to use the music metaphor, a syncopated rhythm that gallops along and is beautiful in its complexity. But at a certain point, I wonder what it’s for. Even something intricately constructed can be overwhelming.
For me, it’s best to have some balance, mixing colorful palettes with stark background. The beauty is in the body of work representing a range of skill. But I like what you said about building the inner object with the words as a blueprint. Each will be designed according to the reader’s life and experiences or even how they relate to the writer. It’s interesting to think about. When you keep it simple, though, the construction looks more and more alike. Shared mental model.
A rule of thumb for me: If I wonder what a word or an image or a rhythm or rhyme is for, why it stays in the piece, it probably gets deep sixed. All elements in the work must contribute in a discernible way. I do see a lot of writing embellished, sort of glitz and sparkle. That’s not beauty. Re: shared mental model from the blueprint—yes. The poem is about the moon, not the Antarctic. That is a shared model. The fabric of the whole, however, in literary reading, the mental model of the reader, isn’t a replica of the author’s—can’t be because it was built imaginatively in the reader’s mind. Reading a science text produces converging mental models in the smallest detail. Reading a poem produces divergent mental models. Two different animals.
I really benefited from having a editor look at one of my stories and have her guidance in my head. It’s interesting to what fluff you’re adding and what happens when it’s cut.
Good point about diverging mental models.
I edited an academic journal for a time and served as a peer reviewer for several journals for many years—no literary journals though. The role of academic editors (beyond sifting and judging and supporting authors who get work accepted in polishing and ensuring complete documentation) is to reject manuscripts in a way that doesn’t discourage the writer but leaves the writer wanting to try again. Your editor did the job to perfection.
Not that you don’t find fragments of poetry in science texts. Similarly, you find fragments of science text in poetry. Lore has it that a Native American saw a European reading a book; the Native American picked up a book and tried to eat it. The book was a thing of value, that much was clear, but the function of the machine wasn’t clear. What a text is supposed to do, why a genre or text type emerged to do a thing—being crystal clear is crucial for writers, important for readers. Poetry isn’t just sweetness and light, exciting and fun. Science isn’t just dullness and drudge, memory and precision. Science writing can be exciting, poetry can be precise—functions are different. Two different animals once again.
Brilliant writing!
Thank you!