Poems and meanings

I've had an interesting experience with a poem I posted on Writers' Dock.

Dream on

She used to live as if
as if it really were,
in spite of lacking evidence
or truth.

She lived in wish-horse land
a beggar finely mounted,
on a wild white stallion
riding
windy stormscapes
in a sordid little house
she didn’t see.

When she died she left the sadness
of a life of might-have-beens:
a pile of clothes unmended,
of stories never written
and a bookcase full of stories of escape.

As I wrote it, it was the simple tale of someone who lives inside her head, ignoring the reality around her, and dreams her life away without attempting to act on either dreams or reality. The saying 'if wishes were horses, then beggars would ride' is behind the second stanza.

Of course there are inelegant parts, and the repetition of 'stories' was pointed out, with justification. Other words could be removed, though I want to keep the rhythm I feel when I speak it.

Then, someone saw it as being about a heroin addict with the references to 'horse' 'white' and stormscapes'
'...horse as heroin, gives wish-horse as the illusory dreams of the drug, a beggar gives me the feel of a desperate person, and again the white stallion as the white powder of the drug itself, windy stormscapes reminded me of references to taking the drug as riding the storm with the sordid little house being the body which she no longer feels a need for as rides the drug-fuelled high.
The last line now reads more as a reference to her secret stash of the drug which still holds all the dreams she never got to have.'

I claimed that my subconscious works in mysterious ways, but am surprised how well the interpretation fits the poem.

One of my daughters on the other hand, looked at it and said - 'Oh no, it's one of your get off your arse and do something poems again.' Time I did, then?

OK, all write? Keep write on, etc...

Someone posted a good comment on WD this morning, not on a poem of mine - I haven't posted one since The Old Tart - but this could help when I'm dissatisfied with things.
'...don't expect every poem to be better than the one before. Few poets are consistently good. Some of the best produced very ordinary stuff along with their brilliant work.'
It fits in well with Stephen King's advice that you need to be there working regularly, to stand a chance of the Muse dropping by.

Writing 60 words

I sometimes post on a WD forum - 60 word fiction. Today, the prompt was 'Launderette'. I thought of several. Most recently in the US - in Brooklyn with Leonie while they were living in rented apartments before moving; in Eureka, California, during a holday in a rented RV; in New Hampshire last autumn, again during a holiday. All different.
Go back to student days, bedsit days, the days before tumble driers or disposable nappies.

So I wrote the notes, and gradually changed them to fit the format of 60 words fiction. It's not dramatic enough to satisfy me, but it's interesting (for me) to see the thought process.

Notes
Travel in an RV – the luxury of carrying your home around like a clumsy snail – but without the mod cons. You daren’t use the toilet since you don’t want to be stuck trying to empty the tank. And you certainly don’t have a washing machine. Much better to use the facilities in a campground. So why do they bother fitting these behemoths with bathrooms?
Then the laundry piles up until you find a launderette – well Laundromat if you’re stateside. We found one in the small college town of Eureka on the Northern Cali coast.

Condensed
Laundromats attract all sorts.
Families without a washing machine.
Tourists – the kind who don’t stay in hotels and pay them to do the laundry.
And another kind of wanderer – whose life, complete with dog, fits in a supermarket cart.
I put the money in the slot.
On the wall: Nothing in driers unless it’s been washed. Including sleeping bags.

Half way to fiction (and it is sixty words)
They parked the RV. Wide street, a laundromat, a thrift store.
Sal put the clothes in the machine, quarters in the slot. Like the locals, she bought a coffee from the automat.
A woman came by, pushing her life, and dog, in a supermarket cart.
Sal read the notice: Nothing in driers unless washed in our machines. Including sleeping bags.

Stocktaking again

I seem to have been bogged down elsewhere in cyberspace - mainly with Writers' Dock mag, but I've been doing more editing than creating anything of my own. I need to do a quick stock-take - especially since I'm approaching another birthday - not a big one this year.

I've written a few articles for the mag, on writing and editing poetry, on World Book Day and National Year of Reading - mainly cobbled together from online info. Then I've written a couple of poems, both rhyming - one narrative, and the other about writing poetry, from a practical point of view.

Last night, I did a couple of short almost stories, from prompts. The two were written in about half an hour, and it made a pleasant change just wandering along following my imagination, instead of trying to be clear and logical about facts. I shall keep them and edit if I feel they have any potential.

This afternoon while I was out walking, I remembered another. A villanelle for a challenge.

Well, I think my brain's getting a bit of exercise.

Keeping track of myself

OK. Last month I planned to post at least a short piece each day on WD - it didn't happen, but I wasn't too far off, and I have been blogging.
And since I last totted it all up (February 23rd), I've written a sonnet for a challenge. Topic (chosen by me) anything but love. I was all Valentined out after last month's challenge.
I've also posted a couple of very quickly written flash poems from prompts.

We've been discussing the 'to be continued' story idea - someone writes about 100 words, and others add their 100 words to it. At least two of us admit we have trouble writing endings.
So next week, I'm going to post 100 words, and we'll use it in two ways. One will be as normal, as the start of a story. For the second version, others will write the 100 words leading up to that situation, and so on backwards. Until we arrive at a beginning?

Yeah? Write?

Ok this month's 'score' - nothing submitted to anywhere serious.

On Writers' Dock I have posted:

• one challenge poem;
• three flash poems - written from a prompt in less than 30 minutes - usually a lot less;
• three flash 'stories' or more likely 'writing dumps' or 'expressions' - again from prompts and taking less than 30 mins;
• eighteen mini-epsiodes of stories (up to 100 words).

The mini-episodes are more fun than I expected, though it can be frustrating when someone changes a character's personality, or (in one of these stories) whizzes everyone off in the time machine, just as I thought I'd set up an interesting situation.

Hey, it might just teach me a little about plot and character though.

All of these have something in common. Because they're all generated by an external stimulus, I feel less exposed and less constrained by the writing that emerges from them. Interesting.

Good vibrations....meme

A meme from moondreamer...Five ways to 'raise your vibrations' (aside from operating a pneumatic drill?)



Walking, always walking - in the countryside, in the hills, in the city, on my own with a camera, with friends, with family. This is a picture from today's walk.

Swimming - We usually go once a week - I love the water, and the way swimming feels like gliding. If it's warm enough I especially like swimming outside, in the sea, or a lake.

Travelling from place to place, preferably with no timetable to keep to, on my own or with others. I like driving or taking public transport. Once we cycled and camped for two weeks. I think Bruce Chatwin was right - we are a nomadic species.

Reading and writing - for the escape from the everyday.

Watching Mastermind and University Challenge - though why they make me feel good is a mystery. I can't answer many questions.

There are other things which I do from time to time, like knitting, making bits of patchwork, and I really should start playing the keyboard and weaving again. Hey, I haven't mentioned surfing the internet either.

I'm going to tag Rich Sampson

To write perchance?

I would like to set myself a modest task - in February to average one brief post per day on WD. I really did very little writing for any sort of audience in January.

So far I have posted two flash poems, one poem for a 'challenge', and three 100-word parts of a communal story. That's six items by the 11th. I've been away for four days, but I ought to do better than this.

I have commented on several poems, some in detail. I have written the blog, and my own personal notes.

Charles Simic

I just came across this interview with the 'Poet Laureate of the United States' , Charles Simic.
He seems very down-to-earth. I didn't even know there was a poet laureate of the US. I enjoyed his comments about 'happiness', especially the very last answer in the interview.

What advice would you give to people who are looking to be happy? For starters, learn how to cook.

Books and clutter

Reading moondreamer's post on de-cluttering sparked these thoughts.

Are books disposable? It all depends on the book - I quite happily take books to Oxfam when I've read them. Not sure what the authors would feel about this one...

I also had a light-bulb moment when I realised I could write in cookery books, and tear apart camping site guides.

In school they encouraged us to make pencil notes on texts we studied. I suppose regarding the book as disposable is not such a big step.

Some of mine should definitely be disposed of.


As for clutter - I wouldn't try to list it, but know the feeling of being unable to discard.

I read somewhere there are three questions to ask.

1. Is it beautiful?

2. Is it useful?

3. Do I love it?
Hmm. That takes care of most stuff then.

I could add a question.
4. Does it make me feel guilty?
Answer yes, and then what - throw it away and feel its presence in your head? Keep it and hide it? Write about it, then throw it away?

Another poem - from July 2006. Luckily for me, my sister took the tea-set. I wrote the poem in her house. My thoughts, not hers.

The weight of old china

Once upon a time
great-great-aunt Jane
bought a "half tea-set",
fluted cups, sugar bowl,
proud with painted peacocks .

It sat for years,
grew old and heavy.

Ah, yes, this belonged to Aunt Jane.
The things it must have seen,
the years
the tears.

She left it to my mother,
who left it to me.
I can't give it away
or sell on eBay
so it squats behind glass,
unwashed and unwished,
on a shelf
on the edge of my life.

Just because it's old
doesn't make it mean a thing
-
cuckoo
sucking food
eating space.

No use,
no beauty,
no sense but duty
to dead hands.

I want to be free
to be clear to be me
to know my history
not carry artefacts
like sacks of coal
heave-heavy.

No reason to hoard
crocks in a cupboard
out of sight,
out of mind.

Did she think she was refined
a century ago?
Was it just for show?
Did it sit on a shelf
peacock-proud of itself?

Used or abused
in life's rough and tumble?

I don't want it
you can have it.
Take it away
snapshot it
file it
smash it
trash it.
It's nothing to me.

An update September 2011 - the teaset was sold, a year or so ago,  in a charity shop for £12.  Much better for it than sitting on the shelf. And now it's lost the emotional baggage, methinks, set free to sink or swim in this wide world.

A meme (what?)

This is long by the standards of this blog. Blame Sally

What's the last thing you wrote?
Apart from blog entries, a short piece (officially a story, but more of an episode) in response to flash prompts –on Writers’ Dock.

Was it any good?
It began ok, but I wasn’t impressed with the ending.

What's the first thing you ever wrote that you still have?
A poem I wrote when I was 10, which went in the school mag. (I peaked early.) But when I say, I have it, I remembered the first verse, and wrote a second one later.

Write poetry?
I’ve written a lot in the past three years or so, not so much very recently.

Angsty poetry?
Not usually. Yes, when I was younger, but now I tend to be more detached.

Favourite genre of writing?
Poetry, or short pieces – I really enjoyed filling in the details in real stories from my family history, fictionalising them.

Most fun character you ever wrote?


Most annoying character you ever wrote?

Best plot you ever wrote?
I started one which I loved, but couldn’t work out how to tie the ends together. Still lying fallow.

Coolest plot twist you ever wrote?
I wish – plots are my weakness.

How often do you get Writers block?
I call it bone-idleness, does that count?

Write fan fiction?
No.

Do you type or write by hand?
I tend to type because it gives me a bit of distance from whatever I’m writing.

Do you save everything you write?
Pretty well, but can I always find it?

Do you ever go back to an old idea long after you abandoned it?
Yes, if I’ve been looking through old notes.

What's your favourite thing that you've written?
Either the unfinished story I’ve mentioned, or some of the family stuff.

What's everyone else's favourite thing that you've written?
No idea.

Do you even show people your work?
Quite a lot goes on the WD website.

Did you ever write a novel?
No, though I did do 50,000 words for NaNoWriMo 2006, but it wasn’t a proper novel with a plot and so on.

Ever written romance or teen angsty drama?
No.

How many writing projects are you working on right now?
I have several unfinished projects.

Do you want to write for a living?
Dream on..

Have you ever won an award for your writing?
No

Ever written something in script or play format?
No

Do you ever write based on yourself?
I constantly include bits of myself.

What character that you've written most resembles yourself?
Er..

Where do you get ideas for your other characters?
People I meet, or read about, or hear about.

Do you ever write based on your dreams?
Not often – my dreams, when I remember them, don’t have a strong narrative.

Do you favour happy endings, sad endings, or cliff-hangers?
That depends on what grows from the story.

Have you ever written based on an artwork you've seen?
No.

Are you concerned with spelling and grammar as you write?
I don’t find it a big problem. I’ll pick things up on a read-through.

Ever write something entirely in chatspeak? (How r u?)
only the odd txt wiv dificulti.

Entirely in L337?
What?

Was that question completely appalling and un-writer like?
Is anything?

Does music help you write?
I rarely listen to music except when driving. I’ve written a few poems based on the tunes of songs, and the rhythms.

Quote something you've written. The first thing to pop into your mind.
Well, I don’t think anything ‘popped into my mind’, but I found this one from 2005. We stopped for a picnic lunch at Dartmeet in Devon, and there was a man playing Border pipes. Just practising, for himself. It’s much more other-worldly than most stuff I write.

Twenty-first Century Minstrel

The river runs through beds of ancient boulders
dark brown and clear, down to its deepest pool.
The sunlight streams green-leaved and sylvan cool,
reveals a bridge of stone from days as old as

Celtic myth, when fairy music cold as
ice-bound water, charmed some mortal fool.
Entrancing sounds defying every rule
seduced all care, then life from weary shoulders.

But now I hear an air from times long past
insistent, calm, commanding, come my way.
A minstrel by the water's edge today
with English border pipes begins to play
melodic notes, entwined to weave a vast
enchanted canopy. His spell is cast.

Clear the decks...

All this sorting out is a great way to put things off. Clear the decks for action. If you're lucky it'll take all day. Too late for action now. Go on, you deserve a game of Scrabble.

However, I've got back as far as March 2006 in my sorting out.

I found a silly poem I wrote then in response to the topic 'Heat' . If my brother stumbles across this blog it may remind him.

HEAT
Mam sent us to t' chippy
to buy us some fish.
Dog 'ad to come wi' me,
Not what I'd wish.

'Ey up,' says t' lassie
as served me wi' food,
'summat smells a bit queer.'
Says I, ' 't's a bit rude.

This dog is a bitch, and
to be short and sweet
I've sprayed Antimate on 'er
You see, she's on 'eat.'

Taking stock

I've been collecting together all my notes and diary style stuff from last year, and printed it out.
Now I'm going to read through it, and see just how much I had forgotten - I've noticed several interesting ( to me anyway) things as I went through merging files before I printed them out. The big question - is anything usable?

I still have another three years to collect up.

I also put all 2007 photos on a CD. Just in case.

Ideas, ideas?

Now, I've had an idea for a story, but it really needs some developing - so this time, I may try the mind-map technique, just to see where it leads. And then I have to decide whether to write it as an adult fairy tale, or a soap-style story with the symbolism well-hidden...

After two unpleasant drives this week, with delays and bad weather, I am not in a great mood. Wet weather motorway travel is like a foretaste of one possible version of hell. I wonder what Dante's seven circles would consist of now. Before I think about that, perhaps I should read his original. I don't actually know what his seven circles were.