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This is a strange poem for me. I wrote it in June, for a poetry slam, and I had to use certain words in it, that were not of my choosing. I'll let you guess what the words were.

Harbour in the Morning

so you think you're my bitch
standing there naked roadside
looking like a tramp left in the rain
should I pity you?
make you my servant
and bind you with the finest
silk
make you sip from my cognac
I placed the snifter by the window
you will drink until you're intoxicated

I'll lie you like steel
touch you til morning

so you think you're my bitch
standing there naked roadside
come to me
I shall be your harbour
and touch you til morning.

Natalie Fuhr

You've certainly brought some sensitivity to an otherwise, fairly harsh vocabulary list, Natalie. The result is hard-hitting and I like it. Of course, given choice, I'd have not used all the words either.
~Lizzytysh

Dear Natalie,
If you had to write words, not of your choosing, how can it be your poem? How can it be a poem at all? Why did you post it? I know the words which weren't yours: don't denigrate your talent...your voice is best expressed in the strictures of your own creativity, not someone else's imposition.
Yours, as aye,
Andrew.

I'm glad you posted it Natalie, as I'm certain the outcomes between everyone who participated were vastly different. It sounds like one of those exercises, where creativity is a little further honed.....like ad-lib comedy, based on a particular scenario....not necessarily yours, but just see what you can do with it. And who has ownership of words, anyway? They've "all" been spoken by someone else previously. I like how you chose to reframe the words given you and create a scenario with them, into which you imbue with your "own" words the elements of humanity and compassion.

Thank you for your comments, Andrew and Lizzie.

I was pretty sure I'd get a response similar to the one you gave me, Andrew. It's not quite "denigrating my talent" (what, I have talent???), but I do see what you're saying. The poem is not quite yours if you haven't chosen all of the words that are involved in it.

At the same time, though, I do agree with Lizzie in that it was merely an "exercise in creativity." It's very interesting to see what you come up with when you're bound to words, so to speak. It's confining, but thought-provoking. It's amazing what different people come up with when they participate in a poetry slam. I've done some poetry slams at parties, and I am always surprised with what my friends come up with, especially those who don't write. They startle even themselves. There are people I know who are artists, and didn't write before, but now they do. I've done five paintings in the last couple of months, and I never used to do art, before.

Anyway, I just thought I'd share my thoughts.

Take care,
Natalie

Dear Natalie,
I'm glad you replied to my post, and didn't find it offensive: it's all down to training/learning about poetry. To be honest, I wouldn't know a "poetry slam" if one jumped up and bit me on the backside. I'm all for experimentation in poetry , but haven't yet experienced someone coming up to me and saying "here are some words; stick them in a poem".
I honestly think I'd be a zero in that situation: It's difficult enough for me to find the words for my own poetry. ( On that matter, please reply to me "off board").
Having read the excellent "Write Away" magazine, I understand that a "poetry slam" is normal in Canadian enclaves of creativity.
Yours, as aye,
Andrew.

Hi Natalie,

That's interesting how the poetry slam has inspired non-writers to begin writing, allowing them belief in themselves and their ability to put words together in a meaningful way. I've always loved improv and find the results dictate a rather separate kind of talent, forcing them to think outside their own, natural "bounds," habits, and patterns. It seems that's where some of that discovery lies. It's quite unlike refrigerator-magnet poetry, where all the words are provided and you simply play around with them. As interesting as the results can be, I find it somehow contrived and lots-less inspiring. Now I know what a poetry slam is, too....thanks.

~Lizzytysh

Hi everyone,

It is interesting to follow this thread.

I took a creative writing class many years ago (1982 - twenty years already!) As part of that course we were to analyze a poem of our choice, and from that analysis, create a poem following as closely as we could the 'tools' used buy the Poet to create his original. Rhythm, rhyme, etc etc. I chose Dylan Thomas's 'The Fuse that Through Green Fuse Drives The Flower.' This process was very challenging, but I learned quite a bit. I also ended up with an A+ for my effort.

The point of this post I guess is that facing challenges such as the one mentioned by Natalie and the poetry slam, and my example is that they force us to exercise our poetry muscles in new ways - ways we might not have tried on our own.

It's also the nasty bits of comments that we receive from others - though they might hurt - as well as the good ones that help to propel one who is seriously interested in this art onto the right road(s).

Vern

The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
drives my green age,
that something, something, something,
is my destroyer..

hi vern, I used to know this once but that's all I could remember!
Why don't you post the one you wrote for this class, if you still have it? It would be interesting to see what you came up with.

Sue

Hi Sue,

The 'poem' i wrote dealt with the difficulties I found in doing this very assignment. so here it is:

The Rage That Through the Darkness Thrusts These Harsh Words

The rage that through the darkness thrusts these harsh words
Thrusts my cold nerve; that stuns the gleam of thought
Is my discord.
And I am slow to take unto my heart
How by the Master's ear such sounds are heard.

The rage that thrusts the power through the sounds
Thrusts mine to sleep; that seeks the fluid voice
Turns mine to sand.
And I am slow to force upon this space
How near the edge of ruin this bland heart stands.

The hand that turns the jargon into tools
Deserts no plan; that slants the easy phrase
Discards no rules.
And I am slow to look beyond the haze
How by the light of reading, its darkness pales.

The test of time approves the poet's worth;
Moss grips and gathers, but the hidden death
Of words is done.
And I am slow to learn that secret path
How to a master's virtues, that fierce goal's won.

And I am slow to share a master's stealth
How by his gentle wisdom, proves his greatest wealth.

( comment by the professor: 'The very good critical analysis you did has led to a very accurate imitation. Well done! You've turned frustration into a tuneful bellyache. Excellent imitation! you caught the frenzy of Thomas' diction.')

The instructor also warned us not to treat these exercises as 'real poems.' What do you think?

Vern

Very innovative, Vern. You also captured not only his style, but I would think, the frustration of many ~ if not all ~ writers, at one point or another. It reminds me of a movie within a movie, or dreaming that you are dreaming. A writer writing well about his inability to write.

"....not treat these exercises as real poems".....that same invalidation because you styled, per a "formula." Sure looks like a poem to me ~ and an excellent one at that.

Thanks Sue for asking him to share it here....and thanks Vern for doing it.

~Lizzytysh

(thanks for sharing this with the world!)

Oh, I think you got some nice mixed metaphors into it, and the whole thing has a lofty resonance. I have a genuine difficulty though in so far as it isn't clear who the Master, whose skills are so crucial, is. Is it Dylan Thomas, or your professor, or the 'master' poet you were seeking to become?? Not knowing that makes the raging seem a bit unfocused; and if we don't know who/what you are raging against (other than that it's something to do with this assignment) it's hard to judge the depth and sincerity of the rage. And these last lines:

..And I am slow to share a master's stealth
How by his gentle wisdom, proves his greatest wealth.

are so ungrammatical that any meaning in them can only communicate itself in a very blurred way.

But like you say, it was 20 years ago and you don't write stuff like that now. That was why I thought it would be interesting to see.

Your professor was right I suppose that it does have some of the energy, frenzy or whatever of the original but I think that comes from copying the metrical structure as you have more or less done. It would work whatever words or ideas you stuck in there. When I compare Thomas's language with yours though - like here, just the ends of lines:

DT

flower/trees/destroyer/rose/fever

rocks/streams/wax/veins/sucks

pool/wind/sail/man/lime etc.

VS

words/thought/discord/heart/heard

sounds/voice/sand/space/stands

tools/phrase/rules/haze/pales etc.

I begin to see why his poem sounds so clear and concrete (even though it may be no clearer what it's about) and why yours sounds a bit abstract and unspecific by comparison.

I would have to call yours a poem, I wouldn't know what else to call it. Did your professor make it clear what he meant by "real" poetry, as opposed to any other sort? There's probably some category of poetry - pastiche, parody or whatever, where it rightfully belongs. And on that subject, I'd be interested to hear what criteria Andrew uses to distinguish between poems and songs - it's a point he's made a couple of times and I'm curious about it.

Sue