To Drink From North Wind’s Proffered Glass

Response to Dead Poet’s Live prompt, “And That is Life — Rhythm Poetry”

You cannot leave here as you came So drink with eyes wide open Do not pass by without a taste Of sweet iced wine that coats the tongue Seek to give words of acknowledgement Remembered far past The moment or their offering Lest forgotten they will not amount Do these things so to ensure That though you are lost in yourself You will exist in others Remembering your soul When seen reflected From the depth of others eyes Appreciated It is this light that you must kindle To reclaim yourself, your place, your love Of person, spirit, world, of foe Do these things And no one can ever succeed To unmake you Do these things You’ll have made your mark Do these things And when you leave You will not do so As you came

COMMENTS:

I did not set out to include repetitions in this poem but they seemed to somehow include themselves. I think this speaks to the way in which I write poetry though I’ve never given much thought to it before. We talk a lot about the technique of just writing to get the ideas down and then returning to the text to edit it. Yet when we discuss these ideas we generally are applying them to prose — nonfiction and fiction writing.

Realizing that this poem had taken on a life of its own, and declared its own structure despite my attempt to subjugate it to a specific rhythm which I could only force a few lines to follow. I have spoken about how when I write fiction, my characters have a habit of taking the story places I didn’t intend to go and how I enjoy not knowing where the story will end up.

I am not sure if it is a general preference or style of writing, the pantsers process so to speak, but I have come to realize that I write poetry the same way I write prose. When in a poetry state of mind, the words simply flow out, and if a rhythm or meter is established, it is within the first few lines and happens automatically based on the words that issue forth. I often have to go back and work on the first lines so that they follow the beat of the rest of the poem.

When I begin to write a poem, I often have wording, phrases or words choices that come to mind because I like the sound of them or they represent unusual images that have popped into my head. There may be little form or even little meaning or poetic intent at this point and these things may not develop until I’m well into the poem.

Sometimes when I finish getting the images and wording down on paper (I write my poetry long hand then copy them onto my computer), I realize there is no substance and that I have no substance to give them. This is extremely frustrating as it is upsetting to me to go through the process of writing through sense based visually expressive wording, some of which I often like, but to be unable to imbue these images with life and purpose.

Most times though, somewhere in the poem is the clue to what it is meant to be and what it wants to say. Ultimately, like my fiction, my poetry seems to follow a course that it sets for itself. I never saw this before because in poetry there are no characters to direct the plot. Yet, the process, I now see, is much the same.

I come up with a first draft which gets the ideas and images onto the page. Then I edit to create stronger images, better word choices and to solidify the poem’s purpose. I keep working on it until I feel that I have the wording and flow the way I want it, reading it aloud as I work to get the rhythm and meter in alignment and ensure consistency throughout.

On rare occasions, even at this late point in the writing process I will realize the result is trivial and doesn’t address the subject in any kind of novel way. Although the images may be strong they are either cliched or just ordinary and I know a million others have explored the topic and a million better, more creative, more interesting ways.

Just this morning I attempted a tanka poem, one in which there are exactly 31 syllables, about cherry blossoms. In Japanese poetic forms, this is subject matter that has been frequently explored, with many poems written that are absolutely, weepingly gorgeous. While I believed my idea to be interesting initially, when it was finished I realized there was nothing new or even particularly creative about the poem. Plus, I couldn’t get it down to 31 syllables, and attempting to do so just weakened the poem further. I discarded it.

Luckily before I shut my computer down in frustration, a phrase popped into my head. You cannot leave here as you came. I wrote it down and added the lines that came after, including refrains of Do these things . . . Although I read the new prompt for Dead Poets Live, which has to do with repetition, I didn’t realize that this poem might fit the new challenge and it could be something that I choose to submit for it.

I’m not sure any of these insights will affect my poetry writing. Though I think generally all insights have effects, conscious or not, unless we are blocking what they are trying to communicate. Realizing I’m evidently a poetic pantser as well as a fiction isn’t exactly life altering, just interesting. Perhaps it will lead me to a more productive and creative writing process for poetry despite the lack of characters to act as driving forces. It’s never a bad thing to learn more about ourselves, and that goes for our writing life as well.

Natalie Frank (Taye Carrol) has had her poetry featured in several anthologies including Untimely Frost. Her fiction has been published in Haunted Waters Press, Weirdbook Magazine, Siren’s Call Publications, Lycan Valley Press and Zero Fiction among others. Her collection of poetry, Disguised I Breathe, In Love I Hold, can be found on Amazon under her pen name, Taye Carrol.

If you enjoyed reading this poem, you might also like these:

You can find links to all of the articles, stories, fiction and poetry I publish on Medium here. Thanks for reading!