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@anjenuine
Kim Addonizio, from Wild Nights: New & Selected Poems; “Good Girl”
“I’ll just list ways you can accomplish this [radical revision] when you are working on a poem. Dig up some old ones and see what happens (it’s best to use old ones to start, as you are no longer emotionally attached to them): 1) If someone tells you you have too much in your poem, add more. 2) If someone tells you you have too little in your poem, take out more. 3) Take the last line and make it the first. Rewrite from there, keeping whatever works in what’s already there. 4) Expand your poem: add subordinate clauses using who, when, until, if, while, before, after, as, since, whenever, where, etc. Also use coordinating conjunctions: and/and/and; or/or/or; but/but/but (think of it as a list that keeps going). So, for example: “The man, who once loved me, who once told me___________, and __________, and ____________, and ______________…” so you’re pushing the syntax and the comfort of the line/sentence. Actual listing - must make a qualitative progression (light to dark, big to small, for example); can’t be random. Push the list, see what you come up with. Repetition - repeat what you just said. Maybe repeat it again. Contradiction - say the opposite of what you just said. 5) Compress your poem: Negation: use the word ‘not.’ When you do this you get both the thing named and its absence. You can also use other words that negate - ‘un’; ‘never’; 'less’; 'without.’ Neologisms: (what I like to refer to as kennings - used in Anglo Saxon poetry): put words together to create a heightened adjective, a metaphor: 'the shutmouth mother,’ 'the sorrowfence.’ Possessives: use possessives: 'how the sun’s poultice draws on my inflammation’ (Plath) or 'the wind’s rebuke’ and 'the leaves’ exhalation’ (Brigit Pegeen Kelly). Shift the parts of speech: Use a noun as a verb or vice versa. Use an adjective as a verb, etc. Cut and paste: radically rearrange your poem. Find new combinations! EXERCISE: Go over your poem and underline any lines you feel jump out with lots of energy. Pick three of those lines. Make one the first line of a new poem, one a middle line, and one the last line. Now, using some of the above strategies (minimum 3), write a new poem.”
— Catherine Barnett, “Radical Revision”
I.B. Vyache, “Things I Can’t Tell My Therapist” from Conversations Over Sanguinaccio Dolce
Eavan Boland, “A Woman Painted on a Leaf”
[Text ID: “I want a poem I can grow old in. I want a poem I can die in.”]
This is what hozier meant when he says he falls a little bit in love everyday with someone new
I once watched a girl in the produce aisle pick up a bushel of bananas that were precariously perched on the edge and move them farther back and under her breath she said “there you go sweeties - that will be more comfortable” before shuffling off and… I think about her often.
« Silent lovers » is such a sweet way to put it.
I was driving on the highway and passed a dude absolutely JAMMING alone in his car, doing those little half dance moves you do when you’re stuck sitting down in a small space, bellowing unheard lyrics at the top of his lungs, and my instant reaction was to think “I love you.” And then to pray he had a good day, or whatever, because those fleeting moments of connection are so incredible.
"I CANT HANDLE THIS" *handles this*
"I CANT TAKE ANOTHER DAY" *takes another day*
Pain makes me tired. My body needs to rest, but it’s more than that. I’m exhausted by feigning comfort, and I don’t want to translate what’s going on inside me, even for my friends.
Molly McCully Brown, from Places I've Taken My Body: Essays
you remind me of that fallen tree that no one was around to hear
From The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 5: 1947-1955
We open each meeting by asking a simple question: What is keeping you alive today? This allows us to revel in the sometimes small motions that get us to the Next Thing. Yes, I did not want to get out of bed this morning, but there was one single long shard of sunlight that stumbled in through a tear in my curtains, and the warmth of it hitting my arm got me to that first hour of living. There was my dog, who, on the mornings I do not want to get out of bed, will rest silently at my feet and wait for me to slowly emerge from under the covers, and seeing her reminds me that I do, in fact, have only one lifetime in which I can love this animal. As far as I know, we will love each other only here, for a while, and that is worth seeing what I can make out of a few hours, even when I’m wrecked with despair.
Hanif Abdurraqib, In Defense of Despair
On Grief
or, On the Best Friend You Met in Middle School who will Never Graduate College
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