So Very Busy...

...but the blog must move forward, however slowly. Today, I will highlight some of the more interesting posts I've read lately.

To start, An Important Discussion About Poetry Online. While I never have and never will enter into poetry forum participation, I did find the discussion (and Art's comments) fairly interesting.

To The Zoo! Jess and Dan visited the zoo a while back, and Jess was kind enough to share her pictures with us. Cat lovers will be particularly pleased with her photographs. Also- a strange coincidence concerning Sister Carrie.

Jason Sanford recently wrote The Liar's Review of James Frey's Bright Shiny Morning. Funny stuff.

Finally, to conclude this brief list of highlights, Wanderlust Scarlett went Wandering With Bay a few weeks ago. Bay is quite adorable, and Wanderlust certainly showed her a wonderful time.

Next week is my last week of school; I should get a chance to relax and write in the near future, "should" being the key word.

Take Care,
~Neil

Yeats for Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner?

"The differences in approach that are imperceptible to the audience contribute to the uniqueness of a quality writer's work."

"Every piece I've written is a piece that the rest of you are wholly incapable of writing; the same rule applies to all of us [the poets in the Cosmoetica mailing list], as we all, at the very least, have some semblance of talent (and, by extension, unique voice). While the common goal (to produce worthwhile art) is the same, each of us provides a different viewpoint and style, so every worthwhile poem we write has its own unique value. Where does competition come into play? To quote Jess: 'Good poem. Now that's one less for me to write. I'm jealous.' Hooray for constructive sarcasm. Anyhow, if there's a competition or challenge to be had in art, it's an internal one that involves besting yourself whenever possible. Instead of worrying about what other people think, work for self-satisfaction via self-improvement, and work on a personal scale, not one that has 'Great' plastered at the top of it."

The first is quoted from my previous blog entry. The second is my response to a analogy posited in an exchange over the Cosmoetica newsletter that suggested that writing poetry was a competition of sorts. Now, a quote from Jess:

"...one cannot out Stevens Stevens or out Yeats Yeats just as Hester cannot out Schneider Schneider..."

The point is not to best anyone else's personal voice. Any poet who writes quality poetry has his or her own unique worth. Artists shouldn't compete; they should come together, offering each other support and (honest and accurate) criticsm in order to provide a diverse pool of art for people to dive into and explore. Wait, wait- here it comes, the dumb metaphor! Get ready for this- art is food for the soul. Let's say Yeats is bread ('cause his name anagrams into "yeast"); would you want to eat nothing but bread for your entire life? Maybe if you're obsessed with Yeats/yeast. Any sensible person, however, needs an array of different flavors and textures to keep the meals enjoyable. I'll gladly take a little Shelley and Schneider with my Crane (mm, bird) and Yeats (and, perhaps, a bit of Hester on the side ~_^).

In short- art's not a competition, and every time a new artist graces the world with quality art, it's worthwhile, regardless of whether or not that person has reached an "immortal" status, or ever will. So, to all capable artists (especially poets!) out there- look inward, not outward, if you're looking for someone to best.

Take Care,
~Neil

LAEvaside: It's May! [/laevaside]

Begin at the Beginning/Middle/End

'Begin at the beginning,' the King said gravely, 'and go on till you come to the end: then stop.'

A mostly irrelevant quote, courtesy of Lewis Carroll- I just can't help it! Anyhow...

I apologize for my extended absence; again, school has taken more than its share of my time. I'm currently preparing to play the Baker in our choir's production of Into The Woods (certainly one of my favorite musicals- I love fairy tales, and Into The Woods is quite the creative fusion of several popular fairy tales, courtesy of Stephen Sondheim). However, though the blog has suffered, I am past my writer's block (thank goodness), having written a few sonnets this past month. Anyhow, enough about me-

A brief first point- Dan Schneider notes two distinctly different types of writers- sculptors and builders. A sculptor writes to excess about an idea, then chips away at their piece, removing or reworking unnecessary or ineffective portions until the final form is reached. A builder writes more carefully from the get-go, often making changes during the creation of the first draft, and is left with very little excess to trim once the piece reaches its completion. Neither is better- the two are simply different. As a point of curiosity, I am a builder.

We've now established that there are two types of writers. Now, a second point- a work of art begins with an idea. What a remarkably dumb and obvious thing to say, Neil! True. But, where do you place the idea? A piece can start from any point- a standard A-B-C progression isn't the only way to go. Let's narrow the scope and look at poetry, for two reasons: firstly, I know more about poetry than I do about other art forms, and secondly, poetry is written (abstract building blocks are easier to shuffle around), and it's also tighter and (generally) shorter than prose.

Just as there are different types of writers, there are different ways to begin a poem. The first fragment of a poem isn't necessarily the first line; a great idea for an ending or middle line or couplet also makes for a fine starting point. A C-A-B or B-C-A progression in the creation of a poem is just as good as an A-B-C progression; our job as writers is, after all, to rearrange letters of the alphabet ~_^ While I certainly can't pick out the original fragment of another person's poem, I posit that different writers have a tendency to start in different places. I tend towards coming up with end lines or couplets, then starting from the top, with the final phrase already in place. Occasionally, the original phrase doesn't even survive; the entire poem at its completion may even have a completely different meaning than initially intended. However, that's where my starting point usually lies, and the most difficult part of writing a poem, at least for me, is beginning. Once I have something to work off of, the task is much less daunting.

The differences in approach that are imperceptible to the audience contribute to the uniqueness of a quality writer's work. I'm going to leave off with that statement, with every intention of elaborating in my next post. Take care 'til next,

~Neil

A Short Counter

Anthony posted a short poem on his blog, so I thought I'd follow along. Of course, length is the only thing our two poems have in common, but hey~

~~~

On Writing Poetry

When writing poetry, brevity is bliss.
That said, I think I’m done writing this.

~~~~~~~

Not much, but okay for blogging. I'm going to quickly excuse myself from this post. I hope everyone's well-

Take Care,
~Neil

The Gold of Memories

Sometime last year, I had to do a practice TAKS (Texas Assessment of Knowledge and Skills) test. For the writing portion of the test, students are required to write an essay based on a prompt. These prompts are notorious for being dull and uninspiring. The gist of the prompt I had to write toward for this practice test was something like this:

"Write about how a place can be special to a person."

Ugh. Are you serious? That's either a subject for a few lines or an entire psychology book; not 1-2 pages. Of course, they have to make these prompts very simple and open so that even the most backwards student can write for it and stand a chance of passing (I don't say this to be mean, it's just the truth). They didn't always have an essay in the test, and they need to get rid of it; a state-issued test intended for the entire student body doesn't need to include something difficult and subjective like an essay. Anyhow, I decided that I might as well have a little fun since I had to write something, so I wrote this:

LAEvaside: If you, by chance, skipped the last couple paragraphs, this is not a serious essay. It's a *joke* (though I did actually turn it in and everything). [/laevaside]

~~~

The Gold of Memories

       Most places – the doctor’s waiting room, the downtown police department, the deli down the street – do nothing more than serve their purpose, accommodate who and what they are meant to accommodate. For every person, however, there are places that do more than that; there are places that serve as vessels for memories or emotions, giant time capsules that open at every visit, every stay. They contain people and events no longer present and offer that one special person a chance to break back into the past and relive better times.
       Those special people in our lives, those remarkable individuals that mark us with a fire that leaves us no chance of forgetting them – some of them remain with us, while others conclude their stay, either by the road or by the grave. For those who leave, we dedicate a portion of our hearts; however, memories grow weary and fade as time distances the present and the past. To visit a place where a memory resides is to rekindle a decaying time and give it life; a normal site becomes an array of paints at the right person’s visit, a flurry of colors on the canvas of the mind that brings new ardour and vibrance to a fading portrait of a past face, a past friend. The wonder of such a place is like no other, a wonder personal and unshared with others, who may cast weary eyes upon that magnificent site and remain weary, unchanged by the glory known only by one.
       "We do not remember days; we remember moments." Specific events, even moreso than people, reside in tiny crevices of the world, unbeknownst to all but their creators. These unique happenings are encapsuled in the mind; however, as the years increase, the clarity of memory decreases, and questions fester like sores: "Did she smile? Did she laugh?" "Were the flowers blue or gold?" And yet, at a simple visit to the site, a torrent of answers charms the mind and the spirit is freed from its blistering wounds, like a leper at the holy touch. Certainly, all others will arrive at the place and leave unaffected, but for the one who knows its secret, its value is immeasurable.
       The grand people and events of the past remain in ghostly fragments where they once resided, enriching these places, lacing them with untouchable gold. Yet, unlike the fickle gold of leprechauns that resides at the ends of impossibly distant rainbows, the gold of memories is true and invaluable to those who are able to harvest it, and its vast mines are well within reach, whether they are oceans distant, miles away, or right around the corner.

~~~~~~~

I have nothing to add to that.

Oh, by the way- I added a new section to my sidebar, for links that aren't related to art. Some of the webcomics I added are delightfully clever (thanks to Jeff S. for directing me to xkcd and Dinosaur Comics). Finally, it's April. It's a shame I missed April Fools'- I didn't even realize what day it was until it was almost over. Anthony and Jess both did April Fools' posts.

I hope you are all well- take care 'til next time,

~Neil

Concision?

Through the Cosmoetica newsletter, this statement by Whinza Ndoro popped up:

~~~

Let's not forget the cardinal rule of poetry over prose is that first and foremost it must be concise: to say a lot in as few syllables as possible.

Before I begin, let me say that I respect Whinza as an artist (one of his poems is featured at the bottom of this post). 'Course, folks have disagreements, so I wrote back:

While I suppose that's a reasonable maxim, I don't like using syllables as a measurement; you're being too mathematic. I remember that when you edited my "Before We Hunted Doves", you would changes phrases like "As if to confirm the moment" to "As if to confirm moment" or "The earth and sky of an instant." to "Earth, sky, instant:". Let's focus on the first one. By your definition, your version of the previous lines is more concise (and therefore, better by the cardinal rule of poetry) because it has less syllables and says the same thing. However, while your line may have the same underlying message, it offers inferior music and an interruption in the natural construction of a phrase, just to cut out one word. Thus, while both versions of the line essentially say the same thing, mine does so more effectively. Because the quality of a statement constitutes how much it is worth in poetry, I argue that, while our separate versions 'say' the same thing, mine says it better due to superior music, and therefore has more worth. In art, it makes sense to measure content by quality; because my line is superior (even with one extra syllable), it has more content. That said, I suppose you could say mine is more "concise"; it says more, all for one word!

Actually using measurements in poetry is aggravating (as displayed above); it's detrimental to approach poetry like a math problem. Concision is important. We don't need to drag syllables into it. I suppose I should clarify something; I do think your edit of Iain's poem is reasonable (it's certainly not pointless). However, the edits of my poems that you sent me earlier (I apologize for not replying; I was going to this Spring Break but my last few months of e-mails got deleted) were similar exercises in preening that were more harmful than helpful.

Which was met by a followup from Dan Schneider:

Good points.

Concision is a relative thing. Look at a long poem like Song Of Myself. Yes, it could be cut shorter, but it would lose all the Whitmanian excess in rhetorical flourishes. However, considered next to a novel, it packs more info in less space.
Rules in any art form are never hard-boiled, but need malleability. Knowing when to apply and when to lay off are key.

I already said what I wanted to say in my portion of the exchange; I just thought it was an interesting series, so I figured I'd put it up. Now, Whinza... though I may not agree with all his edits and opinions, he's a very good poet, so:

~~~

A Lady In Her Power

I admire the queen-like power
Some flowers have over a bee,
Though no coveted tenure
A display by which all decree.

For a bee that sets sight on her
Plumage of a cultured pedigree;
The bee as if in honor,
Dances to her majesty.

~~~~~

Pills In Your Book I Took

Eventually, my (un)dying hope, my wishful loop is a getting together,
shoulder to shoulder, in one big festive room,
with you, my esteemed grave-clothed heroes,
who as far as enlightenment goes—
I missed meeting in person.

If time prolonged, then I'll thank you
when first off even God wasn’t enough
nor family, friend, or lover too;
as life tried boomeranging me—
above it, you held me aloof as a roof.

Randomly, picking up a dog-eared book,
turning the wise pages,
there it was in potent hook—
an understanding of yours, O sages,

when with what ailed me then,
fittingly— (I got the chills)
you prescribed medication
of wordy worldly pills.

~~~~~

By Whinza Kingslee Ndoro

~~~~~~~

That's it for this entry. 'Til next-

Take Care,
~Neil

Too Many Facelifts

Something about Joan River...

Recently, Art Durkee posted a very interesting essay, The Endless Edit. For this entry, I'd like to interpolate a bit. I don't have much to add, since Art covered the topic so well, but it's worth reinforcing, especially because I've noticed an obsession with revision across the Cosmoetica newsletter lately. To those revisors out there: tread with caution. Now, on to the article:

Say you write a poem, and are pretty pleased with it. Perhaps you tinker with it for a while, adding this, deleting that, till you're satisfied, or you leave it sit and go on to other things. Some time passes, maybe two or three months, and you come back to the poem; you still like it but see something else you think would be a small improvement and you make another change, and maybe a few weeks later another. And so it goes on for a year or more. Is there a time to stop this endless tinkering?

One important factor in deciding to stop tinkering with a poem is time—that is, your own movement through time. If you rediscover a poem you wrote years ago, you could revise it again. But over the years, you have changed: you are no longer the same person you were back then, and (hopefully) your writing has improved and changed, as well. This presents you with a choice between tinkering with the poem to bring it into your own present-time style; or to abandon the poem, leave it unchanged, and if the topic still intrigues you, write a new poem in your current voice or style.

Certainly it's a bad idea to revise a poem written in a different stage of one's writing without preserving it, completely erasing its previous form. The newer version would likely be superior; however, keeping a piece of one's own history is important for future inspiration and reference. In the city I live in, the downtown streets are largely brick. Newer roads are far smoother, but the old bricks are remnants of the past. Old poems are artifacts that contain the history of oneself; I cringe when I read some of my earlier work, but I can't imagine getting rid of them. Folks- preserve your museum.

If you are, by some chance, compelled to revise an earlier work (it may be unnecessary or undesirable to actually begin a new work), make every effort to preserve the original, even if the changes are minor. I've done this a few times; I've compared the old to the new and gained a better understanding of my shortcomings and progression by doing so (see here). Though we can never fully understand anyone's artistic process, ever our own, it's important for a person to take every opportunity to learn more about him or herself.

I've seen lots of decent second or third drafts of poems get killed by over-revision. All the life and breath goes out of the poems, even as they become so polished that in some circles they'd be lauded as examples of technical perfection and mastery.

Consider this ridiculous analogy: A landscape gardener is working on a topiary (a plant sculpture). He trims his shrub into the most marvelous ferret sculpture. However, he does not stop there; in an attempt to make his topiary an exact replica of a ferret, he begins attaching fur and painting the leaves.

LAEvaside: Being able to write passages like the above and publish them (despite their main purpose being to amuse the person writing them) is one of the main perks of blogging. [/laevaside]

Art is human; it contains a great deal of life and spontaneity. Too much tinkering with a piece can destroy the human aspect; a poem can become nothing more than an exercise in the mathematics of meter and rhyme.

You could, after you produce a version that satisfies you, go back to the previous attempts and pull out and use a remarkable turn of phrase, or line, or image, that seems to have some life in it, still, and incorporate it into the new poem. But don't overdo that, either; too much old stuff shoe-horned into the new poem will turn the poem into a contraption, which is yet one more way to kill the life and breath in it.

Superb advice. Pulling too much from one's previous works (and from other poets- mimicry is good, but it's important to inject oneself into a piece as well; a great [and amusing] example of overmimicry [in the comments]) is definitely a bad idea; great lines are not necessarily great when used in a different context, and attempting to plug in interesting lines and words into a poem as if it were a Mad Lib will disturb its music and meaning. Use caution when recycling writing.

Thanks go out to Art for this wonderful article (one among many); take care 'til next,

~Neil

C

Here we are at a standard landmark, the hundredth post. Nearly nine and a half months separate post #76 and post #100. About two and a half months separate post #1 and post #25. However, despite the slowdown, this blog is still on the move. Let's take a look at some posts of significance in the past (as well as other quarterly landmarks):

~~~

~*Three Quartered~ This landmark is particularly quarterly.

~*Half Hundred~ Something about Kennedy...

~*Five and Twenty~ The first QL.

~*The Villanette~ An exercise in form fusion.

~*James Emanuel- The Interview~ A look at an interview of one of greatest poets of all time.

~*The Homework Myth~ Contrary to some belief, writing out those one-word answers in complete sentences (for fifty questions) may not actually help Susie learn.

~*Rowerful Poar~ Cheshire, helping me point out a few of the attributes of solid writing.

~*Poem Greater Than Jess'~ Bwaha, my poem is better than yours~

~*A Short Visit~ -to my middle school, from which I was promptly kicked out.

~~~~~~~

Thanks to all you frequent visitors for making this blog worthwhile. I always enjoy reading your feedback, as you are all intelligent and friendly people. A special thanks to Jessica Schneider- without your support early in this blog's life, it may well have fizzled out (and it certainly wouldn't be where it is today). You might deny it, but I certainly believe it to be true.

Take Care,
~Neil

Max Raskin

This post, I decided I would give a nod to a fellow high school writer. Max Raskin has several essays archived here; his writing is concise, and some of the essays are riddled with humor. A couple favorites: On Writing and It Starts with a Cookie. He also has an article on Catcher in the Rye published at Cosmoetica. Give Raskin a look; he's definitely worth your time.

Oh~ I just finished a brief ballroom dancing stint; anyone with the slightest interest in dancing should at least take a basic course in ballroom dance. Unfortunately, my (quite lovely) partner and I will not be continuing (until summer, at least) due to time and money constraints. Still, that short period of lessons is easily the most fulfilling thing I've done with my time in awhile.

I suppose it is now March. That said, I 'spose I'm off to school around a little more; I should do my homework earlier, but procrastination is an indulgence.

Take care,
~Neil

A Short Visit

To all my readers (or, at the very least, who's left of them [is that even grammatically correct?]): I apologize for the severe neglect of my blog. As most of you know, I'm currently pushing through my high school career, a period of my life that offers abundant opportunities and little flexibility. Or I'm lazy. Anyhow...

~~~

Today, I had a free period (about 90 minutes). I decided to drive over to my old middle school and visit my lovely 7th grade English teacher. I walked through the front door, looking forward to navigating the thin halls, which had recently been divided into traffic-like lanes to keep the peace. About ten steps in, I was stopped by my vice principal, a somewhat grumpy man with whom I was on relatively good terms, and the region police officer. We briefly exchanged words. Two minutes later, I was out the door and on the road, quite perturbed.

About an hour later, back in my "proper" environment, I went to English class. We discussed the institution of "zero tolerance" rules, regulations originally designed to prevent school violence and, in extreme cases, massacres. Eventually, these restrictions multiplied to include the illegality of mohawks, trenchcoats, plain white shirts, tattoos, dyed hair, saggy pants, camouflage, tanktops, iPods, cell phones, and a few other various items and fashions. Skipping a single class made a student eligible for ISS (In-School Suspension). The school administration divided the school into color sections and began using color-coded bathroom passes, combined with hall monitors, to restrict movement. Official green passes were issued to the teachers for other purposes.

I recalled a couple specific incidents. Last year, a friend of mine was sent to the office for wearing a shirt that said "Dick's Last Resort". The name refers to a restaurant in San Antonio; the picture depicts a dog and a man. Very offensive.

Just a few months ago, I received a $110 ticket for "Crossing Against the Light". Two left-hand turn signals were active at the time; traffic was completely blocked up until the medium, and there was neither a right-hand turn signal nor a right-hand turn lane along my side. I began walking approximately five seconds before the "Walk" sign lit up. I arrived at the other side, without disrupting a soul, and ran into two police officers, who immediately wrote me up. Criminal.

Also, this little gem I found on the internet. Enjoy.

Back to English class- I read through a few of the articles available for reference (we had to write an article on "zero tolerance"). Here's an excerpt from "Protection for Whom? At What Price.", by Joan First, Harvard Education Letter 2000:

• A little boy kisses a girl on the cheek. Although this is developmentally appropriate behavior for a five year old, he is suspended from school.
• A Florida 1st grader who recently witnessed street violence panics when a uniformed "Officer Friendly" enters her classroom. The frightened girl tries to run away and a teacher restrains her. The child strikes the teacher. The girl is taken to a police station until her parents arrive.
• A male high school student learns that a suicidal friend has a weapon. He persuades her to give it to him. When he hands it to school authorities, he is expelled.

The first one- seriously? The second- she was panicking, have a heart. The third- oh, the irony. Who are we protecting?

Restrictions have their place, and students still possess rights; however, necessity has evolved into extremity, and conditions worsen by the day. I feel sorry for my future children.

~~~~~~~

It's February. I hope you are all well-

Take Care,
~Neil