I smell smoke. Here at the wooden desk in my basement office (which is not on fire), I smell smoke. It’s a pungent mix of burned wood, paint, and electrical wires from a house fire job I worked this morning. A little like campfire plus paint thinner. But it has garlic, basil, olive oil thrown in since I filled my own kitchen with smoke roasting tomatoes for dinner. I know this because I have my shirt sleeve up to my nose, inhaling and naming the odors.
I’m looking at my hands. Even after washing dishes, the spiraled labyrinth of my fingerprints is outlined in black soot, winding from one knuckle to the next.
There is a lined sheet of paper, bent at one corner, in the case file on the desk with words scrawled haphazardly in pencil as though they were written without looking while driving down a winding gravel road: Farmers and Merchant’s Bank, grain elevator, GPS, population 97, gray snow, gray pickup, khaki Ranger cap, wide smile, Muskrat Farm Supply, farmers in overalls and feed store caps leaning on split rail outside cafe, painted black bears dancing on weathered white barn wall, laundromat (closed), notebook paper taped in window, “uptown, ” radio tower, road washed out, “Where are you? I’ll meet you in town and lead you in.”
I make these lists on my road trips. Sometimes they make their way into my writing. Sometimes I tell the stories out loud. Sometimes I just forget. But taking note of the details as I go along gives me images to work with, even if it will be another day, another story, a poem.
Susan Goldsmith Wooldridge suggests in poemcrazy: freeing your life with words that “a useful daily practice is to sit (or walk) with a notebook and focus on what’s happening right now, in minute detail.” (She doesn’t suggest doing so while driving, but I must admit that’s where I make many of my observations.)
It’s important to narrow everything down, make it as specific as you can, down to the tip of a blade of grass, or you’ll leave the reader out. For emotion to arise, writing has to be very specific — describing a particular moment or experience in a particular place. (p. 29)
This is why I write the words on the back of my file log. Why I have my nose in my shirt sleeve. Why I am studying my soot-embedded fingerprints.
Describing the details takes words — words that lend precision, depth of detail, interesting sounds, vivid images. Wooldridge writes of the wordpool, collections of words borrowed from “poems, books, and conversations.” From brainstorming with groups to poring through field guides to even making up words, she’ll tell us to just collect the words.
When I’m playing with words, I don’t worry about sounding dumb or crazy. And I don’t worry about whether or not I’m writing “a poem.” Word pool. World pool, wild pool, whipoorwill, swing. Words taken out of the laborious structures (like this sentence) where we normally place them take on a spinning life of their own. (p. 12)
To play around with the words myself, I adapted one of poemcrazy’s practice exercises which involved taping words to tickets and using them as a wordpool. I only had one orange and white spent train ticket from Buenos Aires to the city of Moron on hand, so I couldn’t use tickets. I just cut out words and paired them on a page of my journal in fun and interesting combinations:
root bridge
bold babushkas
burning bottle
Bleep! corner
storm dragons
cherry jazz
rage cup
sea mirror
sailing genie
shaking words
fatal name
magic bread
old song bus
jungle beans
red stones
white jolt
pink wrecking ball
fresh deadlock
Words, when we let them, let us in. This is the meaning behind her tickets. “On one side of some tickets, it even says, ‘Admit One.’ Like a poem, a ticket is small, often colorful and valuable, allowing entrance to a special place.” We invite you to spend some tickets with us throughout National Poetry Month — collecting words, writing poems, making your way in.
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We’re reading poemcrazy: freeing your life with words together this month at Tweetspeak. Are you reading along? Perhaps you’d tell us in the comments your thoughts about Part 1: Following Words or any practice exercises you did. Maybe you would even share a poem that came out of this week’s reading. If you post about the book on your blog, feel free to drop a link to your post in the comments. And check out other fun and interesting National Poetry Month events at our Ticket Counter, especially the new Phone Poets Project with Diode’s Patty Paine.
Buy poemcrazy and join in the fun. For next Wednesday, we’ll read Part 2: Listening to Ourselves.
Cover photo by Michelle Ortega, used with permission. Post and lower photo by Will Willingham.
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Buy a year of Every Day Poems, just $5.99 — Read a poem a day, become a better poet. In April we’re exploring the theme Dragons and Creatures.
- Earth Song Poem Featured on The Slowdown!—Birds in Home Depot - February 7, 2023
- The Rapping in the Attic—Happy Holidays Fun Video! - December 21, 2022
- Video: Earth Song: A Nature Poems Experience—Enchanting! - December 6, 2022
L. L. Barkat says
I agree that detail produces emotion. Thus the job of the writer is to really *see* or *hear* or *taste* or *feel* and so on, and then set it down accurately.
On top of that, matching sounds to details produces even more emotion. This is why I think poetry is so vital for every writer, even if the writer has no interest in being a poet.
Loved the mixed smokes here. I could see a poem just from that—the loss of the one and the comfort of the other entwining. What days you have. My.
Will Willingham says
So, is this producing emotion or capturing emotion?
I guess what I’m wondering is if it is possible to produce an emotion without first feeling it as the writer?
L. L. Barkat says
Great question.
I usually have an emotion floating around that the words capture and bring to light.
But then I know a set of details can take me back to someplace, sometime and produce emotions unexpectedly.
Chicken or the emotion. Classic origins question 🙂 (At Tweetspeak, it might actually be the chicken 😉 )
Maureen Doallas says
You have a wonderful list of words. Looking forward to this month’s book discussion.
———-
Committed to Combinations
A sailing genie shaking
words from the corner
storm sipped from the same
rage cup as the dragons
just then rounding the root
bridge named Bleep!
Fatal name it was. Bold
babushkas fixed their pink
wrecking ball for the launch
of jungle beans and red stones,
a burning bottle of sea,
a broken mirror promising
a fresh deadlock over
the white jolt of sorrows.
On the old song bus
all the cherry cups clink
to sounds of all that jazz.
Will Willingham says
This, not surprising, is great fun, Maureen. 🙂
davis says
i like it 🙂
Elizabeth W. Marshall says
Love the book. And look forward to a lively discussion on her words. This comes from reading Poemcrazy today. Not sure why. But I wrote it and posted it after time in the book. It’s on the blog.
http://www.wynnegraceappears.com/2013/04/April-Fool. (April Fool)
Will Willingham says
Elizabeth, loved the sounds in your poem. Jig, joggling, pilots pelting … Did you start with a word pool or let the lines take shape as you worked along?
Glynn says
Yes, I like the book. I had a hard time deciding which exercise to write about. And then I remembered L.L. Barkat’s God in the Yard. Inspiration came. My link: http://faithfictionfriends.blogspot.com/2013/04/tell-em-phyllis-sent-you.html
Will Willingham says
Love your post, Glynn. And most of that *before* you even got around to actually doing one of the practice exercises. 🙂 I got a little ribbing last night when I came upstairs looking for a glue stick.
Loved the painting you chose. Looks like some of the burns I see in my work.
Anthony says
What’s wonderful about Poemcrazy is that it takes me back to a time when I wasn’t jaded or cynical about this writing life; that I was actually excited and eccentric and could do these things. When I began reading the first part(s) I kept thinking, well, I’ve heard this before, but then like the words in Casablanca (movie) you find that you’ve heard the words before because they were first composed here.
I think her primary mode of poem-making is ambulatory, and laudable. There’s nothing like getting up from out behind your desk, up from behind the screen, and get out there in the muck and the magic.
Will Willingham says
Anthony, it seems like this is one of those books that will speak to any writer at any level. Glad you’re finding something that sounds refreshing in it.
What do you think makes a writer cynical?
Anthony says
I don’t know about “a” writer, but “this” writer grew cynical with three initials: PhD.
In other words, like Mark Twain and the river, once you know what’s below the surface awe dissipates.
L.L. Barkat says
I would like to hear more, Anthony. Was it the process of getting the PhD? And, if so, what about it?
I was daydreaming today about what it would look like to get a Masters in Fine Living, off the books. 🙂 I was musing about how that might be different from an MFA (or a PhD, as the case may be).
What do you think? How would they differ? How should they be the same, if a person is to become an accomplished writer who writes from a deep life itself?
Anthony says
MFA: Doing
PhD: Theory
MFA: Community
PhD: Individual
MFA: Writing
PhD: Reading
Few if any writer needs a degree, let alone an MFA. The MFA allowed me to teach (its called terminal); the PhD allows me to theorize.
Neither give me license to accomplishment.
I completed both in order to do the one thing I can do — write.
I would encourage writers to pursue their craft in whatever fashion brings them closer to their air; this might include an MFA, but it would hardly, to my mind, mean a PhD.
Anthony says
Err.. I meant “art” instead of “air.”
Will Willingham says
Oh, you could have left it as air. I was liking the idea of a writer finding his “air.” Wondering what that might look like when he found it, how he’d go about searching for it. 🙂
Will Willingham says
Interesting, Popova had a piece up this week on “The Art of Living,” citing a source from 1924.
http://www.brainpickings.org/index.php/2013/04/04/the-art-of-living-1924/
Anthony says
I have written several poems/lyric essays on paintings. Here’s my favorite:
http://oddspineandtheemptiness.tumblr.com/post/47052641455
michelle ortega says
“widedeep wonder” is a great image to breathe in.
Will Willingham says
“Deft hand, composing temporal sacred laments,
Slices his bothersome wrists, sighs razor’s edge, and dies.”
Powerful words. Is this piece written from one of his paintings in particular?
Anthony says
Rothko Chapel
michelle ortega says
I love to play with words but Susan’s perspective puts it on steroids! So many playdates to choose from. I made these poems from my word tickets:
reinvented
trajectory
chasing away
dangerous
Perfection.
and
let
mistakes
hurt
let it bleed
and here is my blog post
http://www.curlygirlslp.blogspot.com/2013/03/artists-date-admit-one.html
Will Willingham says
Love the images you shot with this exercise — and thank you for letting us use them. 🙂 I didn’t actually get as far as composing a poem from my word pool, but just enjoyed pairing them together (some seemingly mismatched, but then not so much).
Now, how long do you think you’ll be able to keep your Spare Oom spare? 😉
michelle ortega says
Hopefully it will be spare at least as long as this book club!! 😉
Heather Truett says
I collect place names. Sometimes, they show up in books, stories, or poems. Such as: Recluse, Wyoming and Red Jacket, West Virginia.
Maureen Doallas says
Hope you’ll write us a poem using those place names.
Heather Truett says
I have already used those two. I will have to dig up the poems.
Will Willingham says
Love those places. Would be cool to be in charge of naming a place, wouldn’t it?
I was in Eden, South Dakota yesterday. Population 95 more than the original.
😉
Heather Truett says
I live near Egypt, Mississippi and Brilliant, Alabama.
davis says
gotta get the book…so i can join in.
Will Willingham says
Looking forward to that, Davis.
Donna says
4 words: “Words let us in.”
Yes, indeed. Words let us in.
And isn’t it amazing?
This is great. 🙂
I guess I’m off to the bookstore today.
Will Willingham says
Thanks Donna. What door do you want words to open for you? 🙂
Donna says
🙂
Donna says
Whatever door they lead me to I guess.
Donna says
That was a cop out answer. Sorry. I’m not sure the door I want is the door I need, if that makes sense. 😉
Donna says
Kind of. But you know I like the big questions…. They give me something to chew on. 🙂 I’ll be chewing for awhile on that one.
Will Willingham says
No cop-out there, Donna. It was kind of a big question for a comment box. 🙂
L.L. Barkat says
Was going over the chapters again this morning and got through chapter four.
Struck by the question: what do you collect?
I am not sure. This probably sounds bad… but I might collect people 🙂 Not in an ownership way, but in an appreciation way. Sometimes they walk off the shelf. You have to get used to that, even welcome it. 🙂
Donna says
That doesn’t sound bad. It sounds like you value people, treasure them in fact…. 🙂 That’s really special.
Lane Arnold says
Words gathered allow me to tell my scattered stories.
Isn’t that the occupation of outlaw-poets? To stand beyond the boundaries and see what others miss? A renegade fully present to the now.
Will Willingham says
What do you think it takes to do that, Lane? To see what others miss? 🙂
Lane Arnold says
Ruthless attentiveness. Slowing down. Noticing the question beneath the question. Standing upside down. Walking backwards. Going barefoot and bare-hearted. Risking. Liking mystery. Suspending normal. Catching the “between spaces.”
Outlaw-poets wear “pondering goggles.” Like night-vision googles, they enable sensory vision of the quotidian ordinary which, when noticed, is simply extraordinary.
michelle ortega says
I want me some pondering goggles.
*giggles*
Heather Truett says
I made a poemcrazy post today. 🙂
http://madamerubieswrites.blogspot.com/2013/04/poemcrazy-eating-midnight-strawberries.html
davis says
i have the book.
but, it looks as though
i will not be able to read along
with the group,
as you all go at a tremendous pace.
however…i will still be reading.