30 Habits of Highly Effective Poets #7: William Wordsworth on Involving Your Pets

Happy birthday (we think) to William Wordsworth. You'll find his bio at Poets.org.

For my National Poetry Month series on writing habits, we will spend each Saturday with a "famous" poet.

Wordsworth's poem "I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud," was among the first poems I ever heard spoken. It remains my mother's favorite poem, the only one she will recite from memory. Could the fields of daffodils remind her of her childhood near Sherwood Forest?

We know Wordsworth was a walker -- a great habit to clear the head for writing. But did Wordsworth test new poems out on his dog? It is possible that this is an internet myth -- too juicy not to spread. I found this "ritual" of Wordsworth's listed in several places, none offering a source.

Here is the most reliable mention, from mastersdegree.net: "Great English Romantic poet William Wordsworth composed several odes to his faithful canine companion. Though anecdotal, some think the Poet Laureate would write while taking regular constitutions with the dog in tow. He would recite ideas out loud, and any met with barking or agitation was taken as a sign that revision was necessary."

In honor of Wordsworth's birthday, I'm trying out Wordsworth's purported ritual on our Schnauzer, Sam. (AKA: Samwise McBark-Bark.)

Sam is dressed for the Baltimore Book Festival.

 
When my children were younger, we used to sing a parody of "Funiculi Funicula" to Sam. It's silly, yes, but composing song parodies is a great way to teach young kids rhythm, rhyme and goofiness. You and Luciano Pavarotti can follow the original lyrics here:

Samwise McBark-Bark Shovan

He is a dog. Oh, what a dog!

Samwise McBark-Bark Shovan

He is a dog. Oh, what a dog!

Chorus:

How he loves to go on walks with Mom.

How he loves to bark at everyone.

He loves to go on walks with Mom.

He loves to bark at everyone.

Sa-amwise McBark-Bark Sho -- oh, oh -- ovan.

Despite the fact that Schnauzers are notoriously "talkative," Sam remains quiet during our song parody. He must like it.

And here is one of Wordsworth's dog poems, an elegy:

Tribute. To The Memory Of The Same Dog.

by William Wordsworth

Lie here, without a record of thy worth,

Beneath the covering of the common earth!

It is not from unwillingness to praise,

Or want of love, that here no Stone we raise;

More thou deserv'st; but this man gives to man,

Brother to brother, this is all we can.

Yet they to whom thy virtues made thee dear

Shall find thee through all changes of the year:

This Oak points out thy grave; the silent tree

Will gladly stand a monument of thee.

We grieved for thee, and wished thy end were past;

And willingly have laid thee here at last:

For thou hadst lived till every thing that cheers

In thee had yielded to the weight of years;

Extreme old age had wasted thee away,

And left thee but a glimmering of the day;

Thy ears were deaf, and feeble were thy knees, --

I saw thee stagger in the summer breeze,

Too weak to stand against its sportive breath,

And ready for the gentlest stroke of death.

It came, and we were glad; yet tears were shed;

Both man and woman wept when thou wert dead;

Not only for a thousand thoughts that were,

Old household thoughts, in which thou hadst thy share;

But for some precious boons vouchsafed to thee,

Found scarcely anywhere in like degree!

For love, that comes wherever life and holy sense

Are given by God, in thee was most intense;

A chain of heart, a feeling of the mind,

A tender sympathy, which did thee bind

Not only to us Men, but to thy Kind:

Yea, for thy fellow-brutes in thee we saw

A soul of love, love's intellectual law: --

Hence, if we wept, it was not done in shame;

Our tears from passion and from reason came,

And, therefore, shalt thou be an honored name!

Tomorrow, author and foodie Nicole Schultheis is stopping by (with her dog) to tell us about the pros and cons of noshing while you write. (Did anyone else notice that pet+o = poet?)

30 Habits of Highly Effective Poets #6: Diane Mayr on Tubular Vision

It's the first Poetry Friday of National Poetry Month 2012. The double celebration reminds me of certain winter holidays when I was a kid. I grew up interfaith and those special years when Hanukkah and Christmas coincided -- happiness to the nth degree!

All this month, highly effective poets from across the country and around the world are visiting Author Amok, sharing their favorite writing habits. (The full schedule of guest bloggers is here.) So far we've heard about tea drinking, relaxation, dream-writing, paying attention, and anchoring.

Today, Poetry Friday regular Diane Mayr (of Random Noodling) is with us to talk about pasta and "Tubular Vision." Non-poets call it "focus."

Penne -- we like it best with pomodoro sauce.

Here is Diane:  Tubular Vision

Despite the fact that I'm way beyond childhood, I still find myself doing some kid-type stuff.  For instance, if I'm going to cook macaroni, such as ditalini or penne, I almost always look through one of the little tubes before cooking it.  The limited area I'm viewing through the pasta is isolated and clear, everything else seems out of focus.  For a kid it's a fun thing to do.

I find that writing poetry is like looking through macaroni.  You want to view the little patch.  Don't write about the whole cat when you can focus on her whiskers or the tip of her tail.  It's unexpected and more interesting to read about the cat's elongated pupils than it is to read about the purrs coming from the soft furry ball curled up on a lap.  No matter what the topic, look for the particulars.  Don't write about universal love, write about how your companion orders you a cup of coffee before you even realize you're thirsty.  Look at the relationship with tubular vision! 

Here are two photos I took at a New England fair.  They're actually the same, it's just that the second one is looking more closely at one part of it. 

In the first, did you even notice the baby?  Not only do you now see the baby in the second one, you can read the sign behind it.  And what's the story behind that baby?  It's up to you to discover it!

Diane Mayr is a public librarian who also writes for kids.  Her picture book, Run, Turkey, Run! (Walker Books, 2007) is being adapted into a musical and will be performed in Portsmouth, NH in the fall of 2012!  Diane's short form poetry such as haiku and tanka, can be found at Random Noodling http://www.randomnoodling.com .  She also enjoys writing about history through poetry; visit http://www.homefrontarmy.com to read poems in the ongoing series, Kids of the Homefront Army: Poems of WW II America.

The lucky host of today's National Poetry Month/Poetry Friday is Robyn Hood Black. Robyn will be my guest at Author Amok next Friday, April 13.

30 Habits of Highly Effective Poets #5: Liz Moser on Anchoring

There's a strange thing that happens sometimes, when I have an idea for a poem. I jot down a quick note -- only enough to record the idea -- and I wait.

Several months ago I heard a segment on NPR about the anniversary of the Chernobyl nuclear disaster. One of the nearby residents was interviewed and talked about the accident. Leaves in the area turned silver from the chemical fall-out. That image has stayed with me. But I have a sense that I'm not ready to write about it yet. The image is there, but it's floating, ungraspable. What metaphor can I build around those silver leaves, to take them from image to poem?

A tree surviving near Chernobyl -- www.earth-photography.com

I call this process "anchoring." What makes this image resonate for me? What do I want to say about it? Answering these questions is important. It's how I build the chain from fleeting idea to poem.

Maryland poet Liz Moser is visiting today. Her poem beautifully describes the process of anchoring.

Today I Nearly Drowned

by Liz Moser

Today I nearly drowned.
I was awash in
phrases, half-told stories, torn half-pages,
half-thoughts scribbled onto memo pads and envelopes.
Organize, to organize, I told myself as contents spilled
upon my chair, my rug, upon my laptop
lazing in unwritten words
that float on oceans of my mind.
One day, perhaps, my thoughts will be as ordered as the tide:
they’ll flow across a printed page in measured waves.
They will not sink into the sand of memory,
or dissipate in frothy chaos at my feet --
waves that splash across the beaches into streams.
My dreams will drift in ponds where booted men can cast their nets,
catch my reflections as they shimmer in the sun.
But not just yet, no, not until the flood
of vaporous ideas has settled in the mud
of days already lived but not yet understood.

Posted with permission.

Liz Moser writes poetry, fiction, essays, book reviews and memoirs. Her chapbook, Spirit Pond and Other Maine Poems focuses on mid-coast Maine. Other published works reflect her Maryland upbringing and residence. She received a 2003 F. Scott Fitzgerald Literary Conference fiction award and The Potomac Review’s 2002 Poetry Prize.

Tomorrow, we celebrate the first Poetry Friday of National Poetry Month with Diane Mayr of Random Noodling. 

30 Habits of Highly Effective Poets #4: Justine Rowden on Paying Attention

Justine Rowden is the author of one of my favorite poetry books for children, Paint Me a Poem. The poems are all responses to works in Washington, DC's National Gallery of Art. Justine visited the museum, writing about those pieces that caught her attention.

Paying attention is an important practice for poets. It is that urge to pull the car over -- the grocery store can wait -- because you just spotted a fox weaving through the shrubs on the roadside. It is sitting down to write about that strange thing your friend said, or the weird headline you read in today's paper. Writing helps you think through whatever caught your attention. Most people (non-writers) push these ideas aside as "distractions" from their to-do list.

We never know where poems will come from -- so keep your poetry antenna on whenever possible.

Here is Justine: Quirkiness, Gold for the Taking!

Each day some unexpected quirky happening is a staccato that laughingly jolts us out of calm, quiet reverie -- just like a very tart twist of lemon in a cold drink.

The buzzing outside my window was just such a staccato.  Ah, bees with no sense of decorum were living it up, doing their thing in my cherry tree.  

www.informedfarmers.com

I was pulled out of that lazy roaming of my thoughts. 

So what to do about this performance art among the blossoms?   A poem has to be in there!
 

                       Fandango in Bee

                  by Justine Rowden 

                  Bees, animatedly dashing,

                  Grabbing nectar

                  From one succulent pink blossom

                  After another

                  Act like teenage lotharios

                  Not content with one conquest,

                  But rushing on

                  To reaffirm their virility

                  With yet

                  Another sweet thing.

                 

Posted with permission.

Justine adds: I suspect that we need to listen for that staccato and do something with that unexpected gift.  It just might be the beginning to your perfectly wonderful and gratifying poem!  

Tomorrow, we visit with Maryland poet Liz Moser.

30 Habits of Highly Effective Poets #3: Allan Roy Andrews on Dreaming

A few weeks ago, I caught my twelve-year-old out of bed near midnight. She was sitting in the hallway. "What are you doing?" I asked.

"I was sleeping and I had an idea for a poem I'm working on," she said. "It's dark in my room, so I came out in the hallway to write it down."

"Carry on," I said, "but then straight to bed." In the morning, we talked about how many writers keep a notebook at their bedsides for just this reason. The dream or semi-wakeful state is a time when ideas we have been grasping at during the conscious day come floating into our minds.

Today, Maryland poet Allan Roy Andrews shares a poem about the compelling lines of verse that come to us in dreams. Scroll to the bottom for a related prompt.

Dream Muse

by Allan Roy Andrews

I seek the diction for my poem

and lonely as a cloud I roam

the pages of anthologies;

but finding there no words to please,

I gentle go to that good night

and in my dancing dream I write

a poem as clear as ear has heard

then wake--and can’t recall a word.
 

Posted with permission.

 
Your Tuesday Prompt:

In "Dream Muse," Allan Roy Andrews incorporates phrases from famous poems (Wordsworth's "I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud" and Thomas' "Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night") into an original poem.

www.eyeonlifemag.com

Choose two well-known poems that you admire. From each, select a  line or phrase. Do some free-writing, incorporating the two phrases. Don't edit. Invite whatever floats into your mind onto the page.

If you want to take this practice a step further, read the two famous poems before you go to bed. Be sure to leave a notebook or paper and pen at your bedside. If an idea or a line bubbles up in the night, or as you are waking, write it down.

Tomorrow's guest poet is Justine Rowden. See you then!

30 Habits of Highly Effective Poets #2: Laura Purdie Salas on Relaxation

It's day two of National Poetry Month 2012. All this month, poets are visiting Author Amok, telling us about their writing habits -- from tried and true daily practices, to outlandish rituals. My first guest is Laura Purdie Salas.

In addition to having a fabulous first name, Laura is a Poetry Friday blogger and a children's poet with over 100 books to her name.

When I visit elementary schools as poet-in-residence, I love to take Laura's books with me because they are so much fun. My students' favorites are Stampede and A Fuzzy-Fast Blur: Poems about Pets. (I just noticed that poets and pets are closely related. Hmm.)

I see a theme in the things Laura reveals about her writing habits. Lighting a candle, taking a bath or shower, and having a slice of something delicious -- all great ways to relax as she prepares to write.

Here's Laura:

I wish I had some kind of bizarre poetry-writing habit, because that would make me SO much more interesting! Like maybe if I could only write poetry while wearing a purple felt Martian mask. Or if I had to go outside and do seat drops on the trampoline for 5 minutes after each line. Or maybe if I had to eat key lime pie, one slice for each poem—yum!

But…I am a rather prosaic poet. The most unusual thing I do is light a candle—there’s the silver genii lamp a writer friend gave me last Christmas that I love! And there are also the electric candles I got after seeing them in yoga class. No chance of starting a house fire—yay! And of course there’s always a regular candle if nothing else is handy. Something about flickering light just helps me think better. No idea why.

And sometimes, if I’m really stuck, a shower or bath helps, too. Again, I have no idea why that is.

These aren’t hard and fast rules, though. I have written tons of poems without the aid of either candlelight or water. Really, the only unbreakable rule for me is telling myself first: “It’s just a poem. If it stinks, I can ditch it. No big deal.” That takes the pressure off so that I can dump words onto paper and see what my brain is up to that day.

Here’s a villanelle I wrote a few years ago that just earned a nice honor in a poetry contest sponsored by a pen company (ironic, since I write 99% of my poems on my laptop). The villanelle is a tough form! This one required candlelight, baths, AND key lime pie. The poetry trifecta!

Fierce
(a villanelle)

My friends do not have names. They’re fierce and free:
the owl who swallows dark, the pine’s fine quill.
Thanksgiving drains the darkness out of me.

A pack of gray wolves howl in twilight’s key.
The midnight moon slips past my windowsill.
My friends do not have names. They’re fierce and free.

Red honeysuckle bell forms nectar sea.
Magenta glazes fog-hat mountains ‘til
thanksgiving drains the darkness out of me.

Geese vector overhead in soaring vee.
The rapids tumble-pound on boulder’s spill.
My friends do not have names. They’re fierce and free.

Soft, cotton-covered mouse lives trembling plea.
While wrestling wing to wind, the hawk flies still.
Thanksgiving drains the darkness out of me.

A squirrel tears through cave of willow tree.
Feather grasses dance upon the hill.
My friends do not have names. They’re fierce and free.
Thanksgiving drains the darkness out of me.

-- Laura Purdie Salas

Posted with permission

Laura Purdie Salas

30 Habits of Highly Effective Poets: Drinking Tea

Many poets write about their obsession with coffee. I, however, am a tea drinker. Not any tea. It has to be good, strong British tea with milk and a little sugar, first thing in the AM.

Where did I acquire this habit? From my mother, who grew up in Nottingham England. Her childhood home was Forest House -- so-named for Sherwood Forest.

Forest House was torn down years ago. My mother's room was next to the train tracks.

I have lovely memories of tea time at my English grandparents' home, The Old Rectory. Visits there were rare (every 18 months or so) and always amazing. Which is why I didn't realize until I was older that my wonderful grandmother wasn't wonderful to all of her grandchildren. We had special status.

To make up for my April Fool's trick this morning, here is a poem of mine with some strong British tea.

Baba Yaga 

by Laura Shovan

What I loved about you, really, was your house.

We traveled the dirt road,

waiting for a glimpse of roof,
the familiar glint of sun on window.
The door, enormous and heavy,
belonged on a church.
Even I, the eldest, could not open it myself.
 
We explored the tiny room on the third floor
where I thought a crazy lady slept,
poked at the old gray parrot
who said your name in Grandpa’s voice
and liked the taste of children’s fingers,
warmed ourselves by the wide iron stove
that glowed charcoal all day long,
waiting, like the fairy tale,
for a plump and curious child.

Mornings, all three of us had tea in your bed.

The covers were filled with feathers.
Without your whalebone corset
you were powdery soft.
There were biscuits to eat.
Even Grandpa was friendly.

How easily we were trapped.

You pinched and prodded the other children,
who wisely kept their distance.
Your crooked pinkie finger
scolds them in their memories:
our grandmother the witch.

We recognize you now,

we who you favored and fooled.
Your back is turned to us
and the old iron stove is burning.


This poem was first published in Paterson Literary Review. It also appears in my chapbook, Mountain, Log, Salt and Stone.

Those of you who know the story of Baba Yaga can guess the other half of my heritage. My father is from a family of European Jews, all of whom had come to U.S. by the early 1930s. Baba Yaga is a folk tale witch. She shares many qualities with the nasty old woman in the story of Hansel and Gretel.

Katya Arnold's book on Baba Yaga

I write out of my heritage, my family story, quite a bit. In a way, that is a writing ritual -- returning to family history as a source for ideas.

National Poetry Month: 30 Habits of Highly Effective Poets #1

To celebrate National Poetry Month 2012, I have invited poets to guest-post about their writing habits and rituals, whatever works to get them writing.

The result, I hope: 30 Habits of Highly Effective Poets.

Below is the tentative schedule of guests. I'm featuring "famous" poets on Saturdays and a writing prompt every Tuesday. I still have some room in the schedule. Leave me a comment if you'd like to be a guest.

Sun 4/1:  Author Amok on Drinking Tea

Mon 4/2:  Laura PurdieSalas, author of A Leaf Can Be

Tue 4/3:  Allan RoyAndrews, Maryland poet and a Prompt!

Wed 4/4:  Justine Rowden, author of Paint Me a Poem

Thu 4/5:  Liz Moser, Maryland poet

Fri  4/6:  Diane Mayr of Random Noodling

Sat 4/7:  Happy birthday, William Wordsworth

Sun 4/8:  Nicole Schultheis, President, Maryland Writers Assn.

Mon 4/9:  Lisa Vihos of Lisa's Poem of the Week

Tue 4/10:  Surprise guest Melanie Hope Greenberg and a Prompt!

Wed 4/11:  Jacqueline Jules, author of Zapato Power

Thu 4/12: Dennis Kirschbaum, Maryland poet
Fri 4/13:  Robyn Hood Black, author of Sir Mike

Sat 4/14:  Kay Ryan

Sun 4/15:  Leslie Rzeznik of A Boisterous Life 
Mon 4/16:  Michael Tims, Maryland poet

Tue 4/17:  Charles Waters, children's author, and a Prompt!

Wed 4/18:  Betsy Franco, author of 21 Monologues for Teen Actors

Thu 4/19:  Irene Latham, author of Leaving Gee's Bend
Fri 4/20:  Tabatha Yeatts-Lonske of The Opposite of Indifference

Sat 4/21:  William Stafford

Sun 4/22:  Author Amok on Reiki vs. Rekey

Mon 4/23:  Kathy Figueroa, Canadian poet

Tue 4/24:  Barbara Westwood Diehl, Maryland poet and a Prompt!

Wed  4/25:  Antonio Blunda, Italian poet

Thu 4/26:  Author Amok on having fun

Fri 4/27:  Jeannine Atkins, author of Borrowed Names

Sat 4/28:  Nikki Giovanni

Sun 4/29:  Honey Novick, Canadian poet

Mon 4/30:  Amy Ludwig VanDerwater of The Poem Farm

As for me, each morning -- inspired by my poetic hero, Jason Dickson -- I rise, grateful for a  new day of writing, at 4:15 AM. I begin my morning writing ritual with a special green tea shake to charge my creative batteries.

Here is my secret recipe:

Laura's Green Tea Shake
for shaking up your inner muse
 

Before bed

1.  In a small bowl, place four organic pecan halves. Cover the nuts with 1/8 cup of blue agave nectar. Wrap with cheesecloth (plastic wraps are bad for you) and leave overnight.

In the morning

2.  Brew one cup of plain green tea. Let steep six minutes. Remove bag or tea leaves.

3.  Put brewed tea in blender. Add the following:

1 tbsp. lime juice

1/8 tsp. orange zest

1/2 scoop vanilla whey protein

dash chili powder

1/8 tsp. anchovy paste

1 tsp. your favorite toothpaste (saves you time later)

4. Remove organic pecans from agave nectar and put aside. They can be candied later.

5. Sweeten shake to taste with pecan-infused agave nectar.

6. Add ice and blend!

7. Pour into a tall glass. Stir with a cinnamon stick. For more sweetness, decorate the top of your shake with (optional) chocolate syrup in a four-leaf clover pattern to symbolize luck with your morning writing session.

8. Drink and enjoy! Yum.

If you think I willingly rise at 4:15 AM, April Fool's. If you think I spend any portion of my writing time slaving in the kitchen with organic ingredients, April Fool's to you to. If you think Jason Dickson is a poet, so does he. But he usually writes goofy senryu about what a good sister I am.

My writing routine is simple. Whenever possible, I set aside two hours per day for writing time. My kids leave for school by 8 AM, so my dedicated time is 8-10 AM. I don't answer the phone. I avoid Facebook. I don't exercise or shower until after I've put in my two hours. When this routine works, it works great. I write a lot of new poems. I have time to revise older work.

My daughter's portrait of me at the laptop.

Many times, life interrupts my 8-10 AM writing habit. I try not to get upset. As soon as I can, I get back on track.

I really do drink tea every morning, but it's good British tea, a habit learned from my English grandparents. Later today, I'll post a poem where that tea makes an appearance.