Monday, March 3, 2008

Cradled in the Hand

Here I go again, writing about writing ... and, as usual, I insert an early disclaimer: I'm no expert on the subject ... I'm still learning ... still struggling ...

The subject is one which intrigues me ... challenges me ... sometimes frustrates me ... but I keep going.

I keep going because ... when the result is a finished, polished piece of poetry ... it is so rewarding.

And when someone else reads it, likes it, identifies with it ... maybe even exclaims about it ... well, that's truly a hefty slather of icing on the cake.

I often say that poems come to me ... in the quiet of the night ... or in the midst of a noisy crowd at the mall.

I never know when an idea is going to show itself ... so I'm always prepared ... with a scrap of paper ... a stub of pencil ... or a ballpoint pen ... to try to catch the essence, at least, of that idea.

Later, the real work begins.

I'm sometimes amazed at how that first draft shapes itself on the page. Other times, the idea is there, but the poem isn't ... so I put it aside, let it rest ... and later, sometimes much later, I'll discover it when I'm looking for something else ... there's a new flash of inspiration ... the wheels start turning again ...

I speak of "the perfect poem" in today's posting ... I haven't found that yet in my own writing ... but I keep searching, trying ... and maybe some day ... some day ...

Meanwhile, this one:

CRADLED IN THE HAND

Finding an idea

is a beginning,

but only that.

There must follow

the grinding, shaping,

polishing, plain

hard work that takes

a found stone

on a long journey,

transforming it

to that gifted gem

cradled in the hand

of its creator,

the perfect poem,

alive with light,

singing to us,

dancing across

the ballroom floor

of our memory.

© 1997

(originally published in ByLine)

***

Today's word: cradled

Afterthoughts ... in response to your comments:

Thank you, Featheredpines, for that comment. As I read it again this evening, I like the dreamlike quality of "Cradled poems like dreams ... "

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Cradled poems like dreams ...