Condensed poetry- Howl
January 8th 2009 18:00
Here's another poem which I changed since its original incarnation. Thankfully I changed this one in time for it to be put in the chapbook. It's called "Howl," and this is the original:
Orchestral keening kicks blood
Through my veins; discordant harmonies
Hang there, swirling in the dark
Like broken dreams.
Those amber-eyed sentries of night
Stalk the shivering shadows, slinking
Through a darkened world, existing
For none but themselves. Unbound
From daylight's chaining rays, they run
Together, hunt together, play together
In that place where words run dry,
Where dreams reside, where things are seen
By a different light, breathing the wild,
Free air. Other than wolves, only Adam had
been
There.
This is the new version:
Orchestral keening kicks blood
through my veins; discordant
harmonies hang swirling in
the dark like broken dreams.
Those amber-eyed sentries of night
prowl the edges of human thought,
passing the bounds of cultured land:
they forge an ancient path unbound
from daylight's heavy chains. They run
as one, hunt as one, play as one
in a place where words run dry,
where dreams reside, where life is
seen by a different light, breathing
the wild, free air. Besides the wolves,
only Adam had been there.
"Howl" is about wolves, pretty much. I wrote the first stanza as a description of the sound of wolves' howling, waking me from my slumber. It's also about the idea of wildness. I've always had a passionate yearning for the wild. I've sometimes thought of finding some deserted cabin in the pacific northwest and becoming a writer-hermit, with no company except the trees, the sky, the wind, the ground, and the animals. But then I realized I liked having conversations way too much for that, and I know from experience that squirrels and pine trees are poor conversation partners.
About the mention of Adam in the end. Did you know that God created Adam in the wilderness outside of the Garden of Eden? It was after God created him that He put him in the Garden, and Eve was created right there in the Garden. I thought that was such a cool idea, that Man in his original form was in the wild, untamed place. I'll probably write more poetry on this subject in the future; it's very close to my heart.
So, about my changes to the poem. I stopped capitalizing the first letters of each line, since that's really a Sonnet thing, and I never really understood that tradition anyway. I took out a couple extraneous words here and there, and altered some other phrases, to tighten it up and make it flow better. For example, I took out the "there," in the first stanza since it was unnecessary and kind of interrupted the flow. Also I changed "daylight's chaining rays" to "daylight's heavy chains" because I think it flows better the second way.
I changed the middle stanza to make the description of wolves align itself more with the idea of wildness, that wild place that exists outside of human society, that night-time place of secrets and freedom. I also brought the last part back up into its own line, because I felt the original felt sort of contrived, and the power I wanted it to have, I felt, was not there.
That brings me to another topic in poetry: enjambment. Enjambment is when a line of poetry spills into the next line. Whenever there isn't a full stop (?, !, .) at the end of a line, it's considered enjambment. Though nowadays it's normal to put pauses at the end of a line, like commas, semicolons, colons or dashes. So I think of pure enjambment as being a line that doesn't have any kind of grammatical pause at its end.
Enjambment shouldn't be done randomly or "willy-nilly." When done right, it can be a powerful tool of bringing multiple meanings and emotions into a poem. Enjambment, I think, is most effective when the truncated thought/sentence can still stand on its own and have its own meaning, but when the next line is added to it to make a complete sentence or clause, then it has a different meaning.
For example, in the third stanza of "Howl" (2nd version) I wrote "from daylight's heavy chains. They run" and that's the end of the line. To me, "They run" by itself could have been the end of the poem, implying maybe that the wolves run from the chains, or from daylight in general, or just for the heck of it because they have the freedom to do so. But then when you keep reading and add the rest of the stanza to it, it makes a different meaning. That, to me, is the point of enjambment.
I'm still getting the hang of purposeful enjambment, since writing structured forms like villanelles and sonnets forces you to stop a line after a certain number of syllables, regardless of what the word is at the end. In this way, it's difficult to write formal verse and make it meaningful because A) you have a syllabic restriction to adhere to B) a rhyme scheme to adhere to, and C) it must still make sense and be meaningful. I personally enjoy this challenge, but I think this is why a lot of people are turned off from writing formal verse.
Take some time today to slow down and take a look at the world around you. Pay close attention to every detail of the sunset, the clouds, the animals, the smells, everything. Just think about how lucky you are to be alive in such a wonderful world. Maybe the day will wring a poem out of you.
Orchestral keening kicks blood
Through my veins; discordant harmonies
Hang there, swirling in the dark
Like broken dreams.
Those amber-eyed sentries of night
Stalk the shivering shadows, slinking
Through a darkened world, existing
For none but themselves. Unbound
From daylight's chaining rays, they run
Together, hunt together, play together
In that place where words run dry,
By a different light, breathing the wild,
Free air. Other than wolves, only Adam had
been
There.
This is the new version:
Orchestral keening kicks blood
through my veins; discordant
harmonies hang swirling in
the dark like broken dreams.
Those amber-eyed sentries of night
prowl the edges of human thought,
passing the bounds of cultured land:
they forge an ancient path unbound
from daylight's heavy chains. They run
as one, hunt as one, play as one
in a place where words run dry,
where dreams reside, where life is
seen by a different light, breathing
the wild, free air. Besides the wolves,
only Adam had been there.
"Howl" is about wolves, pretty much. I wrote the first stanza as a description of the sound of wolves' howling, waking me from my slumber. It's also about the idea of wildness. I've always had a passionate yearning for the wild. I've sometimes thought of finding some deserted cabin in the pacific northwest and becoming a writer-hermit, with no company except the trees, the sky, the wind, the ground, and the animals. But then I realized I liked having conversations way too much for that, and I know from experience that squirrels and pine trees are poor conversation partners.
About the mention of Adam in the end. Did you know that God created Adam in the wilderness outside of the Garden of Eden? It was after God created him that He put him in the Garden, and Eve was created right there in the Garden. I thought that was such a cool idea, that Man in his original form was in the wild, untamed place. I'll probably write more poetry on this subject in the future; it's very close to my heart.
So, about my changes to the poem. I stopped capitalizing the first letters of each line, since that's really a Sonnet thing, and I never really understood that tradition anyway. I took out a couple extraneous words here and there, and altered some other phrases, to tighten it up and make it flow better. For example, I took out the "there," in the first stanza since it was unnecessary and kind of interrupted the flow. Also I changed "daylight's chaining rays" to "daylight's heavy chains" because I think it flows better the second way.
I changed the middle stanza to make the description of wolves align itself more with the idea of wildness, that wild place that exists outside of human society, that night-time place of secrets and freedom. I also brought the last part back up into its own line, because I felt the original felt sort of contrived, and the power I wanted it to have, I felt, was not there.
That brings me to another topic in poetry: enjambment. Enjambment is when a line of poetry spills into the next line. Whenever there isn't a full stop (?, !, .) at the end of a line, it's considered enjambment. Though nowadays it's normal to put pauses at the end of a line, like commas, semicolons, colons or dashes. So I think of pure enjambment as being a line that doesn't have any kind of grammatical pause at its end.
Enjambment shouldn't be done randomly or "willy-nilly." When done right, it can be a powerful tool of bringing multiple meanings and emotions into a poem. Enjambment, I think, is most effective when the truncated thought/sentence can still stand on its own and have its own meaning, but when the next line is added to it to make a complete sentence or clause, then it has a different meaning.
For example, in the third stanza of "Howl" (2nd version) I wrote "from daylight's heavy chains. They run" and that's the end of the line. To me, "They run" by itself could have been the end of the poem, implying maybe that the wolves run from the chains, or from daylight in general, or just for the heck of it because they have the freedom to do so. But then when you keep reading and add the rest of the stanza to it, it makes a different meaning. That, to me, is the point of enjambment.
I'm still getting the hang of purposeful enjambment, since writing structured forms like villanelles and sonnets forces you to stop a line after a certain number of syllables, regardless of what the word is at the end. In this way, it's difficult to write formal verse and make it meaningful because A) you have a syllabic restriction to adhere to B) a rhyme scheme to adhere to, and C) it must still make sense and be meaningful. I personally enjoy this challenge, but I think this is why a lot of people are turned off from writing formal verse.
Take some time today to slow down and take a look at the world around you. Pay close attention to every detail of the sunset, the clouds, the animals, the smells, everything. Just think about how lucky you are to be alive in such a wonderful world. Maybe the day will wring a poem out of you.
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Comment by Dianna G
I Wish This Was 42
Fictional Worlds
As a poet I find your stance very interesting. I very rarely have real structure in my poems, though the title of the poem usually makes its way into the poem itself. I admire those who can think in terms of formal verse, but for me poetry just flows out and it doesn't flow out with a rhyme scheme.
I look forward to reading more.
~Dianna
Comment by Andrew Kerstetter
A New Poetics
Inkwing
Cinemuscle