17. Poetic Forms – Ann Patchett
It may sound counter-intuitive but sometimes I find creative freedom by venturing into the tightest spaces.
Creativity is a field so vast and open that sometimes I freeze up (Deer. Headlights.). What can I write about? Anything? I do not wish for an infinite number of choices. It may sound counter-intuitive but sometimes I find creative freedom by venturing into the tightest spaces. I am by no means a poet, but I like to write poetry that's incredibly formal and restrictive. When I have to focus on counting syllables and cycling through a small number of words, it's almost as if I'm looking in the other direction and great ideas can walk right up to me.
Start with a simple haiku and see how it feels. Take awhile to practice. If you like it, try a sonnet. There are lots of different kinds of sonnets to choose from. Try out a few and see what fits. My favorite form is a sestina. It's ridiculously complicated and fun. I can't tell you the number of times my sister and I have sat in a restaurant (back in the old days) writing dueling sestinas on the backs of paper placemats. She loves Sudoku and I think it uses the same part of her brain.
I wanted to write something about mice, and so I wrote a sestina from the mouse's perspective. The point of it wasn't the poem for me, it was that I was trying to get into the mouse's head. As weird as it sounds, it works for me. – Ann Patchett
Prompt:
Pick out a poetic form and give it a try.
Alicia Di Scipio
Location: Santa Monica, California
About: Originally from Boulder, Colorado, I moved to LA to work as a music supervisor for film/TV. I studied Creative Writing in college but this project was the push and routine I needed to remind me of how writing adds to my life. This piece is a sestina written in an old wooden chair from Lucia Lodge in Big Sur, California.
Age: 25
Allergies
I sit in an old wooden chair outside my room at the top of the cliff
I can hear the muffled echoes of the ocean below
Green hills that look more like Ireland than Central California roll into the blue waves
There are birds everywhere
My eyes are puffy and the roof of my mouth itches until I sneeze and I sneeze until I find a tissue, allergies
My freckled skin is warm despite it being 10am, I don’t want to leave
I wish I could say I loved to watch you leave
But it was like running full speed off a cliff
I thought you were medicine but it turned out you were the allergies
Being with you felt like flying only to have the floor fall through below
The rubble was everywhere
I used to drown in your eyes, now I drown in the waves
They look like diamonds, the way they sparkle, the waves
I slip into a ribbed black one piece bathing suit before I leave
There are birds everywhere
The white picket fence couldn’t stop someone from dropping off the cliff
Flowers line the grassy mountain below
A hummingbird flies by right as I sneeze, allergies
I thought I was immune to your charm, but you came on strong, like Spring allergies
You stained my life like wine yet how strange we never swam in the ocean waves
Being seen with you was like flying and watching our feet dangle below
But the flying ended and it was time to leave
We parted ways on top of a cliff
Missing you was like the birds, fucking everywhere
There are birds everywhere
There are flowers growing out of gravel, allergies
I’m happy here, on top of this cliff
Bells that sound like church chimes come from the small restaurant up the road, they harmonize with the waves
The sun is now scorching, it’s 10:55, almost time to leave
I push myself out of the old wooden chair and take in the water below
Funny to think we’ll never sit here, watching the green turn into blue turn into white below
We’ll never say, “there are birds everywhere”
We’ll never dump the ice bucket into the flower bed right before we leave
You’ll never kiss my forehead as my eyes get puffy from allergies
I’ll never sit in that old wooden chair painting the sky while you hum and write about the waves
Because right now I’m alone, on the hill, on the cliff
It’s 11:15, my eyes skirt around the room, I clean the sink and check the drawer below
It’s 11:17, my nose starts to run, allergies
It’s 11:20, I’ll miss having these birds everywhere
11:21, “goodbye my delicate friends,” I think to the waves
I pack up my car, it’s 11:30, I leave
Oh what a way to pass the time, in an old wooden chair outside a little room at the top of a hill, on the side of a cliff
I Remember It Hurt
I remember it hurt, not being able to breathe
Like getting punched in the stomach while upside down in the shower It was cold and rough and I was sweating
I remember thinking my head felt fine while my brain was flooded
The moment I thought I was in the clear,
There you were with your fist ready to turn on the faucet
The handle was icy when I grazed the faucet
I was so shocked I had to remind myself to breathe
Standing there dripping wet, it was crystal clear
You never touched me in the shower
The way you’d turn away, the memories were flooded
The handle was icy but I was still sweating
My blue eyes can see us in your bed sweating
You always got up to fill a tall glass with water from the faucet
I’d drink laying down until I spilled all over the jersey sheets. Flooded. You’d kiss me while laughing, with water in my nose, I couldn’t breathe. You’d say nothing. Just stand up and walk toward the shower.
We were happy and horny and all feelings were clear.
Then things became a little less clear
We didn’t speak when we woke up, you’d go for a run and come back sweating I’d smile, take off my clothes and get in the shower
Minutes would go by, finally I’d turn off the faucet
The way you’d pass by me made it hard to breathe
Two twenty minute showers. The bathroom was flooded
From then on, I was all in my head. My insecurities unraveled and flooded In hindsight, it was all pretty clear
This wasn’t the fun type of speechless. Constantly gasping to breathe
This wasn’t the fun type of exerting energy. The anxious sweating
The bathroom became a battleground. A child in the middle of custody became of the faucet Of course you never touched me. You never stepped into the shower
I think a lot about those years. Mainly in the shower
How my heart felt flooded
How my love for you was like a broken faucet
How the idea of you and me together forever seemed so clear
The way you could look at me for a moment. Or graze my back and I’d start sweating One kiss from you and I couldn’t breathe
I need to shower.
My mind is finally clear.
We were all or nothing. Famine or flooded.
Ice cold or drenched. Sweating.
I turn off the faucet.
I stop thinking of you. I breathe.
Alison Bartlett
Location: Ontario, Canada
About: Inspired by the format of writing a sestina
On the Nature of Daylight –
I had a dream, we lay down together
On a bed with no edges.
We faced East towards the ocean & watched the waves.
All you could hear was the wind,
Nothing began or ended
And everything felt alright.
Suspend all preconceptions, where boundaries dissolve alright?
A transformation is enabled that allows for indeterminacy & freedom to exist together.
How would you feel if everything suddenly ended?
If a field of grass suddenly had thick edges,
If you bore witness to the last gust of wind
And the crests flattened, forever erasing the waves?
But not everything exists as a means to an end, look at the waves!
They are within a larger system, they are not singular, alright?
Look beneath the surface, that is where we all lay, together.
If you still can only see the edges,
Please know it does not mean it had ended.
It is within this threshold, where a moment may have passed, but certainly has not ended.
What happens when the crests of the waves relapse into a state of indeterminacy with no edges?
We can exist in liminality and still be alright.
Would it comfort you to know that we lay together?
If it was so simple as returning to the wind?
However, we can’t place all of the responsibility on the wind –
It can’t delineate what has begun or ended,
Or decipher what stands apart or together.
Nor those who hold a will akin to the waves hold the power to decide. Disregard Nietzsche, it’s alright
To subserve an existence amongst fuzzy lines, with no clear edges
Why must we run towards light reflecting off sharp edges?
Widen your horizon, kill your ego, everywhere is shining, just listen to the wind.
And maybe you too can transcend complexities & seek salvation in being simply, alright.
Acknowledge that the ocean does not truly have edges,
And that the waves,
Can always remind us despite ourselves, that we exist together.
And if it is alright, I invite you to suspend yourself between the edges,
Where we lay together, to nothing but the wind,
Facing towards what has begun or ended, with the freedom of returning to the will of the waves.
Elle Cheng Li Ling
Location: Singapore
About: A lot of the time the greatest obstacle to my creating or even engaging in anything is the belief that I'm not enough. During the lockdown I faced books that I wanted to read, activities that I wanted to do but which I was also hesitant to engage with because of the nagging voice in the back of my head about what I have to do with whatever I learn from it, how I have to make it great for myself. My Day 17 journal entry, where I explored a poetic form, was me coming to recognise that, and while my approach was to disappear and erase the pressure to perform through erasing myself, I'm glad I put the whole phenomenon in words.
Age: 19
My floor fan buzzes, my mind kind of blanks
Ann Patchett who is this lady
Maybe one day I'll be enough well read
There are so many things to achieve
To be; scientist, artist, someone you can't forget
I like to watch the waves-- they seem okay with waves alone.
Past the fields, at the end of the creek, she lives alone.
If you tried looking again you'd only find blanks
Blanks to the dotted lines, soon you will forget
Unless somehow you chance upon a solitary lady
With only sugar to acquire and cupcakes to achieve
And occasionally, only occasionally, who allows herself to read
Once upon a time and worlds unimaginable, only will she read
Only about misfits of three fingers and outcasts and those abandoned alone.
Not ready yet for Einstein or Picasso; Achieve, achieve
____, ____
She wishes for alphabets only, this lady
Stirs in her soup to happily forget
What was her name again? You forget
Did you not ask or had you not read
The handbook of the lady
Who wandered the forest alone
(Now you know!) Whose sentences littered blanks
Who only had cupcakes to achieve
How much she could achieve
You think, if only she tried and did not forget
If she spoke less in blanks
With less fantasy to read
A lady of her sort should not loiter, not to mention alone
How dangerous, how unbefitting a lady
No name, The lady
She watches the water flow over her feet, nothing to achieve
Worse is the chatter, better she is alone
How happy although she still tries to forget
Not so much regret but in peace! can't she read
Without voices in her head she tries to fire into blanks
Soon she exists alone and ceases to be the lady
No blanks, not even to 'achieve'
Soon you forget and she can finally read.
Heather Viviano
Location: Seattle, WA
About: I was out on a walk and passed the local school playground. I felt sad that it was empty, all of the children on a "stay at home order." I wrote some lyrical poetry about this, inspired by the schoolyard and the "Poetic Form" prompt.
Age: 51
Since I'm not a writer, I'm not well versed in poetic form, but I gave it a go.
Thought about this after my walk yesterday. It's more like a song than a poem.
The Schoolyard
Walkin' down the same old road
I didn't think I'd find
A field of grass and wildflowers
With no footprints left behind
No traces of the childhood fun
That floats on in with spring
No games of tag, capture the flag
You've cancelled everything
You never asked, just came on in
Hell bent to start a war
You've ruined plans, please understand
You're not welcome anymore
And can you tell me
Who's gonna save our souls?
Can you tell me
All the stories left untold?
Yeah, tell me
When we rise at the break of day
Will all the shadows melt away?
I wonder when the tricks and lies'
Became an option for
The righteous path, those sacred words
From those who've come before
You offer me no answers
Elusive as you are
You're just a thief who's takin' lives
And pushing things too far
I know an army, gloved and masked
Who's come to take you down
Take out your war, show you the door
And you'll stop comin' 'round
And they'll tell me
Who's gonna save our souls
And they'll tell me
All the stories left untold
Yeah, tell me
When we rise at the break of day
If all our shadows will melt away
I'll walk on down that road tomorrow
Waiting for the day
When I can hear the children laughing
Lost inside their play
Blades of grass and wildflowers
bent beneath their song
This is what the schoolyard wanted,
asked for all along
And it will tell us
Who's gonna save our souls
And it will tell us
All the stories left untold
Yeah, and tell us
When we rise at the break of day
That all our shadows will melt away
Melt away
In the schoolyard
Wildflowers, the schoolyard, schoolyard
The schoolyard
Katie Wesolek
Location: Nashville, TN
About: I wrote a limerick and some haikus expressing my frustration with the state of the world.
Age: 35
Poetry? Funny you should ask. It's not usually my jam, but I do love the challenge of contorting myself into the smallest of spaces, physically and creatively. Coincidentally, I wrote a bunch of quarantine haikus earlier this week, just for funsies. This morning, I wrote a limerick.
This virus has all of us stuck
And some of us down on our luck
Let us stock up on booze
And turn off the news
Raise our glasses and not give a fuck
Here are a few of the haikus:
COVID-19 sounds
like generic birth control
or an STI
woke up yesterday
thinking it was tomorrow
what even is time
Zooming with my friends
They have growing kids, but I
scallion in shot glass
sourdough starter
feels like playing Yukon Trail
now let's pan for gold
Marisa Siegel
Location: Westchester, New York
About: Marisa Siegel lives, writes, and edits near NYC. Her essay “Inherited Anger” appears in the anthology BURN IT DOWN (Seal Press, 2019), and her debut poetry chapbook FIXED STARS is forthcoming from Burrow Press. Follow her on Twitter @marisasaystweet.
Age: 37
Pandemic Villanelle
The safety in distance belies the need
for connection on which we’re built—
or, we are built for viruses to breed.
Systems fail with astonishing speed,
and the ground beneath begins to tilt.
We cower, together or alone, in overwhelming need.
We watch with exhaustion as the endless greed
ravages all, blind to blood spilt
and the billionaires watch dollar signs breed.
This is a disaster! buries the lede
and the scope of harm is wider than guilt—
we were never what a healthy Earth would need.
Still, there are poems to write and mouths to feed
and under this pressure what wouldn’t wilt?
We search out strands from which hope might breed.
Take in your hands this very small seed
and carry it with you to plant in the silt
at the river’s edge; give to find what you need—
learn from what’s passed and allow life to breed.
Sydney Wagner
About: Poetry has always intimidated me, so I decided to go for the simplest form I know: the haiku. I ended up with three pages of them, but this one is my favorite.
Age: 23
The water beckons
Come home, it seems to call out
Come lose yourself here