The following post sounds worse than I mean it to. I actually really do enjoy spoken word poetry, but this is a bit of a rant. Another time I'll talk about all the good things.
Here's what so-called "spoken word" poets (including me, when I read out loud) are doing. One, reading a written work. Two, being a character (in other words, acting). Three, going for a laugh (being a comedian). Four, making weird sounds (using their voice and words as a musical instrument).
None of these are an accurate translation of what written poetry is to me. Written poetry is dense. It is infused with meaning. A single word can mean so much to a poem.
So what is a performer supposed to do with a powerful word or image? In a written work, a powerful word might appear exactly like every other word in the poem. Very rarely is a single word
emphasized.
In performance poetry, if you (I) let an important word slip by without special emphasis, you risk the audience missing it. But if you emphasize it too much, you sound like an idiot. Or worse, you sound like you think your audience consists of idiots.
Maybe it's just me, but too often when I listen to poetry out loud, the part of my brain that understands things shuts down, and in my head, it sounds like this:
"poetry, poetry, poetry, poetry
poetry poetry poetry poetry
words words words words
words words words words."
Am I the only one? I find the same thing often with music lyrics. So many songs are virtually unintelligible to me. The only way I can comprehend a song or a poem performed is to read the lyrics while I'm listening.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Note to Myself on Writing Novels
I'm just typing this out so I can organize my thoughts a little better on the subject before I go ahead with writing. Hopefully I can come back to this later in life, and maybe someday it will be useful to a random person on the internet.
Last night as I was trying to get to sleep, I had the following insight on writing. Not that it's revolutionary or new. I've heard it before, but only now does it seem to make sense.
The narrative voice is as much a character in a work of writing as any other explicit actor in the story. I have read novels in which the narrative voice changes from chapter to chapter. For one example, take _Last Orders_, by Graham Swift. There are several characters in the novel that take turns telling the story. I've read reviews, and one from my mom, that expressed annoyance at this shiftiness in the narrative.
There is a certain kind of reader, perhaps the majority of them, that prefers to be led through a story by a consistent voice. The kind of reader who doesn't mind being left to his or her own devices, probably doesn't even read novels. They're probably more a fan of poetry.
At the same time, I think the English language's two greatest storytellers, Geoffrey Chaucer and William Shakespeare, spoke exclusively with conjured voices. Shakespeare necessarily, as he wrote dramas in which every line had to be spoken by a performer. But Chaucer, I'm less sure about how his work was performed (was it sung?). The Canterbury Tales are stories told with specific narrative flavour, even if the narrator rarely speaks of himself or herself.
How often do we see this in modern literature? How many writers today can turn themselves into ten writers, or as many as are needed? Today's writers are often told to develop their own voice. This is reasonable advice, I think, because the temptation for writers starting out is to try to be universal. They are doomed to fail at that particular goal, because their conception of the universal is limited to the works they've read. So their "voice" is an imitation of those they've read.
I think the best path for a writer is to develop multiple voices. Start with one, your strongest voice. I suppose this might be the voice of argumentation. It's the voice you might use to convince someone of a political point, a robust, sharp, powerful voice. Maybe with a hint of irony, sarcasm, and satire. But move on from there and develop a range, and hone it to the point where entire novels can be written as if you were another person.
And here I am talking as if I know anything. Hopefully I'll read this again in 10 years, after I've published 10 novels and countless poetry. Will I see this as baby steps? The most obvious thing in the world? Or will I have become so engrossed with my own voice that I forget this tactic entirely. I think this is the problem that many authors have, which is not so much a problem if you have an audience who loves your developed voice, but it doesn't work for the majority of writers who are limited as to how far they can grow.
Last night as I was trying to get to sleep, I had the following insight on writing. Not that it's revolutionary or new. I've heard it before, but only now does it seem to make sense.
The narrative voice is as much a character in a work of writing as any other explicit actor in the story. I have read novels in which the narrative voice changes from chapter to chapter. For one example, take _Last Orders_, by Graham Swift. There are several characters in the novel that take turns telling the story. I've read reviews, and one from my mom, that expressed annoyance at this shiftiness in the narrative.
There is a certain kind of reader, perhaps the majority of them, that prefers to be led through a story by a consistent voice. The kind of reader who doesn't mind being left to his or her own devices, probably doesn't even read novels. They're probably more a fan of poetry.
At the same time, I think the English language's two greatest storytellers, Geoffrey Chaucer and William Shakespeare, spoke exclusively with conjured voices. Shakespeare necessarily, as he wrote dramas in which every line had to be spoken by a performer. But Chaucer, I'm less sure about how his work was performed (was it sung?). The Canterbury Tales are stories told with specific narrative flavour, even if the narrator rarely speaks of himself or herself.
How often do we see this in modern literature? How many writers today can turn themselves into ten writers, or as many as are needed? Today's writers are often told to develop their own voice. This is reasonable advice, I think, because the temptation for writers starting out is to try to be universal. They are doomed to fail at that particular goal, because their conception of the universal is limited to the works they've read. So their "voice" is an imitation of those they've read.
I think the best path for a writer is to develop multiple voices. Start with one, your strongest voice. I suppose this might be the voice of argumentation. It's the voice you might use to convince someone of a political point, a robust, sharp, powerful voice. Maybe with a hint of irony, sarcasm, and satire. But move on from there and develop a range, and hone it to the point where entire novels can be written as if you were another person.
And here I am talking as if I know anything. Hopefully I'll read this again in 10 years, after I've published 10 novels and countless poetry. Will I see this as baby steps? The most obvious thing in the world? Or will I have become so engrossed with my own voice that I forget this tactic entirely. I think this is the problem that many authors have, which is not so much a problem if you have an audience who loves your developed voice, but it doesn't work for the majority of writers who are limited as to how far they can grow.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
New Poetry Method "One Word at a Time"
So I was reading "The Best Poems of the English Language" edited and selected by Harold Bloom, and I came on a new strategy to writing poetry. Here it is:
"one word at a time"
You'd think it was kind of simple. I'll use this blog post to try and explain. See, prose is written in thoughts, or sentences at a time. You think your thought, and then you write it down. At least, that's how I tend to write prose. Prose is a record of what has been thought. It can be edited, of course, to become essentially a script for what the writer wants the reader to think. Either way, it's a record of thought.
Poetry, on the other hand, doesn't necessarily contain the tracks of thought. Poetry has a similar function to prose, but not every thought is written down. What I mean by "one word at a time", is that after each individual word is written, the poet pauses, considers the word he or she just wrote, sees whether it fits into the poem, and whether an alternative would do the job better. Only when satisfied with that particular word, often having crossed out several alternatives, or at least rejected alternatives in her head, does she continue on to the next word.
Under this method, every word counts. Every word must be full of meaning, except maybe connecting words (like "of" and "to" and "the"), but even then, the connecting words must be analyzed, and it must be determined if they can be cut out. The only essential elements of a thought are one noun and one verb.
Now, different critics will come up with their own ideas for what makes great poetry, but Harold Bloom seems to believe that great poetry should be rich in ideas. It should be dense with thought. Every word should be suffused with meaning.
In addition, Bloom asks that poets always bring something new to a word when it is used. The English language has books full of overused words. After all, there isn't much difference between a cliche and an expression or idiom. Words are gradually worn out by so much use. And you don't have to have a huge literary background to know that a word is overused. It is simply enough that you know the expression you're using, to know that it is an existing part of the language. Any word used in exactly the way that you were given it, is probably a worn-out piece of language.
Remember, this is just one way to look at poetry, and other approaches will embrace the standard meanings of words. But in order to make every word count, you have to give it a slightly different meaning.
Unfortunately, what sometimes happens to words used novelly, is that they get broken. I really don't know the limit of how far you can stretch the meaning of a word before it snaps and becomes syntactically useless, that is, incapable of conveying any information beyond random syllables to increase the foot-count of a line of poetry.
So as you're considering each word, ask if you're using it exactly the way it has been handed down to you, or if you've managed to put a slight new twist on its meaning. And if you find that the word means exactly what convention dictates that it should mean, perhaps there is another word slightly less obvious that could take its place.
I have a theory regarding rhyme and rhythm, too. See, poets occasionally write with rhyme and rhythm in mind, and this can sometimes make them make strange choices in the words they use. The words often wouldn't be a prose-writer's first choice to convey the intended meaning, but instead are chosen more for their sound. The result is indeed a word used in a slightly new way, and the genesis was the rhymed poem. This might actually explain, partly, the popularity of rhymed poetry through the ages, as poets have found rhyme to be a useful way to find new meanings for old words.
"one word at a time"
You'd think it was kind of simple. I'll use this blog post to try and explain. See, prose is written in thoughts, or sentences at a time. You think your thought, and then you write it down. At least, that's how I tend to write prose. Prose is a record of what has been thought. It can be edited, of course, to become essentially a script for what the writer wants the reader to think. Either way, it's a record of thought.
Poetry, on the other hand, doesn't necessarily contain the tracks of thought. Poetry has a similar function to prose, but not every thought is written down. What I mean by "one word at a time", is that after each individual word is written, the poet pauses, considers the word he or she just wrote, sees whether it fits into the poem, and whether an alternative would do the job better. Only when satisfied with that particular word, often having crossed out several alternatives, or at least rejected alternatives in her head, does she continue on to the next word.
Under this method, every word counts. Every word must be full of meaning, except maybe connecting words (like "of" and "to" and "the"), but even then, the connecting words must be analyzed, and it must be determined if they can be cut out. The only essential elements of a thought are one noun and one verb.
Now, different critics will come up with their own ideas for what makes great poetry, but Harold Bloom seems to believe that great poetry should be rich in ideas. It should be dense with thought. Every word should be suffused with meaning.
In addition, Bloom asks that poets always bring something new to a word when it is used. The English language has books full of overused words. After all, there isn't much difference between a cliche and an expression or idiom. Words are gradually worn out by so much use. And you don't have to have a huge literary background to know that a word is overused. It is simply enough that you know the expression you're using, to know that it is an existing part of the language. Any word used in exactly the way that you were given it, is probably a worn-out piece of language.
Remember, this is just one way to look at poetry, and other approaches will embrace the standard meanings of words. But in order to make every word count, you have to give it a slightly different meaning.
Unfortunately, what sometimes happens to words used novelly, is that they get broken. I really don't know the limit of how far you can stretch the meaning of a word before it snaps and becomes syntactically useless, that is, incapable of conveying any information beyond random syllables to increase the foot-count of a line of poetry.
So as you're considering each word, ask if you're using it exactly the way it has been handed down to you, or if you've managed to put a slight new twist on its meaning. And if you find that the word means exactly what convention dictates that it should mean, perhaps there is another word slightly less obvious that could take its place.
I have a theory regarding rhyme and rhythm, too. See, poets occasionally write with rhyme and rhythm in mind, and this can sometimes make them make strange choices in the words they use. The words often wouldn't be a prose-writer's first choice to convey the intended meaning, but instead are chosen more for their sound. The result is indeed a word used in a slightly new way, and the genesis was the rhymed poem. This might actually explain, partly, the popularity of rhymed poetry through the ages, as poets have found rhyme to be a useful way to find new meanings for old words.
Over My Head in Math
Among other books, I got in the mail yesterday, "The Fractal Geometry of Nature", by Benoit B. Mandelbrot. So far I've only been able to flip through it, but it has become quite clear that the mathematical language is over my head, and it might as well be written in German (ie. I have minimal experience with it, and it bears a passing resemblance to English, but not enough to make things intelligible to me.)
However, the book does contain lots of pretty pictures, and I am able to comprehend enough to be amazed that all of the pictures in the book are generated not by an artist [arguable], but by a computer program, or more precisely stated, by a mathematical algorithm that looks nothing like the final result.
The other amazing thing about fractal math is that people have been using it for the past thirty years in computer applications, and we simply wouldn't have as many of the modern technologies that we take for granted if it weren't for fractals. It may be over my head, but enough people in the world do understand it that it can be put to all kinds of practical uses.
However, the book does contain lots of pretty pictures, and I am able to comprehend enough to be amazed that all of the pictures in the book are generated not by an artist [arguable], but by a computer program, or more precisely stated, by a mathematical algorithm that looks nothing like the final result.
The other amazing thing about fractal math is that people have been using it for the past thirty years in computer applications, and we simply wouldn't have as many of the modern technologies that we take for granted if it weren't for fractals. It may be over my head, but enough people in the world do understand it that it can be put to all kinds of practical uses.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
One Day Visitors
One day visitors will take sideways steps
shuffle single-file through my flat
Like Walden Pond and Zarathustra's cave
and Emily Dickinson's attic.
They'll whisper: such a great mind
was in this space, confined?
shuffle single-file through my flat
Like Walden Pond and Zarathustra's cave
and Emily Dickinson's attic.
They'll whisper: such a great mind
was in this space, confined?
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Who Needs Goals?
Here's something revolutionary.
Why should I do anything? Why should I be anything? Why should I have an end in mind? Isn't it enough to just hang out and live, be, experience life, and generally do the things that make me happy?
I know society depends on people wanting to accomplish great deeds, but not everybody has to be that person. Can't I just be happy being me? Maybe that's the lesson that I was meant to learn all along.
This is the problem though. I've never met anyone who is willing to admit they're fine with not going anywhere.
Me, I absolutely cannot bear the thought of being a service and entertainment industry worker. I hate that identity. But why do I have to be that? Why does that have to define me? Why did it take me this long to figure this out? I can work there, but it doesn't make it who I am.
I am what I enjoy doing. Sometimes that's just watching television. Sometimes it's writing poetry and short stories. Often it's reading. Sometimes it's writing in a blog. Sometimes it's drawing pictures. Sometimes it's playing Dungeons & Dragons. These are the things that really define me. And I don't have to be paid to do any one of them in order to have a fulfilling life.
Job one is to live the good life. Job two is to get paid for doing something involved in the good life. Job two is optional.
Why should I do anything? Why should I be anything? Why should I have an end in mind? Isn't it enough to just hang out and live, be, experience life, and generally do the things that make me happy?
I know society depends on people wanting to accomplish great deeds, but not everybody has to be that person. Can't I just be happy being me? Maybe that's the lesson that I was meant to learn all along.
This is the problem though. I've never met anyone who is willing to admit they're fine with not going anywhere.
Me, I absolutely cannot bear the thought of being a service and entertainment industry worker. I hate that identity. But why do I have to be that? Why does that have to define me? Why did it take me this long to figure this out? I can work there, but it doesn't make it who I am.
I am what I enjoy doing. Sometimes that's just watching television. Sometimes it's writing poetry and short stories. Often it's reading. Sometimes it's writing in a blog. Sometimes it's drawing pictures. Sometimes it's playing Dungeons & Dragons. These are the things that really define me. And I don't have to be paid to do any one of them in order to have a fulfilling life.
Job one is to live the good life. Job two is to get paid for doing something involved in the good life. Job two is optional.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
How (not) to Start a Novel
This came to me while I was sleeping. Never start a novel or story with an abstraction. I'm already losing the words I was reading, but it was a novel someone had given me in my dream to edit and evaluate. They had started this way:
"Spring is a season that never reflects."
Or something like that. I think they used a bigger synonym for "reflects", but so much of my dream was trying to come up with a better word that I forgot the original.
I'll start with the obvious, and change to
"Spring never reflects."
losing some of the rhythmic weight of the sentence, but to be honest, that was dead
weight to start, and anything it did for the sentence was artificial.
I tried many times to rework the sentence into a concept that would be a suitable start for a novel, but in the end, the concept itself is simply a weak way to start.
Here are a few ideas I had for better starts for a novel:
"I have red hair and freckles."
"Fred stood in front of a door marked Sprinkler and Winkler Attorneys at Law."
"The petunias were blooming early that spring." (Do petunias bloom in the spring? who cares.)
I'm even thinking a novel could do without a verb in its opening. You see this a lot in stage directions and screenplays:
"A man on the edge of a precipice, a rope just out of his reach."
These are just some ideas from someone who actually has never written novels, but this came to me in my sleep, so I can't consciously be held responsible if there is or is not any wisdom in the idea. At the same time, what I could do now if I was a responsible person, would be to go do some research on novelistic beginnings, which wouldn't take long at all, and determine what the "great novelists" do. Thing is, even the greats don't necessarily have a great first sentence.
Still, the first sentence is probably the part of the novel that every published novel actually gets right, because so much attention is paid to it, and it's where the first readers (editors) are at their freshest and most ready to make decisions.
Anyways, my rule of thumb is therefore "never start a novel with an abstraction." "No, not even once. There are no exceptions, as there are in the usual prohibition about abstractions throughout written art. Absolutely never start a novel or a short story with an abstraction."
Now, plays are different, because you do have a captive audience. No one is going to walk out of the play based on the first line of dialogue. But it would still be odd to start a play with a character saying "Spring is a season that never reflects." You'd have to concretize it pretty quickly, or else leave it as an unexplained throw-away postmodern line, possibly delivered by a crazy person.
"Spring is a season that never reflects."
Or something like that. I think they used a bigger synonym for "reflects", but so much of my dream was trying to come up with a better word that I forgot the original.
I'll start with the obvious, and change to
"Spring never reflects."
losing some of the rhythmic weight of the sentence, but to be honest, that was dead
weight to start, and anything it did for the sentence was artificial.
I tried many times to rework the sentence into a concept that would be a suitable start for a novel, but in the end, the concept itself is simply a weak way to start.
Here are a few ideas I had for better starts for a novel:
"I have red hair and freckles."
"Fred stood in front of a door marked Sprinkler and Winkler Attorneys at Law."
"The petunias were blooming early that spring." (Do petunias bloom in the spring? who cares.)
I'm even thinking a novel could do without a verb in its opening. You see this a lot in stage directions and screenplays:
"A man on the edge of a precipice, a rope just out of his reach."
These are just some ideas from someone who actually has never written novels, but this came to me in my sleep, so I can't consciously be held responsible if there is or is not any wisdom in the idea. At the same time, what I could do now if I was a responsible person, would be to go do some research on novelistic beginnings, which wouldn't take long at all, and determine what the "great novelists" do. Thing is, even the greats don't necessarily have a great first sentence.
Still, the first sentence is probably the part of the novel that every published novel actually gets right, because so much attention is paid to it, and it's where the first readers (editors) are at their freshest and most ready to make decisions.
Anyways, my rule of thumb is therefore "never start a novel with an abstraction." "No, not even once. There are no exceptions, as there are in the usual prohibition about abstractions throughout written art. Absolutely never start a novel or a short story with an abstraction."
Now, plays are different, because you do have a captive audience. No one is going to walk out of the play based on the first line of dialogue. But it would still be odd to start a play with a character saying "Spring is a season that never reflects." You'd have to concretize it pretty quickly, or else leave it as an unexplained throw-away postmodern line, possibly delivered by a crazy person.
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