Thinking Style and Poetic Style
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1chellerystick
It occurs to me today to wonder whether there is a correlation between thinking styles and poetic styles. I would guess yes, somewhat, but do not have a more detailed model for this. While the plural of anecdote is not data, I would be interested to hear your personal experiences and observations on this as well as any scientific information that blends into it.
Thinking style: This could include a number of theoretical constructs, including learning styles (e.g. Kolb and Myers-Briggs), intellectual maturity (Perry, Baxter Magolda), general thinking preferences (Gardner), and other related ideas. (A separate discussion is how useful or "real" these different theories are.) It could also include your introspection about idiosyncratic concerns and habits.
Poetry questions:
1. How does your thinking style relate to what poems you choose to read?
2. How does thinking style relate to what poems you like?
3. What happens to you when you read poems outside of your "comfort zone"?
4. How does thinking style relate to your reading process (e.g. how many poems do you read in a session, do you read anthologies or monographs, do you read out loud or silently, do you read with a pen when you own the book, etc.)?
5. If you write, how does thinking style relate to your writing process?
6. If you write, how does thinking style relate to the what your poems are like?
Thinking style: This could include a number of theoretical constructs, including learning styles (e.g. Kolb and Myers-Briggs), intellectual maturity (Perry, Baxter Magolda), general thinking preferences (Gardner), and other related ideas. (A separate discussion is how useful or "real" these different theories are.) It could also include your introspection about idiosyncratic concerns and habits.
Poetry questions:
1. How does your thinking style relate to what poems you choose to read?
2. How does thinking style relate to what poems you like?
3. What happens to you when you read poems outside of your "comfort zone"?
4. How does thinking style relate to your reading process (e.g. how many poems do you read in a session, do you read anthologies or monographs, do you read out loud or silently, do you read with a pen when you own the book, etc.)?
5. If you write, how does thinking style relate to your writing process?
6. If you write, how does thinking style relate to the what your poems are like?
2JNagarya
I'm constantly working to break out of any particular "style," as such can become a habit, a rut. A rule of thumb: "Make it strange," which means "Strange to oneself" (which might mean it will be strange to others also).
3leahmarjorie
Wow, this is a cool idea for a topic. Especially for me, as I'm something of a Myers-Briggs junkie and love poetry. :-) It will be interesting to see what kind of replies this thread gets! I do not think personality type and poetic style are unrelated.
Unfortunately, I only have time right now to address your first two questions, but here goes.
I believe I am an INFJ.
Poetry wise, I'm very drawn to meter, rhyme, and form. I can admire and enjoy a variety of poetic styles, but I love poetry with a controlled, structured feel. I love poems that are bursting with creativity and originality in the use or words, grouping unlikely words together to bring out unexpected nuances in each and extract a maximum of meaning. I also can get really excited over made up words.
Gerard Manley Hopkins is my favorite poet. I believe this is because of his creative use of form and the variety of poetic devices he uses, as well as unusual word choices, and because of the spiritual themes he employs so well.
According to my understanding of INFJs, all this is pretty much according to type-- an interest in poetry being characteristic of NFs, the N preference leaning towards innovation, and the J towards structure.
Unfortunately, I only have time right now to address your first two questions, but here goes.
I believe I am an INFJ.
Poetry wise, I'm very drawn to meter, rhyme, and form. I can admire and enjoy a variety of poetic styles, but I love poetry with a controlled, structured feel. I love poems that are bursting with creativity and originality in the use or words, grouping unlikely words together to bring out unexpected nuances in each and extract a maximum of meaning. I also can get really excited over made up words.
Gerard Manley Hopkins is my favorite poet. I believe this is because of his creative use of form and the variety of poetic devices he uses, as well as unusual word choices, and because of the spiritual themes he employs so well.
According to my understanding of INFJs, all this is pretty much according to type-- an interest in poetry being characteristic of NFs, the N preference leaning towards innovation, and the J towards structure.
4chellerystick
JNagarya, that is a lovely response, and so relevant. I think this is also why I miss having workshops--the differences in perspective really help me to grow, even if I'm already the weirdest one there. Guess I should get out some writing exercises in this brief lull between research pushes.
May we all grow wisely strange. (8
Leah, I usually come up as INFP but occasionally INTP (strongly N but only barely F). I like to read both formal and "free" styles, though I tend to memorize more formal poems. I find that as I write and revise, spending more time with the words, I tend to move towards a more powerful undercurrent of meter and sound, though rarely writing "in forms." Hopkins is delightful, and I would point you to my much-beloved Gwendolyn Brooks (especially her earlier works), but I also like Heather McHugh--who comes off as more fun, less form, but can pull off such truthful wordplay that it hurts.
(Edited to correct typo.)
May we all grow wisely strange. (8
Leah, I usually come up as INFP but occasionally INTP (strongly N but only barely F). I like to read both formal and "free" styles, though I tend to memorize more formal poems. I find that as I write and revise, spending more time with the words, I tend to move towards a more powerful undercurrent of meter and sound, though rarely writing "in forms." Hopkins is delightful, and I would point you to my much-beloved Gwendolyn Brooks (especially her earlier works), but I also like Heather McHugh--who comes off as more fun, less form, but can pull off such truthful wordplay that it hurts.
(Edited to correct typo.)
5JNagarya
#4
"JNagarya, that is a lovely response, and so relevant. I think this is also why I miss having workshops--the differences in perspective really help me to grow, even if I'm already the weirdest one there. Guess I should get out some writing exercises in this brief lull between research pushes."
I'm probably something of a control freak -- I tend to gravitate to meter and sometimes what might seem an extreme (there goes one now!) amount of (especially) internal rhyme. Most of that is unconscious -- habit, actually; I began with song writing, so am "imbued" with the form/s -- I don't see it until later. What helps, and it's "natural," is that I somehow seem to write for the eye, yet it properly ends up being for the ear. I've heard others read my stuff and was stunned to hear it sound exactly as I intended it to sound.
Last night I found an article in which the writer was talking about the effort (the cliché) to constantly "think outside the box," and how that should become a habit, which is essentially what I was getting at. I doubt I can find it again (I was doing extensive research on finding little magazines/journals in which Levertov published -- I'm compiling a chronobibliography in the absence of there already being one -- which led tangentially to a fascinating, but largely irrelevant, listing of '60s "underground newspapers" at Amherst College); but if I do I'll provide the link.
I may actually have on disk one I got somewhere on line which says essentially the same thing. And another I may have on disk in which the summative sentence was exactly that: "Make it strange."
Part of it, of course, is keeping it interesting for oneself -- which usually means it will then be interesting to others. In recent years I've been on a streak of allowing nearly-irrepressible humor and sense of the absurd. If one maintains sufficient control, sufficient discipline, that can work out.
On the other side I've a ton of "experimental" writing which is somewhere between verse and prose -- an in-process effort to arrive at a form which I find fulfilling. Usually that is "serious," even a bit dark (it seems I'm usually writing about being out at night, which affords opportunity to play with light-and-dark; well, yeah, that would make it "dark"*). I've arrived at the point of wanting only white white paper with sharp black squigglies -- if you concentrate you'll discover that each letter is animate, alive -- on it.
_____
*On the absurd side I wrote a bit about jumping into the light in order to see to be able to write about the dark I was standing in and writing about.
_____
Then again, there's one piece that's an absurd "noir" take-off (it's about a black-and-white film made -- yes -- at night, and helpfully points out several details one can't see because it's at night) -- wholly accidental: one of those times I'd had a long, productive, satisfying day/night of writing, then went to bed confidently tired -- and the moment my head hit the pillow a string of thought began running through my head and I said, "I'm not letting this get away!" so got up, suffered the anxiety of losing it while the computer booted up, but then captured it successfully.
Most thrilling -- and this may be a bit away from the topic -- is what I call "arrived ats". In rewriting, in keeping with felt sense of intent/meaning, one suddenly "throws down" a phrase or sentence which says it exactly as one intends -- and one never sees it coming: it's one letter at a time, one word at a time -- never looking beyond the next several letters. Then suddenly there it is. Here's one -- a first draft "arrived at," from a FAX to a lawyer-friend. Part of the unstated context is that I'm one who looks for, and at, sparrow footprints in snow.
It began with telling her I'd found a Levertov book I'd been looking for, and including a poem from it ("Complicity," in A Door in the Hive), then getting into description of the writing process, and from there sparrows (my favorite peripatetic in the form of a bird), and snow (my favorite form precipitation, except for all the others). It's all first draft, and the last paragraph is the "arrived at," but it begins taking off with the last sentence of this first paragraph (and the last sentence is the "arrived at") --
". . . . It can be frustrating, and one often wishes the apt image would come immediately; but it is also a joy, the work, over a long time--a combination or twining, and sometimes alteration, of struggle and relaxation. I recall the phrase "recollected in tranquility," but not its context; whether about poetry or something else. It's a good phrase, especially as map to contemplation.
"One wants to be careful and gentle, as when one tries to get close to a gaggle of sparrows--all talking at once, vibrating with energy, going about their business, one or another flitting from one tree or branch to another, and then another to or from another, pausing to scrutinize and ask you questions--only so one can get close enough to watch and see details and colors and listen and immerse, hoping against hope they don't get frightened and fly away. Careful and gentle so one doesn't cause the magic squiggling words to scatter--away, over, and off the top of the white white paper.
"Sometimes the long struggle is avoidance of "solution" or conclusion so one can postpone relinquishing its subject. Other times it is prolonged because not sufficiently attended. Because neglected. It's an exquisitely delicate balance among feeling, intuition, imagination one cannot plan, only can find oneself suddenly arrived at.
"It's snowing right now, and we've had lots of good snow the past several days. If only it would stay for weeks and months--even year round! It softens everything, and removes the sharp edges from sounds. Instead of "clacks" one gets "thunks". And like a detective, if the consistency is right, it captures sparrow footprints so one can examine them closely, minutely, without the fear that the bird they fit will fly away with the evidence. . . ."
The only problem is where to use such stuff . . .
"JNagarya, that is a lovely response, and so relevant. I think this is also why I miss having workshops--the differences in perspective really help me to grow, even if I'm already the weirdest one there. Guess I should get out some writing exercises in this brief lull between research pushes."
I'm probably something of a control freak -- I tend to gravitate to meter and sometimes what might seem an extreme (there goes one now!) amount of (especially) internal rhyme. Most of that is unconscious -- habit, actually; I began with song writing, so am "imbued" with the form/s -- I don't see it until later. What helps, and it's "natural," is that I somehow seem to write for the eye, yet it properly ends up being for the ear. I've heard others read my stuff and was stunned to hear it sound exactly as I intended it to sound.
Last night I found an article in which the writer was talking about the effort (the cliché) to constantly "think outside the box," and how that should become a habit, which is essentially what I was getting at. I doubt I can find it again (I was doing extensive research on finding little magazines/journals in which Levertov published -- I'm compiling a chronobibliography in the absence of there already being one -- which led tangentially to a fascinating, but largely irrelevant, listing of '60s "underground newspapers" at Amherst College); but if I do I'll provide the link.
I may actually have on disk one I got somewhere on line which says essentially the same thing. And another I may have on disk in which the summative sentence was exactly that: "Make it strange."
Part of it, of course, is keeping it interesting for oneself -- which usually means it will then be interesting to others. In recent years I've been on a streak of allowing nearly-irrepressible humor and sense of the absurd. If one maintains sufficient control, sufficient discipline, that can work out.
On the other side I've a ton of "experimental" writing which is somewhere between verse and prose -- an in-process effort to arrive at a form which I find fulfilling. Usually that is "serious," even a bit dark (it seems I'm usually writing about being out at night, which affords opportunity to play with light-and-dark; well, yeah, that would make it "dark"*). I've arrived at the point of wanting only white white paper with sharp black squigglies -- if you concentrate you'll discover that each letter is animate, alive -- on it.
_____
*On the absurd side I wrote a bit about jumping into the light in order to see to be able to write about the dark I was standing in and writing about.
_____
Then again, there's one piece that's an absurd "noir" take-off (it's about a black-and-white film made -- yes -- at night, and helpfully points out several details one can't see because it's at night) -- wholly accidental: one of those times I'd had a long, productive, satisfying day/night of writing, then went to bed confidently tired -- and the moment my head hit the pillow a string of thought began running through my head and I said, "I'm not letting this get away!" so got up, suffered the anxiety of losing it while the computer booted up, but then captured it successfully.
Most thrilling -- and this may be a bit away from the topic -- is what I call "arrived ats". In rewriting, in keeping with felt sense of intent/meaning, one suddenly "throws down" a phrase or sentence which says it exactly as one intends -- and one never sees it coming: it's one letter at a time, one word at a time -- never looking beyond the next several letters. Then suddenly there it is. Here's one -- a first draft "arrived at," from a FAX to a lawyer-friend. Part of the unstated context is that I'm one who looks for, and at, sparrow footprints in snow.
It began with telling her I'd found a Levertov book I'd been looking for, and including a poem from it ("Complicity," in A Door in the Hive), then getting into description of the writing process, and from there sparrows (my favorite peripatetic in the form of a bird), and snow (my favorite form precipitation, except for all the others). It's all first draft, and the last paragraph is the "arrived at," but it begins taking off with the last sentence of this first paragraph (and the last sentence is the "arrived at") --
". . . . It can be frustrating, and one often wishes the apt image would come immediately; but it is also a joy, the work, over a long time--a combination or twining, and sometimes alteration, of struggle and relaxation. I recall the phrase "recollected in tranquility," but not its context; whether about poetry or something else. It's a good phrase, especially as map to contemplation.
"One wants to be careful and gentle, as when one tries to get close to a gaggle of sparrows--all talking at once, vibrating with energy, going about their business, one or another flitting from one tree or branch to another, and then another to or from another, pausing to scrutinize and ask you questions--only so one can get close enough to watch and see details and colors and listen and immerse, hoping against hope they don't get frightened and fly away. Careful and gentle so one doesn't cause the magic squiggling words to scatter--away, over, and off the top of the white white paper.
"Sometimes the long struggle is avoidance of "solution" or conclusion so one can postpone relinquishing its subject. Other times it is prolonged because not sufficiently attended. Because neglected. It's an exquisitely delicate balance among feeling, intuition, imagination one cannot plan, only can find oneself suddenly arrived at.
"It's snowing right now, and we've had lots of good snow the past several days. If only it would stay for weeks and months--even year round! It softens everything, and removes the sharp edges from sounds. Instead of "clacks" one gets "thunks". And like a detective, if the consistency is right, it captures sparrow footprints so one can examine them closely, minutely, without the fear that the bird they fit will fly away with the evidence. . . ."
The only problem is where to use such stuff . . .
6chellerystick
Has anyone here read Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi's Flow? I have had it on my TBR for years--just need to get it from the library and do it--but I wonder if that is related to JN's experience of "arrived ats." I find that I get these experiences more when I have 1) had lots of other intellectual and experiential stimulation and 2) been writing regularly anyway. I wonder how I will be able to maintain my writing when less of the world is new, although as far as I'm concerned the world is practically uncountable.
Also, what do we do with these bits that don't fit, to reiterate JN's closing question? For me, they're bits of prose that for once aren't running around screaming, and phrases of juvenilia that still glow and dance through my mind though they are quite unpublishable. People who know me are occasionally mildly interested, and understand these things better than more recent work, but how do we who write "honor the past/ but welcome the future" in a personal way?
I also wonder if there are any other more experienced writers on here who would be willing to talk about their growth processes. I know that several of the more "talkative" individuals are quite young, and I am only 27 myself (so let's say I started writing when I was 13 and somewhat well when I was 20--that's not many years in all).
Also, what do we do with these bits that don't fit, to reiterate JN's closing question? For me, they're bits of prose that for once aren't running around screaming, and phrases of juvenilia that still glow and dance through my mind though they are quite unpublishable. People who know me are occasionally mildly interested, and understand these things better than more recent work, but how do we who write "honor the past/ but welcome the future" in a personal way?
I also wonder if there are any other more experienced writers on here who would be willing to talk about their growth processes. I know that several of the more "talkative" individuals are quite young, and I am only 27 myself (so let's say I started writing when I was 13 and somewhat well when I was 20--that's not many years in all).
7JNagarya
"Has anyone here read Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi's Flow?"
I have his Creativity: FLow and the Psychology of Discovery and Invention (NY: HarperCollins, 1996), but haven't yet read it. There was a time -- before becoming disenchanted with (Western) psychology, that I'd read anything about the creative process I could get my hands on. One of the better is Ghiselin's collection, likely out of print. Arieti's is beautifully written but ultimately pointless: he is comparing schizophrenia and the creative process in effort to determine whether they are essentially the same, but comes up empty: no, they aren't.
The best by far is The Dynamics of Creation (NY: Atheneum, 1972), by Anthony Storr. He's the only one I've read who doesn't treat it as a negative; as, frankly, something to be feared. (Another of value is Lawrence Kubie's Neurotic Distortion of the Creative Process). Otto Rank and Freud? -- ech.
There is at least one fundamental problem with the basic theory. First, as context, society is at very lest ambivalent about artists: on one hand it demands that artists be "original" -- then when they are, society freaks out and calls them "weird".
In my reading I've found an unexamined sexism concerning the concept of "regression in service of the ego". In terms of psychopathology, "regression in service of the ego" is actually healthy -- a break-down is preferable to permanent damage. Otherwise, "regression in service of the ego" is healthy, and praised, when it concerns a mother being able to "regress" to the psychological and emotional level of the child and "meet" the child there. But when a male artist (it being posited that the creative process entails "regression in service of the ego") does it, society gets all anxious and whiny, wrings its hands, and slaps a chainlink fence around the artist and urges him to "hurry up and return to normal/maturity!"
Storr presents a fascinating twist on the Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory (MMPI -- it's sorta about finding if one is "all there"): in essence, he points out that artists tend to be more open to their internal processes, so it's possible an artist only appears to be "more neurotic" than the norm because he's more honest about what's going on internally. (And, unlike the unreflective norm, tends to have more insight into himself.) Kubie posits that art is about resolving psychic conflicts, which are not exclusive to the artist, but that the effort ultimately fails because society gets uptight, so forces the artist to sugarcoat. Or turn that which is deadly serious into humor so it can be "safely" laughed off.
"I have had it on my TBR for years--just need to get it from the library and do it--but I wonder if that is related to JN's experience of "arrived ats." I find that I get these experiences more when I have 1) had lots of other intellectual and experiential stimulation and 2) been writing regularly anyway."
Yes. If I'm intensively involved in the writing process (effort to get there less necessary now, as I've been writing for decades, and have a "method" which immediately gets me to relative "depth" -- years ago I had to work through all the superficial crap in my head, "layer by layer," as part of the process of writing myself to my "center") those sorts of "arrived ats" occur more often. (I'm also able to generate generally superior writing in first draft -- that also a result of years and years of writing, and learning to leave out the extranea while going for the "meat".)
"I wonder how I will be able to maintain my writing when less of the world is new, although as far as I'm concerned the world is practically uncountable."
The world is always new. Or one's perception of it is. In the "noir" bit is a river, the water black -- it is night, after all :) -- and "undulating" so the flashes of light reflected by it are smooth -- and not "reappearing" but rather "redisappearing".
"Also, what do we do with these bits that don't fit, to reiterate JN's closing question? For me, they're bits of prose that for once aren't running around screaming, and phrases of juvenilia that still glow and dance through my mind though they are quite unpublishable."
I don't know that they're unpublishable. One might be able to rewrite such bits of "unpublishable" prose as a poem or three, which are expected to be weird anyway.
"People who know me are occasionally mildly interested, and understand these things better than more recent work, but how do we who write "honor the past/ but welcome the future" in a personal way?"
I don't know if the answer to that is or can be permanent.
"I also wonder if there are any other more experienced writers on here who would be willing to talk about their growth processes. I know that several of the more "talkative" individuals are quite young, and I am only 27 myself (so let's say I started writing when I was 13 and somewhat well when I was 20--that's not many years in all)."
I've done some of that. One of my first application of discipline was to eliminate all polysyllabics (Twain rule: "Never use a big word when a little one will do"), which resulted in a book-length manuscript, of which very little might be publishable. But it did accomplish that goal.
The other major goal from close to the beginning was to be able to get down on paper exactly that which was in my head, without it being distorted or mangled while passing from mind through arm and hand and pen. I began writing circa March, 1965; I only accomplished that goal in February, 1972. Then, within that and the next year I managed to "master" organizing in accordance with "beginning, middle, end". (Organizing consists mostly of rewriting to remove words that are there but shouldn't be, put in words that aren't there but should be -- and, perhaps most crucial, bringing like ideas together.)
During that next year -- 1973 -- I began at Boston U., and wrote an average of 16 hours per day, 7 days per week, and ate books by the truckload (one learns much about form from reading; and Turabian was manna from Heaven). I'd say it took about the first 4-6 weeks of the first semester to be able to sufficiently organize; and by the beginning of the next semester I'd reduced the work from 8 drafts per 5-page paper to 5 or 3 drafts, one or more of those done in my head. And in one instance the first draft was written in my head, and the second, on paper, was "finished" with that draft.
Writing all the time also makes enormous difference in the "meat" of one's production. At the beginning of the first semester I had a tad of anxiety about coming up with ideas as topics for papers. By the end of that semester I had more than I could use: it snowballs.
Here's the "method" I stumbled upon which works every time: focus on a feeling, and let it give you the words with which it wants to mean itself. With practice that becomes relatively easy, though the necessary focus for intensity is no less (and may be greater).
All of that comes out of years of reading psychology, and Zen-Buddhism, and actively writing -- the crucial point being able to put one's attention entirely "in the Now". (But one must be careful: there was a time some years ago when I was so enjoying the writing process itself that I'd forget to eat. Then I'd suddenly notice that I was hungry, look at the clock, and decide it was time to eat, but first, "Let me finish this sentence first" -- and the next time I'd look at the clock it would be hours later.)
I have his Creativity: FLow and the Psychology of Discovery and Invention (NY: HarperCollins, 1996), but haven't yet read it. There was a time -- before becoming disenchanted with (Western) psychology, that I'd read anything about the creative process I could get my hands on. One of the better is Ghiselin's collection, likely out of print. Arieti's is beautifully written but ultimately pointless: he is comparing schizophrenia and the creative process in effort to determine whether they are essentially the same, but comes up empty: no, they aren't.
The best by far is The Dynamics of Creation (NY: Atheneum, 1972), by Anthony Storr. He's the only one I've read who doesn't treat it as a negative; as, frankly, something to be feared. (Another of value is Lawrence Kubie's Neurotic Distortion of the Creative Process). Otto Rank and Freud? -- ech.
There is at least one fundamental problem with the basic theory. First, as context, society is at very lest ambivalent about artists: on one hand it demands that artists be "original" -- then when they are, society freaks out and calls them "weird".
In my reading I've found an unexamined sexism concerning the concept of "regression in service of the ego". In terms of psychopathology, "regression in service of the ego" is actually healthy -- a break-down is preferable to permanent damage. Otherwise, "regression in service of the ego" is healthy, and praised, when it concerns a mother being able to "regress" to the psychological and emotional level of the child and "meet" the child there. But when a male artist (it being posited that the creative process entails "regression in service of the ego") does it, society gets all anxious and whiny, wrings its hands, and slaps a chainlink fence around the artist and urges him to "hurry up and return to normal/maturity!"
Storr presents a fascinating twist on the Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory (MMPI -- it's sorta about finding if one is "all there"): in essence, he points out that artists tend to be more open to their internal processes, so it's possible an artist only appears to be "more neurotic" than the norm because he's more honest about what's going on internally. (And, unlike the unreflective norm, tends to have more insight into himself.) Kubie posits that art is about resolving psychic conflicts, which are not exclusive to the artist, but that the effort ultimately fails because society gets uptight, so forces the artist to sugarcoat. Or turn that which is deadly serious into humor so it can be "safely" laughed off.
"I have had it on my TBR for years--just need to get it from the library and do it--but I wonder if that is related to JN's experience of "arrived ats." I find that I get these experiences more when I have 1) had lots of other intellectual and experiential stimulation and 2) been writing regularly anyway."
Yes. If I'm intensively involved in the writing process (effort to get there less necessary now, as I've been writing for decades, and have a "method" which immediately gets me to relative "depth" -- years ago I had to work through all the superficial crap in my head, "layer by layer," as part of the process of writing myself to my "center") those sorts of "arrived ats" occur more often. (I'm also able to generate generally superior writing in first draft -- that also a result of years and years of writing, and learning to leave out the extranea while going for the "meat".)
"I wonder how I will be able to maintain my writing when less of the world is new, although as far as I'm concerned the world is practically uncountable."
The world is always new. Or one's perception of it is. In the "noir" bit is a river, the water black -- it is night, after all :) -- and "undulating" so the flashes of light reflected by it are smooth -- and not "reappearing" but rather "redisappearing".
"Also, what do we do with these bits that don't fit, to reiterate JN's closing question? For me, they're bits of prose that for once aren't running around screaming, and phrases of juvenilia that still glow and dance through my mind though they are quite unpublishable."
I don't know that they're unpublishable. One might be able to rewrite such bits of "unpublishable" prose as a poem or three, which are expected to be weird anyway.
"People who know me are occasionally mildly interested, and understand these things better than more recent work, but how do we who write "honor the past/ but welcome the future" in a personal way?"
I don't know if the answer to that is or can be permanent.
"I also wonder if there are any other more experienced writers on here who would be willing to talk about their growth processes. I know that several of the more "talkative" individuals are quite young, and I am only 27 myself (so let's say I started writing when I was 13 and somewhat well when I was 20--that's not many years in all)."
I've done some of that. One of my first application of discipline was to eliminate all polysyllabics (Twain rule: "Never use a big word when a little one will do"), which resulted in a book-length manuscript, of which very little might be publishable. But it did accomplish that goal.
The other major goal from close to the beginning was to be able to get down on paper exactly that which was in my head, without it being distorted or mangled while passing from mind through arm and hand and pen. I began writing circa March, 1965; I only accomplished that goal in February, 1972. Then, within that and the next year I managed to "master" organizing in accordance with "beginning, middle, end". (Organizing consists mostly of rewriting to remove words that are there but shouldn't be, put in words that aren't there but should be -- and, perhaps most crucial, bringing like ideas together.)
During that next year -- 1973 -- I began at Boston U., and wrote an average of 16 hours per day, 7 days per week, and ate books by the truckload (one learns much about form from reading; and Turabian was manna from Heaven). I'd say it took about the first 4-6 weeks of the first semester to be able to sufficiently organize; and by the beginning of the next semester I'd reduced the work from 8 drafts per 5-page paper to 5 or 3 drafts, one or more of those done in my head. And in one instance the first draft was written in my head, and the second, on paper, was "finished" with that draft.
Writing all the time also makes enormous difference in the "meat" of one's production. At the beginning of the first semester I had a tad of anxiety about coming up with ideas as topics for papers. By the end of that semester I had more than I could use: it snowballs.
Here's the "method" I stumbled upon which works every time: focus on a feeling, and let it give you the words with which it wants to mean itself. With practice that becomes relatively easy, though the necessary focus for intensity is no less (and may be greater).
All of that comes out of years of reading psychology, and Zen-Buddhism, and actively writing -- the crucial point being able to put one's attention entirely "in the Now". (But one must be careful: there was a time some years ago when I was so enjoying the writing process itself that I'd forget to eat. Then I'd suddenly notice that I was hungry, look at the clock, and decide it was time to eat, but first, "Let me finish this sentence first" -- and the next time I'd look at the clock it would be hours later.)
8Redrobin
I often read poery that is differant from my "thinking style".(I think)I 'm interested in others veiwpoints, and styles. Thats why I read too much.And I'm surprised when others don't read as much as I do.(sad really)
9yareader2
I'll start at the end by letting you know that hours pass quickly when I write and I am always amazed.
Now, I'll jump up to the beginning of this thread to answer:
on one hand it demands that artists be "original" -- then when they are, society freaks out and calls them "weird".
isn't also odd that we watch characters in the movies that are way out there, for example Juno ( I could pick many others, nothing so special about this flick.) But if our children acted like her, OY VEY! We still want school to come first and for them to be scholars and good citizens and model young adults all rolled up into one.
I'll have to come back to answer the rest of this question, I need to wish a friend a Happy Birthday
.
Now, I'll jump up to the beginning of this thread to answer:
on one hand it demands that artists be "original" -- then when they are, society freaks out and calls them "weird".
isn't also odd that we watch characters in the movies that are way out there, for example Juno ( I could pick many others, nothing so special about this flick.) But if our children acted like her, OY VEY! We still want school to come first and for them to be scholars and good citizens and model young adults all rolled up into one.
I'll have to come back to answer the rest of this question, I need to wish a friend a Happy Birthday
.
10Sparrowing
I'm INTJ Myer-Briggs
I don't read enough poetry for my own good and I generally read haphazardly. I've found that while I really don't buy books I like to own poetry. I can't stand reading anthologies; I like to immerse myself in one author. I adore metaphor and symbolism, the more convoluted the better. I enjoy reading poetry in strict meter and when I've been reading in rhyme I begin to speak in rhyme. However, most of the poetry I write does not utilize any structure. I've never had any instruction or attempted to learn much about poetry. I need poetry, both reading and writing, as an emotional release. I fear losing some of that if I analyze too much.
I don't read enough poetry for my own good and I generally read haphazardly. I've found that while I really don't buy books I like to own poetry. I can't stand reading anthologies; I like to immerse myself in one author. I adore metaphor and symbolism, the more convoluted the better. I enjoy reading poetry in strict meter and when I've been reading in rhyme I begin to speak in rhyme. However, most of the poetry I write does not utilize any structure. I've never had any instruction or attempted to learn much about poetry. I need poetry, both reading and writing, as an emotional release. I fear losing some of that if I analyze too much.
11JNagarya
#10 --
After a childhood during which I was mostly silent, in my 20th Summer I was in a situation which allowed one to explore anything this side of violence. Which meant, for me, seeking answers to all those accumulated questions -- all those I was not allowed (as an attempted Catholic -- my mother attempted, but failed) to ask, and all those which "simply" accrue, accumulate, accrete to one's being like irritating barnacles, from years of silence and reading. I talked to anyone about anything of interest -- and of interet was everything. Which means I talked to countless people a countless number of hours, days, weeks . . .
Became a motormouthed chatterbox.
Somehow one result was a melliflousness -- a speech which "automagically" incorporates rhyming, internal and otherwise. Or: internal and accidental.
There are times (here comes one -- I noticed just before the writing of it) I can't avoid rhymes.
So I tend to speak in rhyme anyway. Haven't noticed if reading rhymed poetry has any effect.
In that process I overcame a great deal of convolution in thought, and therefore in speech. And yet toying with absurdity as a serious endeavor tends to lead one back into it . . .
As for "analyzing too much": for years I was confused and intimidated by accusations of, "You analyze too much!" Finally I came to realize it was a conversation derailer and disrupter; it meant, "You think too much!" Or it was: "You're so intense!" Whiuch I came to realize, again after years, simply meant, "You're focused, and I'm scatterbrained!"
The "trick" is to do no less analyzing, but to do it after the fact; at least when it comes to writing. Or follow the "read three times" rule (applies both to law and poetry): Read it once to get a general idea; a second time to focus more closely on the whole of it; a third to begin focusing on the specifics. With poetry, get to the point of reading one line at a time, at a pace balanced between yours, and the line's. After that one begins to ask questions of it, such as:
"Why that word instead of some other?"
"Why those words in that order?"
I tend to think that poems get angry, and a bit lonely, if sufficient demands aren't made on them. Conversely, they love the attention in being asked questions about themselves.
After a childhood during which I was mostly silent, in my 20th Summer I was in a situation which allowed one to explore anything this side of violence. Which meant, for me, seeking answers to all those accumulated questions -- all those I was not allowed (as an attempted Catholic -- my mother attempted, but failed) to ask, and all those which "simply" accrue, accumulate, accrete to one's being like irritating barnacles, from years of silence and reading. I talked to anyone about anything of interest -- and of interet was everything. Which means I talked to countless people a countless number of hours, days, weeks . . .
Became a motormouthed chatterbox.
Somehow one result was a melliflousness -- a speech which "automagically" incorporates rhyming, internal and otherwise. Or: internal and accidental.
There are times (here comes one -- I noticed just before the writing of it) I can't avoid rhymes.
So I tend to speak in rhyme anyway. Haven't noticed if reading rhymed poetry has any effect.
In that process I overcame a great deal of convolution in thought, and therefore in speech. And yet toying with absurdity as a serious endeavor tends to lead one back into it . . .
As for "analyzing too much": for years I was confused and intimidated by accusations of, "You analyze too much!" Finally I came to realize it was a conversation derailer and disrupter; it meant, "You think too much!" Or it was: "You're so intense!" Whiuch I came to realize, again after years, simply meant, "You're focused, and I'm scatterbrained!"
The "trick" is to do no less analyzing, but to do it after the fact; at least when it comes to writing. Or follow the "read three times" rule (applies both to law and poetry): Read it once to get a general idea; a second time to focus more closely on the whole of it; a third to begin focusing on the specifics. With poetry, get to the point of reading one line at a time, at a pace balanced between yours, and the line's. After that one begins to ask questions of it, such as:
"Why that word instead of some other?"
"Why those words in that order?"
I tend to think that poems get angry, and a bit lonely, if sufficient demands aren't made on them. Conversely, they love the attention in being asked questions about themselves.
13Jakeofalltrades
I get mood swings because of my medication, but this allows me to write down the different sides and voices of myself and see what's going on in my head.
Compare this part of a poem about my insomnia, "Typing Past Midnight":
"Lack of sleep a waking nightmare
Walking a tightrope of broken visions
My rest not easily found
I relieve myself with my keyboard"
To this poem also about my insomnia written in a better mood, called "I Fight The Darkness":
"maybe I should read a while
and music that is soothing
makes a lullaby of Metallica’s
Enter Sandman, but Sandman’s late"
As you can see, the second example reveals a more playful mood. This is because I was feeling happier than when I wrote the previous example the night before. Next time you're in a horrible mood, write a poem to express yourself, and see a part of yourself you didn't notice before.
But as for what poetry I read, Beowulf is my cornerstone of epic verse. If I'm writing a Fantasy genre poem set a thousand years in the past or something, or even when I'm writing a funny poem, like "Thane-Sorrow" which is a satire of how Emo angst is nothing compared to Beowulf's expressive anguish.
Blake and Ginsberg are two poets which are great for bedtime, and I look to them for inspiration as I read Songs of Innocence and Experience or Howl and Other Poems in order to get myself to sleep finally. Most Poets I love are ones I find and love for life, there isn't any poets I hate to read on my shelf. Chaucer nestles himself next to Coleridge in historical order, and Homer sits next to Stephen Fry. (what he's doing next to Homer since he's 20th Century I have no idea!) Speaking of which...
Stephen Fry's The Ode Less Traveled is a must for aspiring poetry lovers, to truly appreciate it, you must learn the techniques, and using techniques practically may be difficult, but it is the best way to learn. The exercises are fun and as you learn about new forms of poetry it inspires you to not only write it but read more of that form of poetry. And it teaches you how to do proper Haikus too. What more can you want from an English comedian who's very witty and clever to start with?
Compare this part of a poem about my insomnia, "Typing Past Midnight":
"Lack of sleep a waking nightmare
Walking a tightrope of broken visions
My rest not easily found
I relieve myself with my keyboard"
To this poem also about my insomnia written in a better mood, called "I Fight The Darkness":
"maybe I should read a while
and music that is soothing
makes a lullaby of Metallica’s
Enter Sandman, but Sandman’s late"
As you can see, the second example reveals a more playful mood. This is because I was feeling happier than when I wrote the previous example the night before. Next time you're in a horrible mood, write a poem to express yourself, and see a part of yourself you didn't notice before.
But as for what poetry I read, Beowulf is my cornerstone of epic verse. If I'm writing a Fantasy genre poem set a thousand years in the past or something, or even when I'm writing a funny poem, like "Thane-Sorrow" which is a satire of how Emo angst is nothing compared to Beowulf's expressive anguish.
Blake and Ginsberg are two poets which are great for bedtime, and I look to them for inspiration as I read Songs of Innocence and Experience or Howl and Other Poems in order to get myself to sleep finally. Most Poets I love are ones I find and love for life, there isn't any poets I hate to read on my shelf. Chaucer nestles himself next to Coleridge in historical order, and Homer sits next to Stephen Fry. (what he's doing next to Homer since he's 20th Century I have no idea!) Speaking of which...
Stephen Fry's The Ode Less Traveled is a must for aspiring poetry lovers, to truly appreciate it, you must learn the techniques, and using techniques practically may be difficult, but it is the best way to learn. The exercises are fun and as you learn about new forms of poetry it inspires you to not only write it but read more of that form of poetry. And it teaches you how to do proper Haikus too. What more can you want from an English comedian who's very witty and clever to start with?
14JNagarya
#13 --
". . . . And it teaches you how to do proper Haikus too. What more can you want from an English comedian who's very witty and clever to start with?"
I don't know that it still exists, but there was a Haiku-focused website that provided all the sets of rules governing the writing of Haikus in English. The sum result of which sets of rules is that "anything goes" -- which is certainly at very minimum questionable.
As for learning the techniques and forms being helpful: I don't think so. During the years of school in which we were required to diagram sentences it worked this way:
First term: reading assessment. The teacher would call on each pupil to stand and read a portion of a particular text. After doing that the teacher -- not only once, and not the same teacher -- told me I was among the top three readers in the class.
Second term: Sentence diagramming. When I asked each teacher why this was necessary, s/he said: "It will make you read better."
Huh?
My response: "Last term you said I'm among the top three readers in the class. Then why not help those who can't yet read the word 'I,' and leave me alone to read, okay?"
My grade for the first term, based in at least one instance upon a single reading -- no more than that being necessary -- was the equivalent of "A". And during the rest of that term, the teacher focused on those who couldn't read well, and wouldn't call on me when I raised my hand to read or answer a question concerning that.
My grade for the second term obviously suffered -- though my being among the top three, and my reading abilities, neither suffered nor deteriorated.
So whether one "must learn the techniques," etc., is arguable. Certainly in a self-flattering intellectual sense, it is useful to learn them so that one can praise oneself when recognizing them during the reading of poetry. But again: despite the ass-backwardness of the impression given by the means of teaching it, grammar was not invented, and only thereafter language invented so grammar would have a purpose. Grammar is simply a method for explaining what language is already doing -- and would be doing even if grammar didn't exist.
"Proper" writing has it's logic, and that is correct so long as one correctly deals with denotation and tenses. Current usage is also a factor, and that is out in front of, and at times even at variance with, "correct" grammar. "Hopefully" is a grammatically-incorrect form -- at present. But it will sooner than later become accepted as a proper form through sheer repetition and "preference".
Knowing the technicalities of grammar can be useful; but as poetry is not prose, and is an effort to express the non-rational, the "logic" is different than the grammatically-correct, or even necessarily non-existent. This is a brief article that speaks to me, and to those points:
http://writing.colostate.edu/gallery/parataxis/emerick.htm
In particular, but not only:
"What (William Carlos) Williams most admired in Moore’s poetry is best exemplified in his 1932 essay titled 'Marianne Moore.' Among these qualities are the breaking through of 'all preconceptions of poetic form and mood and pace,' as well as 'an escape from the conditions of ritual' that Williams believed characterized conventional poetry . . . . Finally, Williams noted that Moore recognized an object for what it is --'To Miss Moore an apple remains an apple whether it be in Eden or the fruit bowl where it curls' . . . ."
Which doesn't mean I haven't at times (particularly in work during the 1970s, but also -- abundantly -- in a fairly long poem from circa 1996) used symbols, "abstracts" -- the apple (connotes to "Eve"), as example, being, like the rose (connotes to female genitalia), a traditional, and rather standard, symbol for sex.
As the female breast can be a symbol for "nurturance" ("nutriment," perhaps especially including the sensuous, and or emotional), or "fertility," "fecundity," or "abundance" (not in terms of size but in terms of "generosity freely given," as to an infant).
However, as I intend to communicate, and most readers don't know symbols/symbolism from Adam (which connotes to "rib" -- and perhaps in Australia to "barbie" :) -- or "snake" -- which latter connotes, rather negatively, as a symbol for both "male member" and Satan), I only use symbols when I don't apprehend them being (potentially) such -- using them consciously from the outset is a bit of a fraud, in my view -- until after the fact of their appearance. In other words, at times when critically evaluating a draft I'll recognize that a specific word is also a traditional or "standard" symbol, though not in the instance intended as such.
At the same time, of course, words themselves are symbols: "tree" is not actually that thing that grows up out of the ground, real tall, with leaves in Spring and Summer (you know the characteristics of such) -- though Ciardi defines a symbol as a thing which "participates in the reality" of that to which it refers, distinguishing that from a "sign," a thing which represents something else.
Symbols = a complicated area.
". . . . And it teaches you how to do proper Haikus too. What more can you want from an English comedian who's very witty and clever to start with?"
I don't know that it still exists, but there was a Haiku-focused website that provided all the sets of rules governing the writing of Haikus in English. The sum result of which sets of rules is that "anything goes" -- which is certainly at very minimum questionable.
As for learning the techniques and forms being helpful: I don't think so. During the years of school in which we were required to diagram sentences it worked this way:
First term: reading assessment. The teacher would call on each pupil to stand and read a portion of a particular text. After doing that the teacher -- not only once, and not the same teacher -- told me I was among the top three readers in the class.
Second term: Sentence diagramming. When I asked each teacher why this was necessary, s/he said: "It will make you read better."
Huh?
My response: "Last term you said I'm among the top three readers in the class. Then why not help those who can't yet read the word 'I,' and leave me alone to read, okay?"
My grade for the first term, based in at least one instance upon a single reading -- no more than that being necessary -- was the equivalent of "A". And during the rest of that term, the teacher focused on those who couldn't read well, and wouldn't call on me when I raised my hand to read or answer a question concerning that.
My grade for the second term obviously suffered -- though my being among the top three, and my reading abilities, neither suffered nor deteriorated.
So whether one "must learn the techniques," etc., is arguable. Certainly in a self-flattering intellectual sense, it is useful to learn them so that one can praise oneself when recognizing them during the reading of poetry. But again: despite the ass-backwardness of the impression given by the means of teaching it, grammar was not invented, and only thereafter language invented so grammar would have a purpose. Grammar is simply a method for explaining what language is already doing -- and would be doing even if grammar didn't exist.
"Proper" writing has it's logic, and that is correct so long as one correctly deals with denotation and tenses. Current usage is also a factor, and that is out in front of, and at times even at variance with, "correct" grammar. "Hopefully" is a grammatically-incorrect form -- at present. But it will sooner than later become accepted as a proper form through sheer repetition and "preference".
Knowing the technicalities of grammar can be useful; but as poetry is not prose, and is an effort to express the non-rational, the "logic" is different than the grammatically-correct, or even necessarily non-existent. This is a brief article that speaks to me, and to those points:
http://writing.colostate.edu/gallery/parataxis/emerick.htm
In particular, but not only:
"What (William Carlos) Williams most admired in Moore’s poetry is best exemplified in his 1932 essay titled 'Marianne Moore.' Among these qualities are the breaking through of 'all preconceptions of poetic form and mood and pace,' as well as 'an escape from the conditions of ritual' that Williams believed characterized conventional poetry . . . . Finally, Williams noted that Moore recognized an object for what it is --'To Miss Moore an apple remains an apple whether it be in Eden or the fruit bowl where it curls' . . . ."
Which doesn't mean I haven't at times (particularly in work during the 1970s, but also -- abundantly -- in a fairly long poem from circa 1996) used symbols, "abstracts" -- the apple (connotes to "Eve"), as example, being, like the rose (connotes to female genitalia), a traditional, and rather standard, symbol for sex.
As the female breast can be a symbol for "nurturance" ("nutriment," perhaps especially including the sensuous, and or emotional), or "fertility," "fecundity," or "abundance" (not in terms of size but in terms of "generosity freely given," as to an infant).
However, as I intend to communicate, and most readers don't know symbols/symbolism from Adam (which connotes to "rib" -- and perhaps in Australia to "barbie" :) -- or "snake" -- which latter connotes, rather negatively, as a symbol for both "male member" and Satan), I only use symbols when I don't apprehend them being (potentially) such -- using them consciously from the outset is a bit of a fraud, in my view -- until after the fact of their appearance. In other words, at times when critically evaluating a draft I'll recognize that a specific word is also a traditional or "standard" symbol, though not in the instance intended as such.
At the same time, of course, words themselves are symbols: "tree" is not actually that thing that grows up out of the ground, real tall, with leaves in Spring and Summer (you know the characteristics of such) -- though Ciardi defines a symbol as a thing which "participates in the reality" of that to which it refers, distinguishing that from a "sign," a thing which represents something else.
Symbols = a complicated area.
15zentimental
#14 "Symbols = a complicated area."
Egyptian hieroglyphs, the alphabet, how each individual will use them in different order and combination, seems to render more originality of expression, regardless of intention.
I became interested in these, but, mostly, because I kept thinking of incorporating messages in painting.
There are 'groups' or pen-pals who do this as a hobby. I have no time for the luxury, but cannot help feeling (in my gut) of how enriching this practice must be, and how it would, likely, extend to every area of a person's life.
Lately, I am not only writing directly from images in my mind, but, once these images are written, I stop and think, for instance, of what resembles a stiff hand, somehow, 'pushing' yet another image to the surface, so that I may use the second image as metaphor. I just started doing this, and I am finding it a rewarding process.
P.S.
The more creative the person, the more distinct the personality, it seems, therefore, the voice, the brushstroke, the way of combining the expression. I doubt anyone who is markedly 'different' would be able to sustain a costume for long. It would become evident who the person behind it is. Why, then, would it take an effort to be original, instead of just writing as one is? I can see working to get better at anything one does, of pushing oneself to explore new ground, but, wouldn't the artist's signature be identifiable, regardless of whether tumbling or evolving into new turf? The perspective may be stretched, but the personality would come through, no? The preoccupation with quality seems obvious, but the preoccupation I see from gallery owners to get an artist to produce a group of 'like' pieces, seems to me, not so much so as to prove themselves in that they are able to render similar pieces, but more a commercial benefit to the gallery, for, there may be one painting that is more desirable to collectors than others, thus, the next one in line that has similar colors and strokes, and whatever, will likely be sold as second choice. This confuses me.
Then, there is the matter of a sequel, like Harry Potter, for instance, where success of one book triggers the author to a second. The consumer or reader, or collector does not really care what the motivation is for the sequel; all that matters is whether they are getting what they want, what they expect. The writer may find it a challenge to write a second book and live up to the first one, maybe even surpass it, and enjoy it. However, I keep hearing about 'falsehood' and about not thinking of how to please the reader, but about being oneself, being true to self.
I conjecture being true to self is something that can be incorporated, if it is not there to begin with. In other words, a good actor will become the role he is playing, and that makes him be true to himself?
Egyptian hieroglyphs, the alphabet, how each individual will use them in different order and combination, seems to render more originality of expression, regardless of intention.
I became interested in these, but, mostly, because I kept thinking of incorporating messages in painting.
There are 'groups' or pen-pals who do this as a hobby. I have no time for the luxury, but cannot help feeling (in my gut) of how enriching this practice must be, and how it would, likely, extend to every area of a person's life.
Lately, I am not only writing directly from images in my mind, but, once these images are written, I stop and think, for instance, of what resembles a stiff hand, somehow, 'pushing' yet another image to the surface, so that I may use the second image as metaphor. I just started doing this, and I am finding it a rewarding process.
P.S.
The more creative the person, the more distinct the personality, it seems, therefore, the voice, the brushstroke, the way of combining the expression. I doubt anyone who is markedly 'different' would be able to sustain a costume for long. It would become evident who the person behind it is. Why, then, would it take an effort to be original, instead of just writing as one is? I can see working to get better at anything one does, of pushing oneself to explore new ground, but, wouldn't the artist's signature be identifiable, regardless of whether tumbling or evolving into new turf? The perspective may be stretched, but the personality would come through, no? The preoccupation with quality seems obvious, but the preoccupation I see from gallery owners to get an artist to produce a group of 'like' pieces, seems to me, not so much so as to prove themselves in that they are able to render similar pieces, but more a commercial benefit to the gallery, for, there may be one painting that is more desirable to collectors than others, thus, the next one in line that has similar colors and strokes, and whatever, will likely be sold as second choice. This confuses me.
Then, there is the matter of a sequel, like Harry Potter, for instance, where success of one book triggers the author to a second. The consumer or reader, or collector does not really care what the motivation is for the sequel; all that matters is whether they are getting what they want, what they expect. The writer may find it a challenge to write a second book and live up to the first one, maybe even surpass it, and enjoy it. However, I keep hearing about 'falsehood' and about not thinking of how to please the reader, but about being oneself, being true to self.
I conjecture being true to self is something that can be incorporated, if it is not there to begin with. In other words, a good actor will become the role he is playing, and that makes him be true to himself?
16JNagarya
#14 --
"Egyptian hieroglyphs, the alphabet, how each individual will use them in different order and combination, seems to render more originality of expression, regardless of intention.
"I became interested in these, but, mostly, because I kept thinking of incorporating messages in painting."
Have you seen Kenneth Patchen? He was poet and writer/poet, and made what were called "picture poems". A painting with words in them.
"There are 'groups' or pen-pals who do this as a hobby. I have no time for the luxury, but cannot help feeling (in my gut) of how enriching this practice must be, and how it would, likely, extend to every area of a person's life."
Fairly early on I did a few combinings of drawing and words -- ballpoint pen on paper; first-draft stuff. They were transitional, though thereafter (and before, as in high school) I did posters.
"Lately, I am not only writing directly from images in my mind, but, once these images are written, I stop and think, for instance, of what resembles a stiff hand, somehow, 'pushing' yet another image to the surface, so that I may use the second image as metaphor. I just started doing this, and I am finding it a rewarding process."
Seems similar to my "focus on a a feeling . . . ."
"The more creative the person, the more distinct the personality, it seems, therefore, the voice, the brushstroke, the way of combining the expression. I doubt anyone who is markedly 'different' would be able to sustain a costume for long. It would become evident who the person behind it is. Why, then, would it take an effort to be original, instead of just writing as one is?"
In earlier years, whenever I was away for awhile from the writing I wanted to do, I had then, when I returned to it, to write out whatever was in my head, the superficial stuff, until I got to "center". "Enculturations" in the way of conscious awareness of oneself behind the accumulated/unprocessed junk.
"I can see working to get better at anything one does, of pushing oneself to explore new ground, but, wouldn't the artist's signature be identifiable, regardless of whether tumbling or evolving into new turf? The perspective may be stretched, but the personality would come through, no?"
I don't know. I've always been rather shy; and putting myself out on paper caused anxiety. So I've always had to contend with a "shell". Now, though, I've pretty much learned how to get out of my way and let out whatever comes. Heck, no one's gonna see it unless I show it to them.
"The preoccupation with quality seems obvious, but the preoccupation I see from gallery owners to get an artist to produce a group of 'like' pieces, seems to me, not so much so as to prove themselves in that they are able to render similar pieces, but more a commercial benefit to the gallery, for, there may be one painting that is more desirable to collectors than others, thus, the next one in line that has similar colors and strokes, and whatever, will likely be sold as second choice. This confuses me."
Sounds like the profit game. I have never been a part of the "arts world," and whenever I've made effort to find my way into it I've in short order abandoned the effort, for having met those who talk a good game but don't do anything, and the poseurs -- there's invariably a willowy, thin young woman with a first name but no surname. (Actually the surname is "Poseur".) One has to press them to find out what sort of "art" they do, to which they make no response, and begin to avoid one. I've concluded after several such encounters that their "art" is being a poseur with no surname. Being "mystery". Being, in reality, head-gaming bullshitters.
All in all, I can't deal with and have no use for the politics of the "arts world". I don't know about where you are, but where I am it is dominated and controlled by wealthy "patrons" and "arts administrators," which latter tend to get six-figure incomes, while those they "serve" -- the artists, the producers -- get food stamps. The "arts world," as I see it, is controlled by non-artists who also control which artists (if any) get the grants. And I've seen money designated for "special arts" -- the retarded -- go instead to non-artist friends of the "arts administrators" and wealthy patrons.
They probably have less time for me than I have for them. And I have zero time for them.
"Then, there is the matter of a sequel, like Harry Potter, for instance, where success of one book triggers the author to a second. The consumer or reader, or collector does not really care what the motivation is for the sequel; all that matters is whether they are getting what they want, what they expect. The writer may find it a challenge to write a second book and live up to the first one, maybe even surpass it, and enjoy it. However, I keep hearing about 'falsehood' and about not thinking of how to please the reader, but about being oneself, being true to self."
There's lots of advice about how writers should have in mind an "audience" for whom they are writing -- to whom targeting their work. Poetess Denise Levertov was asked in an interview about her "audience" -- what she sees as her "audience". She said she doesn't think about audience, as she viewed writing poetry as sort of one part of herself talking to another part of herself. I don't think the purely creative who put quality art before commercial profit can afford the risk the straightjacketing of limiting himself to a particular audience -- the audience only being imaginary to begin with.
There are those, of course, who can only manage that.
"I conjecture being true to self is something that can be incorporated, if it is not there to begin with. In other words, a good actor will become the role he is playing, and that makes him be true to himself?"
Interesting notion. May make a paradox if combined with your notion that a true individual wouldn't be able to wear a costume for long. A random quote from Poet Karl Shapiro:
"The question of the low taste of the audience is always the chief argument for criticism. Actually there is no way to determine the taste of audiences except on the spot. What we know of "taste" is always interpreted by critics and is thus merely a written record of learned opinion. The famous gaffes in literary taste are made by critics, not by audiences."
"Egyptian hieroglyphs, the alphabet, how each individual will use them in different order and combination, seems to render more originality of expression, regardless of intention.
"I became interested in these, but, mostly, because I kept thinking of incorporating messages in painting."
Have you seen Kenneth Patchen? He was poet and writer/poet, and made what were called "picture poems". A painting with words in them.
"There are 'groups' or pen-pals who do this as a hobby. I have no time for the luxury, but cannot help feeling (in my gut) of how enriching this practice must be, and how it would, likely, extend to every area of a person's life."
Fairly early on I did a few combinings of drawing and words -- ballpoint pen on paper; first-draft stuff. They were transitional, though thereafter (and before, as in high school) I did posters.
"Lately, I am not only writing directly from images in my mind, but, once these images are written, I stop and think, for instance, of what resembles a stiff hand, somehow, 'pushing' yet another image to the surface, so that I may use the second image as metaphor. I just started doing this, and I am finding it a rewarding process."
Seems similar to my "focus on a a feeling . . . ."
"The more creative the person, the more distinct the personality, it seems, therefore, the voice, the brushstroke, the way of combining the expression. I doubt anyone who is markedly 'different' would be able to sustain a costume for long. It would become evident who the person behind it is. Why, then, would it take an effort to be original, instead of just writing as one is?"
In earlier years, whenever I was away for awhile from the writing I wanted to do, I had then, when I returned to it, to write out whatever was in my head, the superficial stuff, until I got to "center". "Enculturations" in the way of conscious awareness of oneself behind the accumulated/unprocessed junk.
"I can see working to get better at anything one does, of pushing oneself to explore new ground, but, wouldn't the artist's signature be identifiable, regardless of whether tumbling or evolving into new turf? The perspective may be stretched, but the personality would come through, no?"
I don't know. I've always been rather shy; and putting myself out on paper caused anxiety. So I've always had to contend with a "shell". Now, though, I've pretty much learned how to get out of my way and let out whatever comes. Heck, no one's gonna see it unless I show it to them.
"The preoccupation with quality seems obvious, but the preoccupation I see from gallery owners to get an artist to produce a group of 'like' pieces, seems to me, not so much so as to prove themselves in that they are able to render similar pieces, but more a commercial benefit to the gallery, for, there may be one painting that is more desirable to collectors than others, thus, the next one in line that has similar colors and strokes, and whatever, will likely be sold as second choice. This confuses me."
Sounds like the profit game. I have never been a part of the "arts world," and whenever I've made effort to find my way into it I've in short order abandoned the effort, for having met those who talk a good game but don't do anything, and the poseurs -- there's invariably a willowy, thin young woman with a first name but no surname. (Actually the surname is "Poseur".) One has to press them to find out what sort of "art" they do, to which they make no response, and begin to avoid one. I've concluded after several such encounters that their "art" is being a poseur with no surname. Being "mystery". Being, in reality, head-gaming bullshitters.
All in all, I can't deal with and have no use for the politics of the "arts world". I don't know about where you are, but where I am it is dominated and controlled by wealthy "patrons" and "arts administrators," which latter tend to get six-figure incomes, while those they "serve" -- the artists, the producers -- get food stamps. The "arts world," as I see it, is controlled by non-artists who also control which artists (if any) get the grants. And I've seen money designated for "special arts" -- the retarded -- go instead to non-artist friends of the "arts administrators" and wealthy patrons.
They probably have less time for me than I have for them. And I have zero time for them.
"Then, there is the matter of a sequel, like Harry Potter, for instance, where success of one book triggers the author to a second. The consumer or reader, or collector does not really care what the motivation is for the sequel; all that matters is whether they are getting what they want, what they expect. The writer may find it a challenge to write a second book and live up to the first one, maybe even surpass it, and enjoy it. However, I keep hearing about 'falsehood' and about not thinking of how to please the reader, but about being oneself, being true to self."
There's lots of advice about how writers should have in mind an "audience" for whom they are writing -- to whom targeting their work. Poetess Denise Levertov was asked in an interview about her "audience" -- what she sees as her "audience". She said she doesn't think about audience, as she viewed writing poetry as sort of one part of herself talking to another part of herself. I don't think the purely creative who put quality art before commercial profit can afford the risk the straightjacketing of limiting himself to a particular audience -- the audience only being imaginary to begin with.
There are those, of course, who can only manage that.
"I conjecture being true to self is something that can be incorporated, if it is not there to begin with. In other words, a good actor will become the role he is playing, and that makes him be true to himself?"
Interesting notion. May make a paradox if combined with your notion that a true individual wouldn't be able to wear a costume for long. A random quote from Poet Karl Shapiro:
"The question of the low taste of the audience is always the chief argument for criticism. Actually there is no way to determine the taste of audiences except on the spot. What we know of "taste" is always interpreted by critics and is thus merely a written record of learned opinion. The famous gaffes in literary taste are made by critics, not by audiences."
17zentimental
Yes, paradoxical, but, do we not change our hat to edit? Even as Krishamurti says "there is no division between the observer and the observed," I think there is a marked difference in a poem that is chopped in half, or had had the order of its stanzas rearranged. In some cases, even the meaning could change. Is this character suicide? And if the end result is superior, does anything else really matter? True to self is not necessarily 'true.' There is a fine and I would even say imaginary divisory line where ethics walks as if an acrobat on a thin rope.
18juv3nal
"Why, then, would it take an effort to be original, instead of just writing as one is?"
Because part of finding out how "one is" involves pushing yourself out of comfortable, familiar, habitual patterns; originality not in relation to the work of others, but in relation to your own past work.
Because part of finding out how "one is" involves pushing yourself out of comfortable, familiar, habitual patterns; originality not in relation to the work of others, but in relation to your own past work.
19zentimental
Absolutely! Always pushing oneself out of one comfort's zone, not only to write, but to experience living, versus merely surviving.
20JNagarya
#17: zentimental --
"Yes, paradoxical, but, do we not change our hat to edit?"
Certainly. But if done too soon, one has writer's block. :)
"Even as Krishamurti says "there is no division between the observer and the observed," I think there is a marked difference in a poem that is chopped in half, or had had the order of its stanzas rearranged. In some cases, even the meaning could change. Is this character suicide? And if the end result is superior, does anything else really matter? True to self is not necessarily 'true.'"
Agreed. As non-"Beat" (though the pro-"Beat" cult ignores his repeated statement of that fact) Ferlinghetti says of the "Beat" "aesthetic": "First thought -- worst thought."
"There is a fine and I would even say imaginary divisory line where ethics walks as if an acrobat on a thin rope."
Ah, ethics (of which Levertov speaks fairly often). Interesting part of the hierarchy of knowledge:
Philosophy,
subordinate to which is,
Ethics,
subordinate to which is,
Aesthetics,
subordinate to which is,
Etiquette.
"Yes, paradoxical, but, do we not change our hat to edit?"
Certainly. But if done too soon, one has writer's block. :)
"Even as Krishamurti says "there is no division between the observer and the observed," I think there is a marked difference in a poem that is chopped in half, or had had the order of its stanzas rearranged. In some cases, even the meaning could change. Is this character suicide? And if the end result is superior, does anything else really matter? True to self is not necessarily 'true.'"
Agreed. As non-"Beat" (though the pro-"Beat" cult ignores his repeated statement of that fact) Ferlinghetti says of the "Beat" "aesthetic": "First thought -- worst thought."
"There is a fine and I would even say imaginary divisory line where ethics walks as if an acrobat on a thin rope."
Ah, ethics (of which Levertov speaks fairly often). Interesting part of the hierarchy of knowledge:
Philosophy,
subordinate to which is,
Ethics,
subordinate to which is,
Aesthetics,
subordinate to which is,
Etiquette.
21bookstopshere
I like folks that still remember "blocking" hats - but is etiquette really subordinate to aesthetics? and if so, some relationship between aesthetic distance and personal space?
22zentimental
Questo messaggio è stato cancellato dall'autore.
23DromJohn
I'm eclectic.
In the words of J. V. Cunningham,
"Here {reads} generalist,
who {is} so broad-minded he {is} scatterbrained."
I read and like all styles, if either well-crafted or with a purpose that allows more leeway. Whiny poems are out of my comfort zone.
I tend to read aloud, or at least mouth most poetry.
When I wrote, I tried to imitate a style that fit my purpose or mood.
My writing was eclectic if rarely well-crafted.
In the words of J. V. Cunningham,
"Here {reads} generalist,
who {is} so broad-minded he {is} scatterbrained."
I read and like all styles, if either well-crafted or with a purpose that allows more leeway. Whiny poems are out of my comfort zone.
I tend to read aloud, or at least mouth most poetry.
When I wrote, I tried to imitate a style that fit my purpose or mood.
My writing was eclectic if rarely well-crafted.
25zentimental
Sorry about this deletion. I was trying to edit, but it would only open a new window. Reactive as I am, I answered from impulse, and I felt I wanted to expand. I am too tired now. Maybe tomorrow. More thoughtfully.
26JNagarya
"Message 21: bookstopshere
"I like folks that still remember "blocking" hats . . . ."
Gad, I do. But I didn't catch that.
" - but is etiquette really subordinate to aesthetics? . . . ."
Apparently so, according to Dewey. I suspect it has some relation to "decorum," or "when in Rome pretend to be Italian, or at least Roman."
". . . . and if so, some relationship between aesthetic distance and personal space?"
Dunno; though it's possible I might were I not too polite to ask? :)
I assume ethics as a set of rules -- good, truth, beauty, etc. -- informs aesthetics; and that ethics, through aesthetics, demands "aesthetically pleasing" conduct.
And clothing appropriate (I hate that word) to the occasion; wear at least a tie if you're writing something formal, like a letter to the president.
So, ya gotta know which sideuh duh plate the this fork goes, and which side the that fork goes, or yoo'll look unkulturated and upset the host or hostess, whichever is throwin' the shindig, as duh case could be, as they sez.
So if ya don' wanna get tossed outta duh party, don't swear or nuthin'. Chew wid yer mout' closed, an' don' pull on duh draperies.
Keep yer elbows off duh table.
An' speak good English so ya don' look stupid.
"I like folks that still remember "blocking" hats . . . ."
Gad, I do. But I didn't catch that.
" - but is etiquette really subordinate to aesthetics? . . . ."
Apparently so, according to Dewey. I suspect it has some relation to "decorum," or "when in Rome pretend to be Italian, or at least Roman."
". . . . and if so, some relationship between aesthetic distance and personal space?"
Dunno; though it's possible I might were I not too polite to ask? :)
I assume ethics as a set of rules -- good, truth, beauty, etc. -- informs aesthetics; and that ethics, through aesthetics, demands "aesthetically pleasing" conduct.
And clothing appropriate (I hate that word) to the occasion; wear at least a tie if you're writing something formal, like a letter to the president.
So, ya gotta know which sideuh duh plate the this fork goes, and which side the that fork goes, or yoo'll look unkulturated and upset the host or hostess, whichever is throwin' the shindig, as duh case could be, as they sez.
So if ya don' wanna get tossed outta duh party, don't swear or nuthin'. Chew wid yer mout' closed, an' don' pull on duh draperies.
Keep yer elbows off duh table.
An' speak good English so ya don' look stupid.
27zentimental
Messages 20, 21, 23.. I would stress ethics, but realize aesthetics is what drives me to 'polish' or edit, to reach a level of comfort in the final form of either a painting or a poem, though, as you have mentioned before, the point to stop is hardly ever true to self, since it could always be better. In fact, we could keep pruning until we are left with a bare twig, and strip a piece from aesthetics in the process. One always walks a fine line with such abstract concepts. Under which word would we put ourselves as our own critics and against what do we measure the steps we take? It seems to me that, each writer or artist will continue to absorb from those personally admired, and, at some point, develop a keener recognition of what he, himself, from once external, now intrinsic knowleged or instinct to base decisions without the aid of others. I doubt myself horribly in this area. Odd, because I know, too well, when I see or read someone else's work, whether it pleases me or not, whether I think it is okay, good, or grand, but I fail with my own. Some say it does not matter, but it does matter, and my school motto taught me, "Good, better, best, 'til your good is better and your better best." I believe this, even as I realize that what may be best for me may be trash to others.
So, then comes the question of etiquette, and it seems rather superficial in comparison, yet, the first impression is superficial, and it sets the mood or mind into 'anticipation' or 'expectation' mode. But whose etiquette? We look around the society in which we live and act ourselves accordingly? Is skipping opening night lack of etiquette? I think I will remain behind the curtain, so that aspect of the delivery will matter little. At the point an artist reaches fame, he can be grubby and wear a Hawaiian shirt where everyone else is in a tuxedo. The question of etiquette confuses me in this context, so it must be time to read more in this regard? Bah!
So, then comes the question of etiquette, and it seems rather superficial in comparison, yet, the first impression is superficial, and it sets the mood or mind into 'anticipation' or 'expectation' mode. But whose etiquette? We look around the society in which we live and act ourselves accordingly? Is skipping opening night lack of etiquette? I think I will remain behind the curtain, so that aspect of the delivery will matter little. At the point an artist reaches fame, he can be grubby and wear a Hawaiian shirt where everyone else is in a tuxedo. The question of etiquette confuses me in this context, so it must be time to read more in this regard? Bah!
28JNagarya
#27 --
"So, then comes the question of etiquette, and it seems rather superficial in comparison, yet, the first impression is superficial, and it sets the mood or mind into 'anticipation' or 'expectation' mode. But whose etiquette? We look around the society in which we live and act ourselves accordingly? Is skipping opening night lack of etiquette? I think I will remain behind the curtain, so that aspect of the delivery will matter little. At the point an artist reaches fame, he can be grubby and wear a Hawaiian shirt where everyone else is in a tuxedo. The question of etiquette confuses me in this context, so it must be time to read more in this regard? Bah!"
I wouldn't worry all that much about etiquette; it is, after all, at the bottom of the totem pole. And there's a risk that obeying the rules will iron out all the individual wrinkles and make the grubby Hawaiian shirt into an appropriate tuxedo.
"So, then comes the question of etiquette, and it seems rather superficial in comparison, yet, the first impression is superficial, and it sets the mood or mind into 'anticipation' or 'expectation' mode. But whose etiquette? We look around the society in which we live and act ourselves accordingly? Is skipping opening night lack of etiquette? I think I will remain behind the curtain, so that aspect of the delivery will matter little. At the point an artist reaches fame, he can be grubby and wear a Hawaiian shirt where everyone else is in a tuxedo. The question of etiquette confuses me in this context, so it must be time to read more in this regard? Bah!"
I wouldn't worry all that much about etiquette; it is, after all, at the bottom of the totem pole. And there's a risk that obeying the rules will iron out all the individual wrinkles and make the grubby Hawaiian shirt into an appropriate tuxedo.
