
I’m now about three-quarters of the way through the first draft of a new poetry project (I’ve shared snippets here before: there are two readings from mid-May). Occasionally I come across lines I’ve written that I simply like, which feel as if they’re almost fully-formed and won’t need too much work.
But then I suspect we all do that from time-to-time, take the risk of being bold enough to ‘like’ our own work.
Yet such a feeling worries me given my default position is that every line will need work, that a first draft is no more than laying down a marker for what will follow. Scaffolding.
A passionate believer in editing, I am inherently sceptical of poets who never edit: “It just came to me” is often proudly uttered as the introduction to a sub-standard piece of poetry…
I include below two tiny extracts from the latest piece on which I’ve been working — and which, I confess, have already been ‘tweaked’ slightly. Think of my sharing as ‘kicking the tyres’…
We measure our horizons in language, our heads sand-stuck; our cries, muffled by the earth, are serenades to waiting worms. ~ Sitting on our own sidelines we watch others as they pirouette through life
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As a big believer in editing (it's what I do for a living, after all), I heartily applaud giving yourself the freedom to like or even love a line. In my last Substack post (https://the17pointscale.substack.com/p/collecting-pictures-from-a-flood?r=195lr), I even made myself cry. That felt weird to acknowledge, but I think it's also OK.
Anyway, I really like the first line that you shared and your sand-stuck neologism and the way I feel like you're moving, unexpectedly, from looking up to down at/into the earth, and the word pirouette is always fun.
Love it! The imagery is tangible, word choice spot on.
Makes me remember Emerson’s ‘Hamatreya’.