While Standing on One Leg
There is a famous Talmudic story of a man who came successively to the leaders of the two houses of interpretation of the Torah with the following request: “Please teach me the essence of the Torah while I can stand on one leg.” Rabbi Shammai, known for the authoritative justice of his interpretations, took up a stick and beat the man out of the house for impertinence. Hearing the same request, Rabbi Hillel, known for his leaning toward the merciful in his interpretations, said, “What is hateful to you, do not do to others. The rest is commentary. Go learn.”
Mutatis mutandis, I thought of them one evening when a former student called as I was about to rush out the door to a social function. He suggested that we talk the next day but asked if he could pose a quick question before I hung up. “Of course,” I said, and he said, “How does one write a good poem?” “Ha!” was my reply. “You call that a quick question? I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
Later that night when I couldn’t sleep, I composed the following poem to serve for reply. I hope it leans toward Hillel.
There once was a poet named Speed,
Who suddenly felt a great need
For help from the muse
When words that he’d choose
(But seeming to bloom) went to seed.
A year and a day did he plead
And swear he would follow her lead
Till she sent a hint:
“Work on without stint;
My visits are not guaranteed.”
Thus humbled, the poet named Speed
Returned to his writing desk, freed
Of childish notions
That shortcuts through oceans
Of ink could help him to succeed.
Now, chastened but hopeful, when Speed
Sits down his word gardens to weed,
He knows anytime,
Muse willing, his rhyme
Could blossom as flower from seed.
Robert Lax said to Thomas Merton, “All that is necessary to be a saint is to want to be one.” Writing a good poem is a bit different: It takes two, the poet and his muse. But the muse cannot be compelled. She may be invoked or appear uninvited, but she can dwell only where a place is prepared for her.
Mutatis mutandis, I thought of them one evening when a former student called as I was about to rush out the door to a social function. He suggested that we talk the next day but asked if he could pose a quick question before I hung up. “Of course,” I said, and he said, “How does one write a good poem?” “Ha!” was my reply. “You call that a quick question? I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
Later that night when I couldn’t sleep, I composed the following poem to serve for reply. I hope it leans toward Hillel.
There once was a poet named Speed,
Who suddenly felt a great need
For help from the muse
When words that he’d choose
(But seeming to bloom) went to seed.
A year and a day did he plead
And swear he would follow her lead
Till she sent a hint:
“Work on without stint;
My visits are not guaranteed.”
Thus humbled, the poet named Speed
Returned to his writing desk, freed
Of childish notions
That shortcuts through oceans
Of ink could help him to succeed.
Now, chastened but hopeful, when Speed
Sits down his word gardens to weed,
He knows anytime,
Muse willing, his rhyme
Could blossom as flower from seed.
Robert Lax said to Thomas Merton, “All that is necessary to be a saint is to want to be one.” Writing a good poem is a bit different: It takes two, the poet and his muse. But the muse cannot be compelled. She may be invoked or appear uninvited, but she can dwell only where a place is prepared for her.
posted by G.Rap | 4:55 PM
6 Comments:
You mean I can't just hire someone to write a poem for me? Maybe like a poem-tutor?
You once told me a wonderful allegory about the painter who, asked to paint a patron's portrait, filled his closet with drafts before he could finally produce the good portrait. Perhaps you'd like to retell that. I've want to be a writer since I met you some thirty five (yikes!) years ago. Another thirty five years, and I might be halfway there. Whether I'm good at it, I don't know - I get some lucky breaks - but I so enjoy just doing it, and when the muse strikes, it's just wonderful, and the whole world suddenly becomes so richer and deeper... There's a wonderful poem Ox-Cart Man by the New Hampshire poet Donald Hall. If you google 'donald hall ox cart man unh' you'll find a link to the UNH Milne Library where you can view the 1 vision and 20 odd revisions the poem required... To the aspiring poet, my advise is to be a poet, and what poets are are people who write poetry; the rest, depending on the poet you admire, is tweed, pipe smoke, applause, shitty royalties, drink, respect in old age.
The story is of a renown and expensive artist asked by a patron to do his portrait. The patron came to the artist’s studio and sat for several hours, then left. After months he inquired when the portrait would be ready, but the artist said "not yet." Inquiry after inquiry was met with deferment and delay. Finally the artist said that the painting was almost ready but that the patron had to sit for him one more time. When the patron had arrived at the studio and sat in his place, the artist took an empty canvas and painted a superb portrait in an hour. The patron loved the portrait, but was miffed that he had had to wait for so long and to pay so much for a picture that took only an hour to paint. Saying nothing, the artist led his patron to a closet. When he opened its door, out fell hundreds upon hundreds of studies for the portrait.
P.S.
There are many examples of poets' revisions available for study, and there are some great lines on the stubject in Yeats' poem "Adam's Curse."
Love your poem! It reminds me a bit of the opening sonnet of Astrophel and Stella by Sir Philip Sidney. But yours seems more honest about the fact that our Muse will not always come to us—that looking in our hearts to write is necessary, but not always sufficient. (Though I suppose the Muse is the one who speaks that line in Sidney's poem, so perhaps he does acknowledge her necessity in that sense. I guess I need to think about it some more.)
I recently went to a song-writing seminar with an up-and-coming popular artist, and she brought up an issue that song-writers (and also poets I suppose) struggle with: the desire to produce a moving piece of art will often stifle one's ability to do just that. The solution of course is not to sit down to write thinking "I am going to write moving lyrics" but rather to sit down to write with something very specific in mind, and to relate it in a very honest (and hopefully muse-inspired) way. Funnily enough, whereas I had been struggling for months to write something, later that night as I lay in bed, a poem just poured out of me as I kept going over the evening in my head and how much I enjoyed the seminar. It was nothing great, but I'm glad that remembering to focus on something specific that was enjoyable to me at the very least allowed words to flow. Because if I can't even get that far, then study will never get underway, and the temple will never be ready for when the Muse does decide to visit.
It's a concept that it took an entire year of study at an art school for me just to begin to realize. That great wish to throw down upon the page perfect lines preformed is the wrecking ball that destroys the Muse's temple just as we begin to build it. For until we are comfortable enough with the inevitability of imperfections in our studies, we will never complete studies, and thus never improve.
Sorry for such a long comment, but I wanted to include this one last quotation:
"They who lack talent expect things to happen without effort. They ascribe failure to a lack of inspiration or ability, or to misfortune, rather than to insufficient application. At the core of every true talent there is an awareness of the difficulties inherent in any achievement, and the confidence that by persistence and patience something worthwhile will be realized. Thus talent is a species of vigor." - Eric Hoffer
Thanks for your comment and for Eric Hoffer's. Both apt.
Post a Comment
<< Home