L.L. here with Random Acts of Poetry. Writing in the dark.
“That’s bad for your eyes, LL,” somebody’s going to say. And I’m not going to argue. Because the kind of in-the-dark writing I do is all in my head.
This is not to say I imagine I write in the dark. I really DO write in the dark. Especially poetry. Especially at around 4:00 am. Sometimes I get up and sneak into the bathroom and scribble my dreamy thoughts. But most times I play around with words until they lull me back to sleep.
Then when I wake up for real, I sneak into the study and key in whatever still needs to be said, which is generally most of the poem. Still, the heart of it gets born in stillness and shadow.
Recently, Glynn discussed how he writes poetry. Wow, he doesn’t write in the dark like me. And he uses paper. And erasers. Good sturdy ones. (Or do you cross things out, Glynn? I don’t remember exactly.)
The world is full of writing advice. But does it take into account our great differences in process? Probably not.
In any case, here’s my advice. Know thyself. If you want to write in the dark, go ahead. Or call me in the morning to say you’ve only just begun. Whatever you do, don’t knock on the bathroom door. Can’t you see I’m writing…
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This week’s featured poem is from Maureen. And we all want to know where she wrote it and how…
Last Words With Her Executioner
(jeanne d’arc)
How did you silence my voice?
I raised it to the king,
who stopped it with his laughter.
I signed it to the deaf,
who had nothing but smiles for you.
What happened to my hands?
I wrapped them in rope
behind your back.
I broke them in surrender.
What became of my eyes?
I lifted them to princes
to wear as jewels in crowns.
I covered them with my sins,
ornaments in my palms.
How did you care for my wounds?
I healed them with my sword.
I bound them in the name of war.
What did you do with my tears?
I raked them to your stake.
I drank them as your guilt.
Where did you place my bones?
On a scaffold in the streets,
cobbled dirt of France’s feet.
How do you remember me?
As a woman singled out.
A woman with the body
of a tender boy,
a bell tolling round her neck,
flames spurring to her waist.
To whom did you give my love?
I passed it among your generals,
who wear it as their cause.
I pinned it lonely to my heart.
What did you do with my soul?
I scattered it among rosemary
to grow from the courage of hurt.
Who follows me now?
A name that will not die.
We: other women beside you.
ALL RAP PARTICIPANTS
Glynn’s David, Hillside
Kelly’s eve’s regret
Linda’s Redeemer/Lover
Monica’s Han and Leia On a Date
Bina’s Mrs. DeWinter’s Nighttime Honesty
nAncY’s meeley
Kelly’s tension
Laura’s Fruit
Maureen’s Woman in His Life
A Simple Country Girl’s Autumn Dance
Sojourner’s Adoration
Maureen’s Last Words with Her Executioner
Travelmom’s Love
e.l.k.’s surface
Lorrie’s Nite Nite at Cricket Creek
Join us next Friday in the Culture Section with Sam Van Eman. RAP will resume the following week.
Late Night Moon photo by Kelly Langner Sauer. Used with permission. Post written by L.L. Barkat.
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I write poetry with a pen on paper (and sometimes the Sunday church bulletin). I do lots of scratch-outs and cross-overs. When the paper gets filled with blots and mess, I rewrite on fresh paper, and start the process all over again.
What a great collection of poems!
Wow, thank you. You’ve given me the subject for my next post, L.L. I was just talking with someone last night about how I write (I was attending a fascinating talk at the Carnegie Institute about the blending of science and art, which raised lots of questions about the “language” artists and scientists use to talk about what they do).
Suffice to say here, I “practice writing” my words in my head, once the words come to mind, and often find I’m most creative late at night.
More on all of this later (I’m about to go out to the Washington Craft Show).
And I second Glynn’s point about the collection you pulled together here. I’m in awe of what this group creates by “prompt writing”.
I learned a long time ago to throw out most of the advice I received. I’m an independent sort, that way. Me, I write to think. I process my life through the words I put onto paper, and I almost never know where I’m going from where I begin. Actually sitting down to plan something out is a tough one for me – and one reason I may never be a published author. The freedom for me is in the not caring, really, but in the just-doing-it-because-I-love-it, because it helps me grow. For what that’s worth.
Night is when I panic that I’ve forgotten to follow up on something and scribble to-do list items, or I wake up thinking of something that requires late-night prayer. Poems have not surfaced in a long time. I’m out of the habit. I need to keep visiting RAP for a reminder to let the words flow in that form.
hello…i am not a poet but i feel the need to put a pen to paper and this is where i begin
surface
That Maureen…wow, the lady can poem (can that be a verb?). This was a fun challenge–I really enjoyed taking on the character role. RE: writing in the dark…it gives me comfort. I’ve been known to do that scribbling in the dark thing (it never sounds as good in the morning; why is that?). My primary writing time, however, is when I run. When my brain is deprived of oxygen, it’s amazing how creative it can be! Um…things never sound as good after the cool-down either.
Laura — yes! A run or an early morning swim does the same thing for me. Unfortunately, I lose some of it in the before-school rush, but after the kids leave, I can sit outside with my dogs and my tea, and begin.
Megan and Laura… I also write in the dark when I run in the dark. (I know, someone might say that is bad for me too… running in the dark. But it does loosen my mind and set the poetic thoughts free).
I’m going to have to read all these poems soon, but gradually so as to appreciate them rather than simply glide through.
How do I write? Words flow with the sound of running water as I shower, trickle into my mind as it rolls over life on the way to sleep, and drip onto paper through scratchy old pens that should have been thrown out, except I live in fear of not finding a pen when I need one. I have a large notebook filled with sprawling and sometimes crossed lines … written, literally, in the dark. And all of this comes together as I sit before the keyboard, sometimes with the original, and sometimes with only the memory of what was on that lost page. Writing is how I think, but stories can be told in so many ways…. I’ve yet to find them all.
(and now I will go on to blog about this, so as not to congest this comment train)
You write in the dark too? Then, you’ve probably gotten scratched corneas too, from staring at the screen and forgetting to blink.
Good stuff, Maureen!