Jan Burkins,
Steve Peterson and I have collaborated on another renga.
Our first renga (and notes about the form) are here. Here's our second renga:
as the hummingbird sips the nectar
I.
round moon not yet full
finds my cracker--full ‘til bitten
life full with roundness
sharp as a wheel of cheddar
smooth and creamy as brie
under the gnarled oak
an old couple tosses
dry crusts to the pigeons
we become what we take in
fresh foods, sour moods, vast ideas
II.
mountain peaks tower
above the endless plains
full -- sharp -- old -- vast -- inspiring
toward evening, golden sunlight
settled on her wrinkled face
inside she’s a girl
surprised by her reflection
in her dreams she runs
river carries silt downstream
building up the new island
III.
sweet alchemy --
orchard apples filled
by the light of a star
loose tooth lost with first bite
red orb of bittersweet
cold front passes through
scrubs away humidity
wren sings from the fence
once, he learned to see rainbows
in the oil on a street puddle
a skill important
for grownups who are often
too busy measuring
too concerned with to-do to
barter duty for beauty
When we chatted via conference call about the finished poem (on the afternoon before Steve's first day back), I loved what Jan said about the process, how it's like laying one stone out at a time, building a path as we walk forward.
As we talked about our inspirations for each of our stanzas, or the stories behind our words, it was amazing (again) to learn from where in our lives these words had come.
I was the one who divided the poem into sections this time. I was working (probably too left-brainedly) to find a flow of meaning throughout the whole poem. While I couldn't find it throughout the whole, I did find it in these sets.
Steve gave us our title, and I think it's quite brilliant.
This is what I'm learning from Steve and Jan as we write together -- how to string pearls.
About a month ago,
Steve Peterson (@insidethedog) invited me and
Jan Burkins (@janmillburk) to try writing a
renga with him. Renga is an ancient collaborative poetic form, and is actually where haiku was born!
Steve gave us these directions and resources:
Directions
- 2 longer lines (sort of like a tanka form when you put them together). Another person writes this.
- 2 lines are inspired by the haiku immediately above.
- then, 3-line haiku poem inspired by the 2 previous lines,
- and so on like a game of telephone until we reach 35 lines total.
And some resources
a description of the form.
some examples.
The order of play went Steve, me, Jan (repeat). Here's our first renga:
in the prairie dawna spider's web snares the sun --cricket rejoices
meadowlark joins the chorus
breeze bends ripening wheat heads
whose lanky bodies
bow, sun’s church--peace be with wheat
and also with corn
they gather on folding chairs,
jello melts while the preacher prays
white-robed acolytes
shoulders shaking with giggles
two clouds hide the sun
even the adolescent stalks are sober today
word of fire in the neighboring field
this dark sky --
thunderheads poke fingers
at a thirsty land
near the abandoned homestead
ditch lilies toss flaming heads
who called this place home
does the ground remember
stories brought to earth
a faded calendar tacked
to the wall above the stove
try to imagine
the layers of memories
beneath the dust
how much memory is imagination
how much dust is history
sun slants through wavy glass
in the stale air
motes rise to dance
down the road, far down the road
reverberations can be felt
After we came to the 35th line, we gathered via conference call from Mountain, Central, and Eastern time zones to discuss the process and the product.
Steve found that although he instigated this poem writing adventure because of a desire to try collaborative writing, and to practice the haiku and tanka forms, he found himself meditating on Jan and me as he chose the words he thought would best fit with what we were trying to say.
For me, it was like trying to catch a tune and sing along.
Jan was continually looking for the meaning in each set of 5 lines alongside the meaning of the poem as a whole.
Our memories of church and our ideas of "prairie" were very different, but we realized that Rosenblatt's reader response theory was alive and well as we wrote together -- each of us as reader/writer could bring ourselves to the text and make our own meaning, independent of the two others.
For me, the prairie in the poem is the flat, dry landscape of Eastern Colorado, where I've spent this month with my mom. Wheat harvest has been in full swing, but no one is complaining about the rains that might have delayed some of the harvest -- they were good for the corn. Those white-robed acolytes are my childhood friend Barbie and me, trying to be solemn in our candle lighting duties, but invariably giggling all the way down to the altar and back. The end of the poem is woven with images of change, home, memory, and loss -- all of which have been bitter and sweet in this month of helping my mom transition from her home of 60 years to a new home in assisted living.
Jan and Steve found echoes of current events that I can see now, but that didn't occur to me as we wrote.
We have plans to play with revising this poem, and we are fifteen lines into another. It has been fabulous to take risks together, to watch the poem unfold, and to hear each other's
actual voices over the phone after listening so closely to each other's
writerly voices on the page. Thank you, Steve and Jan!
Margaret has the Poetry Friday Roundup today at Reflections on the Teche.
Today, I wanted to share a verse from a new picture book of interlinked renga verse by J. Patrick Lewis and Paul B. Janeczko. The book is called Birds on a Wire, and it's a "portrait of a day in an American village." The illustrations are by Gary Lippincott.
 | Here's one of my favorite verses:
two blocks beyond excitement,
the town's tiny Ferris wheel
twenty years dead-still
circling him back to a girl
twirling through the sky
--from Birds on a Wire, with permission
all rights reserved |
I was really interested in the collaborative aspect of this book, and I asked Pat a few questions, which he kindly answered.
1) Did you ever receive a verse from Paul and think, "Now what am I supposed to do with this?" Or did it all flow smoothly?
Not really. Paul started it off, I followed, then it was back and forth till I finished the final stanza on our
little idyll in middle America.
2) Was there any thought of attributing the verses so people know whose is whose? Have kids asked whose is whose?
No, we wanted no attribution. The idea was that this would be a seamless renga, words to the fore, poets taking a back seat.
3) Do you think fans of yours and or Paul Janeczko's would be able to tell who wrote which ones?
I hope not. We both trust each other's abilities, and I don't think either of us would quibble with what the other wrote.
Pat's answer to the attribution question reminded me of a poetry volume I love called Braided Creek: A Conversation in Poetry. It's short poems written back and forth between Jim Harrison and Ted Kooser. The back cover says, "When asked about attributions for the individual poems, one of them replied, 'Everyone gets tired of this continuing cult of the personality...This book is an assertion in favor of poetry and against credentials.' "
For more, see Sylvia Vardell's post, and Wild Rose Reader's interview with Paul and interview with Pat. I thought someone (Kelly? I thought it was you) had posted an in-depth review of the book recently, but I don't find it on her blog. If you know of a recent excellent review of this book, in addition to what I've listed, will you let me know? Thanks!
Two Writing Teachers has the
Poetry Friday roundup today. Check it out!
