Today’s poem wittily dwells in the quotidian, and I liked its ending especially. In Linda Pastan‘s Notes from the Delivery Room*, a woman is giving birth and experiencing both the physical and mental pressures of impending motherhood. When the moment arrives, she calms and thinks:

She’s crowning, someone says,
but there is no one royal here,
just me, quite barefoot,
greeting my barefoot child.

The clever pun, the mother’s lack of pretension, and her wry acceptance of her child–all create a great moment. Something universal is made personal, and it isn’t overblown or overly politicized, so we get a good sense of the mother’s character from this one intense moment.

*Excerpted from Carnival Evening

I understand what makes a poem. Though poetry can take different forms or even no form, a poem imparts a stronger meaning and feeling than its actual words. A poem transcends whatever instance it depicts and makes a highly personal moment universal or at least grants it impact on another. Reading a poem is like hearing music that almost inspires irrationality, yet a sense of meaning and clarity emerges, so we are pulled out of the realm of nonsense.

For the poetically impaired like me, a great way to write better poetry is to copy another’s. Some writers transcribe famous poems by hand or retype them. They learn rhythm and phrasing and word choice this way. Originality comes later.

In this instance, I took William Carlos Williams poem The Red Wheelbarrow and rewrote it. I matched his form and syllables. I am not quite sure about the rhythm. I have an odd sense of rhythm.

Here is the original poem:

The Red Wheelbarrow

by William Carlos Williams

so much depends
upon

beside the white
chickens.

And here is my reinterpretation:

They Might Be Giants

by Beth Ann Gallagher

so much depends
upon

they might be
giants

blasted from a
boombox

beside the white
iMac.

Friends have teased me that we’re not truly eloping. At first we only told those close to us, but we openly admit we are to wed now. Since we have done away with secrecy and since we are not running away to get married, they may be right. We are keeping everything simple and civil save for a honeymoon abroad.

We ordered our wedding announcements today. It is customary for couples not holding a formal wedding to send announcements instead. That way friends and family can feel included.

The announcement I selected has a toile design. In keeping with the Victoriana look, I found appropriate poesy to emboss across its front:

“Hark! The merry chimes are pealing,
Soft and glad the music swells,
Gaily in the night wind stealing,
Sweetly sound the wedding bells.”

–Eliza Cook

Maybe we are eloping. Most recipients won’t find our announcements in their mailboxes until after we are travelling. The etiquette books state announcements are mailed on or around the wedding date, and the lateness of our order guarantees such a schedule. We will have stolen away to an isle by the time our trip down the aisle is common knowledge.

How many of us with writing pretensions would love to be doing what she’s doing–to be able to live off of her writing and to write any day she chooses? Literary or not, Harris has made the life she wants for herself through words. The True Blood phenomenon has pushed her success into greater realms, but she succeeded in gathering a fan base and making the best seller lists before any deal for any adaptation existed.

In an interview Linda Ronstadt said she would have taken any career that allowed her to pursue her passion of singer. Harris pursued her dream and made it real in her chosen field. I’ve been guilty of getting caught up in daily life and not practicing the discipline to set aside writing time. I have short stories in my head and a screenplay, but in my head they’ll stay until I make myself sit and write.

When I envision my ideal life, the one where I’m unfettered by responsibilities and practicalities, I envision myself writing and sharing my work with my chosen coterie in order to better my work and myself. I may not become as financially successful as Harris, but I will feel the satisfaction of pursuing my passion and sharing my voice. I don’t like feeling bottled up and restless. Writing brings me release and happiness.

I’ve set my new task–managing my schedule better by planning writing time and sticking to it. There are two secondary, related tasks. I must manage my bedtime better. I get a second wind sometime between late afternoon and early evening, but I am not a night owl, yet I’ve been acting like one staying up late and depleting my energy. That must stop. A healthy mind needs restorative sleep. Looking at Harris’s arms, I want to avoid the writer’s pitfall of being too focused in my mind, of being too sedentary. Exercise is a must. I want a healthy, well-rested-but-active body housing a fresh mind filled with sparkling prose.

Knowing words didn’t satisfy me. I wanted to know how to use them well. Outspoken, I experimented with using my words for different effects–making pleas for my classmates, testing my boundaries with my parents, and writing. I fell in love with writing in elementary school.

One of my reading teachers, Lincoln S. Tripp, expanded our curriculum from the state sanctioned, bland textbooks. He taught us Latin and Greek roots to get us thinking about language and to help us to understand it better, and he created writing assignments that pushed our abilities. I wrote my first play in his class, an adaptation of a horror story about a precocious girl.

My sense of joy in writing continued through the grades through my different ages. Sometimes I fear my speaking ability is outstripped by my writing ability, and I wish I was half as clever verbally as I am in prose. Still the desire to reach out and seduce a reader into my prose remains.

I majored in English and writing at my university, and I scored high marks. I did well with deadlines, and I earned good grades for writing projects. I participated in my area’s literary scene, and I contributed with my words and by co-organizing a reading series.

Once I moved away from deadlines and into the adult world, I fell into the same trap as many other creative types. My energy for production faltered as my practical side forced my to focus on earning a living. In turn, music and film distracted me and seduced me. When I moved away from creative friends, I lost my coterie to push and inspire me to write.

Still the words remain in my head and present me with new ideas as they form new stories. I wonder if distant friends experience the same, or if all is lost to living in the straight world and making a straight living.

Other friends have kept in touch, and in their words they reach out to me to inspire. They tell me what they are working on, and the makers ask me about my work. I appreciate being cajoled. Their words show the love of friendship, and they show they respect me and my work.

To honor myself and my friends and to push me to write, I have created this blog. Intentionally I have created a separate one from my personal blog on another site. I dedicated this blog to writing and my writing. I have made it public to keep me honest. This blog will document my activity or lack thereof and serve as an impetus to push me into the words I so love.