Re-visioning, transitioning, and autumn--- Keats, leaves, and writing

I went to bed a little later than I'd planned last night; this time, not because I fell asleep watching TV but instead, I went down a "rabbit hole" of my own making. Literally. Or, literature-ly. I have a chapbook in process (not the one that is supposed to be out and about in the world in October). I was not happy with it, and indeed, it has been gently rejected already by one would-be publisher. So, I went back to the manuscript, and I'm retooling it. I'm revising individual poems, pulling out some, putting others in -- more than tweaking, more like re-visioning. Which is to say, working on it with intention. It's kind of exciting. 

I know it needs more prodding and rearranging. I have an idea what I want the narrative arc to be, but I'm not sure the poems all serve that vision, and if they do, then the order of poems feels hiccuppy. The deadline for an open call for manuscripts is October 31, so I have time. And that's just it-- finding uninterrupted time to just figure things out in the work. I have poet friends who have always shared their delight in revision practice-- it's an act of discovery, if you enter into it with the idea that something is in that pile of words, and you have to find it. And it takes putting the project aside for a stretch of time; otherwise, it gets to feel tedious and over-worked, and then the whole "I am so bored with this thing" sets in. 

So, maybe this weekend, while I'm puttering around with a few chores and all those ripe fruits, I will spend some time with words, too. It's a goal. 

I have two poetry classes coming up with my friend Dawn Potter, the first of which is in just a couple of weeks, and will help jump-start my dry poetry-pen. Things have been very busy at school and at home, so writing poems has been collecting dust on my brain-shelf. I tried the other day, had an idea, and the resulting eight lines are just awful. This is not something that can be forced, either, so I'll let that settle for a bit. The other class is a full weekend in November, and it is focused on the practice of revision. I'm looking forward to that as well; I have a pile of "flat" poems that need to be woken up and marched around the page, and I'm certain that the workshop will help immensely. 

And speaking of revision, I do have three or four poems from the Poetry Seminar sessions that have some promise, and I have the notes that people made on them to guide my revisions. I should think about those soon. 

And it's autumn. I tend to write a lot of autumn poems. I don't know why, really; it is probably the dramatic shift of the season. Spring is a tease, winter is a hard task-master, and summer is busy-- but autumn shows us how glorious transitions can be. Unlike in spring, once the leaves turn, there is no going back, no false starts. Yes, there are delightfully warm days, but the leaves tell us that those are transitory, and any thoughts of summer are wistful ones. 

Ah, here I go. Writing autumnal passages. It's all about endings, transitions, and introspection. Here's the master at work: Keats, "To Autumn." You'll see what I mean.

Have a good day,

C