In reading poetry from the Black Mountain poets, I came to the realization that it would be difficult to effectively discuss their poems, aside from the use of white space, the syllables, the construction of lines, etc. For me, such a discussion somewhat fails to get at the heart of their work. Olson highlighted the act of composition, hoping to achieve a level of representation of the mind, as it undertakes a particular subject matter in the form of poetry. As such, it would be far from simple to tackle the Black Mountain poets’ work, just as it would be far from simple to analytically discuss the workings of the subconscious mind, at least not from a truly solid, factual standpoint. In other words, it seems that to dig into the poems from the Black Mountain poets would necessitate theoretical musings, working from an individualized impression of a particular poem, at least with regard to the poem’s meaning. Though probably interesting, and even a somewhat enjoyable endeavor, I couldn’t bring myself to write something (something others would read, anyway) based on little contextual evidence, based largely on feeling, which (if we really get deeper into it) comes from personal experience and probably differs from person to person, and thus does not make for exceptionally pertinent analysis in my opinion. For example, I could talk about Creeley’s “The Rain,” but the bulk of my discussion would revolve around a particular, and elusive (difficult to define), feeling it evinced within me. That type of discussion falls far more on a subjective, rather than objective, side of analysis.
Instead, I decided that the best way to add to a discussion about the Black Mountain poets might be to simply make an attempt at an imitation of their style. I thought about this a lot. I talked to a few people in my life about it, most of which quickly labeled the poems (pretentious) nonsense, but I think the point is more in the feeling these poems attempt to stir within a reader, more so than a logical, linear, or completely coherent message. So, I read Denise Levertov’s “Some Notes on Organic Form,” and I decided to take her recipe for writing poems and put it into practice. In “Some Notes on Organic Form,” Levertov says we must begin with some experience, one that creates an intense emotional response, and she says that it could be some past experience, anything really that a poet feels compelled to try to recreate with words. So, I thought of a past experience that I intensely felt. Then, taking Levertov’s next guideline, I sat with that experience, letting it stew, meditating upon it, as Levertov would say, for a couple days. Levertov says that one should wait until the first words of the poem appear in cognition before beginning the writing process, whether they remain the first words or not (for me, those first words in fact remained the first words of the poem).
Once the idea of the experience came to me, and once the first words of the poem came to me, I was ready to begin writing. I took lots of factors of the Black Mountain poets’ conception of poetry into account. First, I tried to use the spacing, white space, and line construction in a very intentional manner (which I would do anyway, but in this case with a heavier focus on breath and syllable flow instead of meaning, which ultimately went hand-in-hand for me). Next, I tried to avoid allowing too much conscious thought to invade the lines; in other words, I tried to keep it moving, ignoring the preconceived ideas about what the poem was going to be or what lines/images I wanted to include before I began writing. Similarly, I tried to avoid over-thinking the language, specifically description, something Olson seemed to be firmly against. Therefore, I tried to avoid over-using adjectives and interruptions in the poem’s flow for the purpose of overt descriptions. Finally, I tried to accomplish two more things: first, to capture the emotion of the experience without truly defining the experience itself, allowing the words to carry the feeling versus using them to explain the feeling; and second, I tried to take Levertov’s advice about ending the poem whenever the feeling of the experience dissipates. The result of this exercise, based on the Black Mountain poets’ style and edicts and guided by Levertov’s outline laid out in “Some Notes on Organic Form,” is my poem, entitled “Space Traveler.” I hope, at the very least, this poem accomplishes my most basic (singular) goal in writing it, even if only momentarily, even if only by a single passage: to create a stirring within the reader, hopefully one reminiscent of the experience that underlies the poem’s inspiration.
Space Traveler
The distance, space
is vast, gaps
wide divide
every
word
everything, but
we didn’t start so
you and I, joined
in a cosmic embrace,
in common spirits
limbs, legs, lips,
liminal limbo
you and I, shared
pillars of creation, love
loose yet tightly squeezed
under pressure, gravitational
force coalescing us in
to imminent, impending
explosion BANG!
Then there was silence
sudden, haunting
daunting silence.
You there and not
Me there and not
minds apart together
unknown worlds unexplored
unreachable, I reached
out through the vast
tangible space
in darkness
your back to me just
out of reach, yet I stretched
my arm, stretched my fingers
and grazed that oversized shirt
you always wore to sleep
brushed against that untraversed
space but couldn’t bring myself
closer
the magnetism of the beginning
had switched polarity, then,
an invisible force between us.
I recoiled my arm
in silence
and wondered
how, and why.
How did we get here?
Why does space once form
expand toward isolation
or collision?
I closed my eyes and saw
us there, two distant galaxies
floating in darkness
the vastness between us
resting on the fabric of space
smelling fabric softener
and loneliness
until I was surrounded
by the vastness of space
spinning alone in darkness.
Though I tried, I am not
a space traveler
so I was stuck watching
you drift drift drift
farther farther away
in deafening silence
until we could hardly see
each other anymore
two shadows moving before
dim light of a once brilliant star
until you were finally out of view
and gone forever.
And I was left in silence,
sullen, haunting
daunting silence.
No comments yet.