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October 13, 2006

Writing and rewriting

I think it was Kate who asked me to show how I write a poem from beginning to end. Since I keep my rough drafts stapled in the order in which I write them to the page of my poetry notebook where I wrote the first draft longhand, I can do this with a poem already written rather than writing a brand new poem, which might put more pressure on me than would be good for me right now. Forthwith, you remember the poem CLASSIC, which I put up recently?

CLASSIC

Homemaker turned friend, on a Saturday
Mid-spring, sprang me from my apartment
And we were off to the flea for the bargains.
Jo headed for the “new stuff,” all oil-based
Fabrics in cut-rate, designer knock-offs
While I cast my eyes over what had aged

Into sepia, rounded or paintless with love and use,
Hoping for antiques on sale by the unwitting, fair
For not knowing priceless from worthless myself
Except in the matter of three women’s sweaters,
New --tags still on -- in navy, ash and sand
Under a sign that read: CLASSIC CASHMERE $5.

Why cashmere sweaters at that price
Still unsold if there wasn’t a mortal catch?
Was made in the 1950s in 2006 too mortal for me?
Well, were there holes? were they coming apart
At the seams? was the style dowdy or old-fashioned?
Taking last first, he pattered: Classic

Means classic; you could wear these any year
And never look out of place. Test them yourself. Pull
At them. They won’t even stretch, those seams.
And no holes. Okay, you found a tiny one
In the sand-colored arm? It can be repaired.
You see, pristine condition, almost. And only $5 each.

I tell you, it offended me how flea-goers shunned
1950s cashmere, so valued and precious
When new a sweater might cost hundreds of dollars
Yet 50 years old, like many of us, in almost
But not quite, pristine condition, no one wanted
Those gals, not even at flea market prices.

I fell for the sweaters, bought all of them --
Navy and ash pullovers, the sand-colored cardigan
And brought them home. Now that we survived
The steams and storms of peach season, it’s all apples
Finally. I need a sweater mornings, comfort
in cashmere, 50-something, same as I, a classic.
----------------------------------------------------------------------

Well, the very first rough draft the handwritten one went like this:

Homemaker turned friend, on a Saturday
mid-spring, springs me from/out of my apartment
and we're off to the flea for the bargains.
Josephine heads for the new stuff
cut-rate discount dirt cheap mostly oil-based
I cast my eye over what's old/ aged
(into sepia, comfortable edges rounded with use) hoping
for antiques on sale by the unwitting
not knowing priceless from worthless myself
except in the matter of three womens sweaters
my size, tags still on, in bluer, gray and beige
and the sign said CLASSIC CASHMERE $5 EACH.
Why were cashmere sweaters at that price
still unsold if there werent a mortal catch?
Was made in the 1950s in 2006 too mortal for me?
Were there holes? Was the wool deteriorating?
Was it fraying or coming apart at the seams?
No, no and no, I checked myself. One tiny hole, easily repaired
in the beige arm. Now I must tell you it offended me
how people ran from the 1950's cashmere,
so valued and precious when new a sweater
is worth hundreds of dollars sometimes
but 50 years old and in almost pristine condition
no one wanted those gals, not even at Walmart prices.
Are we, then we 50-somethings valoued as little as those
once-prized cashmeres, called classics but ignored
as past out prime, esp women? I bought all
three sweaters. It's September now and already
I wear them, my priceless $5 cashmeres.


The first thing that strikes me about this first draft, this idea dashed onto paper without any attempt to shape it or edit it just getting the gist of it down, is that it is serious. It lacks the playful quality of the final version. It will be interesting to see when that first appears. But you can see that I do not write perfect first drafts by any means. I scribble and cross out and write like mad to "catch" a poem, but what I catch is an idea, very basic and unshaped, not the poem entire. I might get a beginning and end "from the air," but have to fill in the middle, or a couple of good lines in between but have to do the rest by "myself." As you can see, even what I get is very "first drafty" and unpolished as I am expected to do a lot of work to get it into shape. So let's look at the next draft that I kept and see what changes I made and why.

Homemaker turned friend, on a Saturday
midspring, sprang me from my apartment
and we're off to the flea for the bargains.
Jo headed for the "new stuff" all oil-based
cut-rate, discount, designer knock-offs
while I cast my eye over what had aged itself
into sepia,ropunded or paintless with love or use,
hoping for antiques on sale by the unwitting, fair game
for not knowing priceless from worthless myself
except in the matter of three women's sweaters
my size, tags still on, in navy, ash, and sand
under a sign that read: CLASSIC CASHMERE $5.

Now let's look at the two versions of this first part. THe first three lines are more or less the same, though I have chosen to go with the past tense. I notice I have taken out "dirt cheap" and added the "designer knock-offs" The first is an improvement, though not yet enough of one as cut-rate and discount still have to be dealt with, all three expressions saying the same thing. Using the word "Oil-based" instead of "plastic" or "synthetic" gives the "new stuff" by association the smell and feel of gasoline or motor oil and is meant to make it seem disagreeable. Aging something into sepia, for which most people have a fondness, elicits good feelings, as well as memories of something paintless with "love or use". You see how I'm getting you on the narrator's side? THe colors of the sweaters have been changed too, to fresher words, though I'm not to sure about this as it makes them sound like a fashioin catalogue...I yet may change them back! Finally, the sign is missing the "each" which tightens the line and adds to the impact of the $5, which is weakened by anything following it.

Now let's see what the next draft of the second part of the poem does.

THe second part in the third kept draft (there were several mini-drafts in-between) has seen many changes already. Now there is an attempt at humor, with the salesman doing his selling routine to someone he thinks is going to haggle. This time the "each" is kept because he is emphasizing that she, the narrator (who by the way is never to be thought of as the poet, since often he or she is not) must pay $15 for the three.

Why cashmere sweaters at that price
still unsold if there wasn't a mortal catch?
Was made in the 1950s in 2006 too mortal for me?
Well, were there holes? Were they coming apart
at the seams? Was the style dowdy or old-fashioned?
Taking last first, he pattered: Classic
means classic; you could wear these any year
and never look out of place. Test them yourself. Pull
at them. They won't even stretch those seams.
And no holes. Okay, you found a tiny one
in the sand-colored arm? It can be repaired.
You see, pristine condition, almost. And only $5 each.

This is pretty much as it will be in the end. So let's see where draft #4 (what was kept after numerous revisions) brings us:


Homemaker turned friend, on a Saturday
Mid-spring, sprang me from my apartment
And we were off to the flea for the bargains.
Jo headed for the “new stuff,” all oil-based
Fabrics in cut-rate, designer knock-offs
While I cast my eyes over what had aged
Into sepia, rounded or paintless with love and use,
Hoping for antiques on sale by the unwitting, fair
For not knowing priceless from worthless myself
Except in the matter of three women’s sweaters,
my size --tags still on -- in navy, ash and sand
Under a sign that read: CLASSIC CASHMERE $5.

(note that in the final version I split the stanza in half and changed the "my size" to "new." I did this because if the size was mentioned, then readers would decide the 1950s cashmere was not the problem but only that the sweaters didn't fit. That was not my point in this poem, so I wanted to steer readers away from that sort of reasoning.)

Why cashmere sweaters at that price
Still unsold if there wasn’t a mortal catch?
Was made in the 1950s in 2006 too mortal for me?
Well, were there holes? were they coming apart
At the seams? was the style dowdy or old-fashioned?
Taking last first, he pattered: Classic
Means classic; you could wear these any year
And never look out of place. Test them yourself. Pull
At them. They won’t even stretch, those seams.
And no holes. Okay, you found a tiny one
In the sand-colored arm? It can be repaired.
You see, pristine condition, almost. And only $5 each.

In 2006, it offended me how flea-goers shunned
1950s cashmere, so valued and precious
When new a sweater might cost hundreds of dollars
Yet 50 years old, like many of us, in almost
But not quite, pristine condition, no one wanted
Those gals, not even at flea market prices.
I fell for the sweaters. I bought all of them --
Navy and ash pullovers, the sand-colored cardigan
And brought them home. Now that we survived
The hottest summer on record, days are crisper
Finally and I've been needing a sweater mornings,
I rise, pull on cashmere the same age as I, a classic.

You can see how the poem is almost in its final draft, but that I need to work on the last stanza and freshen the tired last three lines, which eventually I succeed at doing, though it takes several more versions to get it right.

Now that I've gone briefly through the evolution of a poem as I wrote one, is the process any clearer, or should I do a more detailed analysis, or write a poem on line? I could try to do that I suppose...Anyhow, I may have to work on this poem more. Now that I've looked at it this way, I'm no longer satisfied with it! BD

Posted by pamwagg at October 13, 2006 08:03 PM

Comments

=?=1⁄2<,

I think this was a great exercise which I hope sometime you will do again with another poem. It made me appreciate the final poem even more. It's just lucky for us that you keep such careful records of your poems and their transmutations. I bet some of the earlier drafts of your poems can also act as inspiration or a step off point for a new poem that goes in a different direction. And yes, I would love it if you could sometime take a short poem and go through the changes line by line. Your process teaches me to take my first draft as a beginning and never as a finished poem. Thank you.

Gratefully Yours,

Kate :)

Posted by: Kate K. at October 15, 2006 04:55 PM

Hi Everyone,

You'll be happy to know all three sweaters are wearing quite well. The hole has not grown any larger and is almost unnoticeable. It looks more like an accidental cut than any worn spot in the wool and there are no frays or any other worn spots anywhere in any sweater otherwise. Barbara, check out the final version of the poem at the tope of that page. That's where you'll see what I did in the end with "the hottest summer on record" which I found way too prosaic and over-used (think of all the times the weather forecasters use that phrase!).

Thanks for ALL your comments, everybody, they always feed me. More than they should, probably, but they are a helpful and satisfying stimulus to me to keep going...It is so hard to write into a void, wondering if anyone is listening, so all you out there, not just the loyal regulars, keep em comin'! Tell me what you think. Tell me what you want!

Yours,

Pamwagg

Posted by: Pam W at October 15, 2006 03:18 PM

Pam,

Thanks for all of your writing.

I like the 4th version of your poem too - hottest summer on record - days are crisper. I'm not sure I'm qualified to comment, as I have poor concentration for reading, but one possible 'snag' caught me. The early line about the yarn deteriorating, and the one about just one small hole, which can be repaired. From my experiences with thrift store sweaters, I've found that one small hole can mean the yarn is deteriorating. Being 53 myself I think about that. Though the most I can hope to be is a Velveteen Rabbit.

Posted by: Barbara at October 14, 2006 08:13 PM

Hello Pamela,

I liked your "final" version of CLASSIC presented at the top of the page. It reminds me of when I browsed an open-air market in Sienna, Italy and a vendor sold clothes, wool and cashmere, for a good price.

I would like to buy your poetry book when it comes out. That's what I think you should do: publish a poetry book. Your poem about "forgiveness," included in your memoir, was beautiful.

Keep up your writing! You are gifted. I look forward to reading more of your poems.

Cheers,
Christina

Posted by: Christina B. at October 14, 2006 02:18 PM

Dear Pam,

Thanks so much for showing your process as a poet. I, too, think you should leave it as it is (you are a classic). You do write so well as a poet and as a critic. I've only been able to read it through once because I'm under a time pressure (today is a traveling day), but I will return to it tomorrow and re-read it.

I hope you have a good time today and feel confident and proud of yourself at your speaking engagement. I'll be thinking of you.

Kate :D

Posted by: Kate.K at October 14, 2006 11:45 AM

Dear Pam,

There was a time when I wanted to write more. It would have been wonderful if had met someone like you and ET during that time. For me the last few weeks has been a time of reflection. How much time do I want to spend on my interests and passion. I need about 5 of me and maybe then I could accomplish everything I want to do. Looking at myself honestly has been difficult. Being interested in so many things and wanting to do everything at the same time is making me confused and at times ill. My recent decision to focus on a couple things at a time is much better for my well being and so now my focus is to finish project I’ve started and not to have a hundred things in my head at the same time.

Your poetry is wonderful Pam and I know you will continue to write them but ET suggestion on writing a book on how you write poetry is a wonderful idea and something to think about doing. It’s so obvious writing is your passion and talent. You and Leonard are the only two people I know who are so passionate about the art of writing.

Warmest regards,
Yaya

Posted by: Yaya at October 14, 2006 11:26 AM

Dear Pam,
It was truly courageous of you to lead Kate down your private road which, until now, no step but yours has "trodden black".(Robert Frost). I use the word courageous because I know it is nearly impossible for you to ever "finish" a poem. Even when you grudgingly concede that it's "done", there's always that temptation to revise it,"Just one more time." Guess what? As you so skillfully guided Kate through your poetic process, when you finished, you found yourself right back at the old fork in the road. Leave it alone, Pammy. The ET in me likes it just the way it is. I believe your other readers would agree with me. Have you ever considered writing a book on the WRITING of poetry AFTER you have published your own collection of poems? Give it some thought.
With a warm smile, Paula

Posted by: Paula Kirkpatrick at October 14, 2006 07:20 AM

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