I've been meaning to blog about silence and nothingness. These are two elements that every serious artist needs to master. Silence is the backdrop to every poem. You need to know how to make that endless emptiness work for you when you write. And sometimes it's not easy.

Nothingness is where every poem begins. Perhaps, according to modern physics, where everything begins. If you can't fish the nothingness for art, then you probably should give up being a poet.

It can be tough going to teach the silence and nothingness of poetry. Luckily for us, Dong Li's recent poem, "when it is time" from Plume: Issue #130 June 2022 is an ideal example for discussion. Read the poem by clicking on the picture above.

So far as silence goes, the poem is masterful. In fact, you might say the poem rides on silence the same way a ship sails on the sea. This is interesting because it leaves the reader room to think and it also defies "weight." You feel a sense of freedom in reading the poem because it asks so little for you and gives back so much.

So what's it giving?

Other than the obvious moment of reflection and peace, the poem is actually a "confession" of the creative process. It tells you where art is born.

These two lines are the heart of the poem:

and you look back to the sky
whose blue recalls all blues

and what they do is cause the eye to sweep up and out of one's self. You become one of the "bridges" you've left behind. Art is the movement up and out of old blue into new blue. In the end, by diving deep into the sky, the artist becomes a magician:

you wave your hand
and it is becoming light

who creates light out of nothing. Your job as an artist is to pull poetry "out of thin air." But to do so, you have to leave yourself behind. So read the poem very carefully and listen to its silence and recognize that silence as your forever collaborator in poetry, and one whose contributions are frequently overlooked. 

Please consider supporting the blog by sending a donation through PayPal to rainlight@husmail
OR use the button below to make a unique contribution.

@BlackstonDan

@BlackstonDan

"Salt Pieces" by Taghrid Abdelal from New England Review 43.2 is a challenging poem that defies breezy explication. But I'm going to breeze through it anyway, and leave you to do the heavy lifting. Read the full poem by clicking the picture above.

See what I mean?

Don't take the easy road and tell me, "The poem's a translation." 

Take the hard road, with me, and try to grapple with the poem line by line. Image by image.

The first three lines, to my ear, are virtually flawless:

Everything will melt 
at the bottom of childhood: 
the road is the salt.

That is they sound flawless. Does this mean they have flawless meaning? Does this mean they should have flawless meaning? And what's flawless meaning anyway? For that matter, what's flawless?

Forget all that. Let's just stick to the poem. The next stanza promises us that salt:

will devise new noses 
to seek us out.

Then the poem gets sort of strange. There are jugs, unspecified observers, unspecified losses, the hint of an age defying anthem that promptly fragments, until we reach the poem's first vertical pronoun:

I observe myself: 
I adhere to falling things 
because they are fractures 
of butterflies in a race
God arranged.

Incredible lines. Beauty dripping throughout and a sense of inventive longing. This is as subjective as poetry gets, but it's still speeding tantalizingly  toward the universal. I can't tell you why, or how, precisely, but I feel it.

The poem reaches it's conclusion in a flurry of questions. This rhetorical repetition is almost a reproach to the reader who certainly has no context through which to answer. 

This is where it stuns.

Because the poem is a complete statement. It's the fractal of an unnamed emotion that, possibly, is unnamable. Yet we all experience it: the dream (or nightmare) quality that mixes with normal life until you can't really see it, and just when you do, it's gone again, but always there.  

I mentioned the idea of pataphysics in my last blog post. This poem is a tour-de-force of pataphysical epiphany. I'd love to hear what you make of its associations. Clearly,  in this case, I need a little help from my friends. Drop me a line through the link below. 

Did you know that every poem has a secret sentence? Furthermore, it's usually the case that even the poet doesn't know what it is...  And to make matters even stranger, most poets hear or feel the secret sentence of a poem, like most readers hear or feel it, but promptly forget it like a dream. 

Here's what I mean. 

​Get the rest of the tip by clicking the button below!!!!

@BlackstonDan

Here's sneaky tip you can use to unstick yourself when you're trying to write a poem. It's very simple and extremely powerful, but you have to be  careful not to overdo it. If you fall back on this spicy tactic too often it loses its sting.

Get the full tip by clicking the button below!!!

@BlackstonDan

When was the last time your wrote a poem with a pen and paper? Or a pencil and paper? 

If you said "Never" -- shame on you. There's nothing wrong with typing poems on your devices, but when you write by hand something specials happens.

​Get the full tip by clicking the button below!!!

@BlackstonDan
​
Where does poetry start for you? Is it theme? Character? A need to show others your deepest feelings? All of the above?

Whether it's nature, dreams, a life event, or poetry itself that inspires you, the source of your inspiration is an aspect of your poetic principle. I can't tell you, exactly, what your poetic principle is, and it's likely you don't know what it is, either. And that's a good thing. You don't want to be too conscious of your poetic principle. It's like a lucky number or a a sweet spot on the basketball court, or that feeling of just knowing who to text or call at the right moment...

Get the full tip by clicking the button below!!!!

 @BlackstonDan

You might not realize it but there's a war going on in poetry and it's been raging for thousands of years. Its battlefields blast into action through every working poet, leaving shell-craters, bodies, and -- what was it Hemingway said about battlefields? -- oh yeah, all that paper  -- behind.

The war's not built on trenches and drones and it's seemingly enduring as stone...

Get the full tip by clicking the button below!!!!!
 
If you apply for a Capital One credit card through the link below (or click the pic), I'll get a referral bonus when you're accepted.  Please consider supporting the blog by using the link to apply. 

​Thanks!

@BlackstonDan

A very wise poet friend of mine recently observed that poetry is a form of communication and therefore any poem that goes unread is, in some ways, unfinished...

Get the full tip by clicking the button below.

If you apply for a Capital One credit card through the link below (or click the pic), I'll get a referral bonus when you're accepted.  Please consider supporting the blog by using the link to apply. 

Thanks!

If you apply for a Capital One credit card through the link below (or click the pic), I'll get a referral bonus when you're accepted.  Please consider supporting the blog by using the link to apply. 

Thanks!

Consider this post a double-tip, because what I'm about to tell you will not only improve your writing, it will get you writing and keep you writing. But be forewarned, this isn't a tip for the timid! You'll need some creative backbone to follow along.

Ready?

Get the full tip by clicking the button below!!!