61º ~ bright autumnal sun shining on the slant, small breezes move the smaller branches
Dear Reader, today, I did not feel much poetry, but the old B-I-C (butt-in-chair) rule did not fail me. I am uncertain of this draft, but I am happy to have written some few lines in the midst of stress and chaos.
Sticking with my tried and true method of drafting since early August, I picked up the nearest text and began. Today's draft is brought to you by work from the recent issue of Copper Nickel, one of my top 5 favorite lit mags in the whole wide world.
I word-gathered from work by Laura Eve Engel & Adam Peterson, Elizabeth Cheever, Zachary Sifuentes, Ann Fisher-Wirth, and A.E. Watkins. At first, I thought I'd found a title/jumping off place when I matched two words in my journal: rivalry & miracles. So I started trying to draft "A Rivalry of Miracles" and my sickly speaker remains, never fear. However, after eight lines, I needed to use the phrase 'a rivalry of miracles' in the draft and I no longer felt like it served as well as a title, so I moved it. Then, mid-draft, I was sort of stuck, so I went back to the poems and scanned for possible titles or guidance. In A.E. Watkins' "from Allerton in Winter" section IV, I found "some forgotten fury." I love the alliteration there, and as my sickly speaker always has a fever, I changed 'fury' to 'fever,' and thus today's draft: "Some Forgotten Fever." It begins:
Here the bed is made of iron,
flat & straight. My cursive spine
breaks the line. To sleep, I turn
Like the other poems in this series I've ended up writing, this draft is in couplets; however, there is much more enjambment going on here and the lines are shorter than before. Perhaps my own sense of urgency is filtering through.
In the meantime, I am wary of sticking with this process so long. What say you: should I abandon the process of word gathering and stand on my own as it were? Should I move on from this sickly speaker? Or should I let it all ride and see where it takes me?