>>> Item number 7626 from WRITERS LOG9301D --- (80 records) ------ <<< Date: Fri, 22 Jan 1993 16:31:55 JST Reply-To: WRITERS Sender: WRITERS From: Mike Barker Subject: TECH: One way to sing the tribal lay This is one way to sing the tribal lay [Mr. Kipling, I presume?] Usually I start with a phrase, often one that has been resounding in the noisy echo chamber of my mind for a while. When I notice these, I write them down. After a while or at the time, I listen to myself, playing with the phrase. Its internal beat, imagery, and random thoughts bring forth other raw bits. These I put down as they occur to me, often with some variations, until I have a good stack of jackstraws. Now I start polishing pieces, fitting them together, turning them inside out, backwards, tossing them back on the stack, suddenly pulling a new straw out of thin air. I read them out loud, try out variations, scratch and pound to hear the sound. At some point, this warm cauldron of super-critical solution usually starts to crystallize, with a lurch and a drone, into blocks. [Be careful, it can just boil over and make a mess of your clothes, but that doesn't happen too often.] Now comes the final polishing for this stage. I clear away the extra straw, and look closely at the crystal formed in the middle. I read it, testing each word, and each image, looking for weak spots and flaws. Sometimes it's as small a thing as adding a comma, or switching tenses, sometimes I rip out a whole section or toss the whole mess aside, but at this point I'm as critical as I can be with myself. Sometimes the whole mess goes back into the cauldron and gets stirred again. Next comes a cooling phase, just as in tempering metals. If you have a handy friend or writer's discussion group, you might try the ice water plunge - let them rip it. But you need someone who won't pull punches for this. [Why is it that immediately upon submitting to such scrutiny, tinny spots, gaping holes, and sheer idiotic goofs become vividly evident to your own idle review? Should be a murphy's law about that.] Lacking that, or preferring a more gentle tempering, set it aside. I find that I need at least two weeks, with a month better, and even longer is best, to let the echoes of the forging fade away. When you've forgotten it, then pick it up again, and read it with the eyes of a stranger. Does it demand your attention? Do the words, the phrases, the images pulse and beat with life as you read them? Does it make you stop and read it slowly, aloud, listening to your own voice bring tears to your eyes? Do you feel as though you should stop strangers in the street and read it to them, just for the joy of seeing their eyes open as the words carry them out of everyday life and into nirvana? If it does, congratulations. Put a copy in your files and start sending it out. Otherwise, either toss it in the scraps file to try again later, or polish it again in the same glowing heat, then temper again. What always amazes (and somewhat irritates) me is when someone glances as something that has been through this process and says something about how natural and simple it is. I've almost learned not to jump on them and scream about how much effort went into making it read that way, but it's still hard to realize that this is one of the highest compliments, that you've gone beyond studied artfulness into the craft of Art. Think of bonsai - years of effort to make a tree look "just like the tree growing on the cliff near my house." Make sure your poetry isn't noticed, just enjoyed. [oh, oh, he's trying for subtleness. Get ready to catch him, he always trips himself when he does this...] I wish I knew enough about rhythm and blues to help with the technical side of things, but maybe this description will help a little. Guess I'm just a guy who grew up with hard rock and leaves of grass, and knows (sometimes) what he likes, but doesn't know all the right words. One last advice - keep belting 'em out, anyway you can, and someone will hear echoes of themselves resonating in your words. ['zat's about enough of that, boss man. go have a cuppa and let someone else have the drum for a while, ok?] mike