Drafting

 

Last October I posted answers to enquiries about poetry on this device, Questions 1-12 of which were subsequently published in the magazine. As stated at the time, my private messager keeps sending questions, so in coming days I will post Questions 13-24. Here are the next three in the series about making poetry. 

Question 13: How many drafts is enough? Drafting follows splurge. Splurge is sometimes sufficient, your words an exact expression of your thought. Effect, however, can take time. Afterthoughts can become central effects. Your words wish to enact their meaning. Such enactment requires a level of stagecraft that simple stage directions cannot carry off. Drafting may become so exhaustive, the poem goes into a drawer forever to keep it out of the draft. Avoidance of closure vies with desire to deliver. There is no set figure for drafts because saying what you wish to say is more important than clockwork process. 

Question 14: Is poetry made to be rejected? Ostensibly, poetry is made to be read and listened to. In the majority of cases there seems also to be some interest in being understood, though this is not universal by any means. That said, it is surprising there are not more works entitled ‘Rejection: An Ode’. Every poet experiences it, some making multi-coloured collections of rejection slips they pin to their wall. Editors stand by their judgements, often based on mysterious criteria they have yet to recover from. It invites circumspection, reflection, redirection - is therefore part of the creative act. 

 Question 15: How is the best way to end a poem? Whether with bang or whimper, best to make it feel like a genuine bang or whimper. Peter Porter advises poets to remove the last verse and see if it makes any difference. If you’ve said what needs saying, why summarise at the end? Some say the best way to end is to learn when to stop. Profusion has its place, until it leads to confusion and exhaustion. Concision gives a frisson, but words pleasurably have a life of their own. Paul Valéry believes a poem’s never finished, merely abandoned.