With all the different writing classes I’ve taken over the years, I’ve somehow never taken one on poetry. Which is interesting because my love of writing started with poetry. I very quickly realized it was pretty bad though. In my humble opinion I’ve improved a lot, mainly through reading more poetry and a few instructional texts. I still feel that some more instruction and education on the craft could definitely help me. So I enrolled, for free of course in Sharpened Visions: A Poetry Workshop, an online course conducted by California Institute of Arts.
I’m up to the third week and so far it’s really gone down to the basics. Even with the instructional texts I’ve used in the past, I skipped over a lot of the beginning stuff. I skimmed over a lot of it and skipped almost, if not all the exercises, to get to the parts I thought were really interesting. Participating in this course, I’m more committed to actually putting in the work, which means doing all the exercises even if they seem juvenile. Here’s a couple I’ve completed so far:
Week one–Poetic Lines
This exercise was for the lessons on lines. The following text was presented in a block of text I had to add in my own line breaks.
tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, creeps in this petty pace
from day to day, to the last syllable of recorded time;
and all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death.
out, out, brief candle! life’s but a walking shadow,
a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage
and then is heard no more: it is a tale told by an idiot,
full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
The piece is an excerpt from Shakespeare’s Macbeth. Check it out, my version made the lines just a bit longer.
Week Two-Abstraction and Image
For this exercise we were supposed write a poem describing an object. The instructions said to be as literal and vivid as possible, and not to use any figures of speech. Not sure how vivid my image is but I like it. I’ll likely keep working it and who knows where it might end up.
Clear glass heavy in my hand.
Filled with dark liquid and ice
popping ever so often
as the whiskey melts it down.
A sip, cold
goes down with a slight burn.