I’ve been trying to pick a poem, this morning, which I could post and show how it moved through the revision process. I had a bit of a problem because I don’t keep all of my revisions but I still wanted to go with a poem that was as old as possible to show the progression. So this what I managed to find: Gift Catalog which appeared in The Wild Goose Poetry Review.
The original draft of this poem was written sometime in early 2007 and was probably workshopped while I was at Queens, but I don’t have the originals (I don’t think) of the workshop. After workshop I would take all the comments into consideration and then prepare the poem for submission. So here are some of the various versions while it was seeking publication.
First submitted July 20, 2007
Gift Catalog (version from 7-20-07)
On top of the refrigerator—a carton
of cigarettes—from inside, I select
a box and sit down at the kitchen table,
the old yellow table with silver tubes for legs.
Pulling the gold trip from the box,
released the cellophane wrap, it slides
off like a prom dress and settles
in the corner still holding some of its shape.
I open the lid of the box, count
the number of butts and palm the ticket
from the back. Mom and I chart
the tickets in the coupon book, pouring
over the Camel catalog, wondering
what the stamp can buy.
There is a radio, an AM/FM, small
enough to be portable, thin enough
to fit like the prize in a cereal box; or
in a cracker jack box; or a jack
in his box at the bottom of your lung.
-What I notice on going back and reading this version is that I was having trouble reaching an ending I liked because there are some real elements in this but also a lot is fictionalized. I was having a hard time learning that my poems didn’t have to be 100% “true” to be authentic.
Here is the next version that I sent out in April of 2008.
Gift Catalog (version 4-18-08)
On top of the fridge is a carton
or cigarettes. I select a pack
and sit down at the kitchen table.
I pull the gold strip on the box.
The cellophane settles on the table
still holding its shape.
The ticket falls from the back
of the pack. I pick it up, place it
on the table for my Mom to see.
How many tickets do we have, I ask
as I hand her the box of cigarettes.
She hands me the coupon book,
165. I scan the catalog. I find
an AM/FM portable radio. I
hear a match scratch against
the edge of the table. I show Mom
the radio. She shakes the match
and puffs on the cigarette to start
its burn. As she nods, she exhales
a circle of smoke towards me.
-Now in this version, I can see where I was trying to find a form for the poem. I am always interested in having line breaks that somehow DO something whether it is the breathe unit or an idea unit. I don’t like my linebreaks to be arbitrary. Looking back at this form, I can tell it is having trouble combining subject with form and as the poem becomes more fictionalized the ending is finally starting to get closer. I thought this was complete but looking back at it now, it was very, very close but not quite there.
After the poem was turned down again, I sat down with it before sending it back out in October of 2008 with the form below.
Gift Catalog (version 10-18-08)
On top of the fridge is a carton
or cigarettes. I select a pack
and sit down at the kitchen table.
I pull the gold strip on the box.
The cellophane settles on the table
still holding its shape.
The ticket falls from the back
of the pack. I pick it up, place it
on the table for my Mom to see.
How many tickets do we have, I ask
as I hand her the box of cigarettes.
She hands me the coupon book,
165. I scan the catalog. I find
an AM/FM portable radio. I
hear a match scratch against
the edge of the table. I show Mom
the radio. She shakes the match
and puffs on the cigarette to start
its burn. As she nods, she exhales
a circle of smoke towards me.
-In this version I finally have an ending that I liked. (for some reason wordpress is putting spacing in the last couplet i don’t know why, i will try to fix but it might show up) I also notice I was really getting into the sounds of the words and the shape of the boy seems pretty solid, but alas it was still turned down again.
When I went back, however, to read the poem again when I was sending it out in January of 2009, I realized the poem felt complete. And when I sent it to Wild Goose Poetry review they accepted it! The form above is the one in which it appears.
This poem is also one that appears in my current manuscript that is under consideration. There are, I’m sure, many other versions of this poem including the original handwritten version that it might be fun to go back and look at sometime (if I could find it!). I think this poem started from a memory of those coupons they had on the back of cigarette packs and it just involved. Maybe I’ll do another post about “truth” in poetry writing but for one thing I will say – my mother never smoked 
Have a great weekend everyone! I hope this inspires me to actually work on some revisions.
I’ve been trying to pick a poem, this morning, which I could post and show how it moved through the revision process. I had a bit of a problem because I don’t keep all of my revisions but I still wanted to go with a poem that was as old as possible to show the progression. So this what I managed to find: Gift Catalog which appeared in The Wild Goose Poetry Review.
The original draft of this poem was written sometime in early 2007 and was probably workshopped while I was at Queens, but I don’t have the originals (I don’t think) of the workshop. After workshop I would take all the comments into consideration and then prepare the poem for submission. So here are some of the various versions while it was seeking publication.
First submitted July 20, 2007
Gift Catalog (version from 7-20-07)
On top of the refrigerator—a carton
of cigarettes—from inside, I select
a box and sit down at the kitchen table,
the old yellow table with silver tubes for legs.
Pulling the gold trip from the box,
released the cellophane wrap, it slides
off like a prom dress and settles
in the corner still holding some of its shape.
I open the lid of the box, count
the number of butts and palm the ticket
from the back. Mom and I chart
the tickets in the coupon book, pouring
over the Camel catalog, wondering
what the stamp can buy.
There is a radio, an AM/FM, small
enough to be portable, thin enough
to fit like the prize in a cereal box; or
in a cracker jack box; or a jack
in his box at the bottom of your lung.
-What I notice on going back and reading this version is that I was having trouble reaching an ending I liked because there are some real elements in this but also a lot is fictionalized. I was having a hard time learning that my poems didn’t have to be 100% “true” to be authentic.
Here is the next version that I sent out in April of 2008.
Gift Catalog (version 4-18-08)
On top of the fridge is a carton
or cigarettes. I select a pack
and sit down at the kitchen table.
I pull the gold strip on the box.
The cellophane settles on the table
still holding its shape.
The ticket falls from the back
of the pack. I pick it up, place it
on the table for my Mom to see.
How many tickets do we have, I ask
as I hand her the box of cigarettes.
She hands me the coupon book,
165. I scan the catalog. I find
an AM/FM portable radio. I
hear a match scratch against
the edge of the table. I show Mom
the radio. She shakes the match
and puffs on the cigarette to start
its burn. As she nods, she exhales
a circle of smoke towards me.
-Now in this version, I can see where I was trying to find a form for the poem. I am always interested in having line breaks that somehow DO something whether it is the breathe unit or an idea unit. I don’t like my linebreaks to be arbitrary. Looking back at this form, I can tell it is having trouble combining subject with form and as the poem becomes more fictionalized the ending is finally starting to get closer. I thought this was complete but looking back at it now, it was very, very close but not quite there.
After the poem was turned down again, I sat down with it before sending it back out in October of 2008 with the form below.
Gift Catalog (version 10-18-08)
On top of the fridge is a carton
or cigarettes. I select a pack
and sit down at the kitchen table.
I pull the gold strip on the box.
The cellophane settles on the table
still holding its shape.
The ticket falls from the back
of the pack. I pick it up, place it
on the table for my Mom to see.
How many tickets do we have, I ask
as I hand her the box of cigarettes.
She hands me the coupon book,
165. I scan the catalog. I find
an AM/FM portable radio. I
hear a match scratch against
the edge of the table. I show Mom
the radio. She shakes the match
and puffs on the cigarette to start
its burn. As she nods, she exhales
a circle of smoke towards me.
-In this version I finally have an ending that I liked. (for some reason wordpress is putting spacing in the last couplet i don’t know why, i will try to fix but it might show up) I also notice I was really getting into the sounds of the words and the shape of the boy seems pretty solid, but alas it was still turned down again.
When I went back, however, to read the poem again when I was sending it out in January of 2009, I realized the poem felt complete. And when I sent it to Wild Goose Poetry review they accepted it! The form above is the one in which it appears.
This poem is also one that appears in my current manuscript that is under consideration. There are, I’m sure, many other versions of this poem including the original handwritten version that it might be fun to go back and look at sometime (if I could find it!). I think this poem started from a memory of those coupons they had on the back of cigarette packs and it just involved. Maybe I’ll do another post about “truth” in poetry writing but for one thing I will say – my mother never smoked
Have a great weekend everyone! I hope this inspires me to actually work on some revisions.
