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Writing and revising poetryONLINE EXTRA
Published: November 28, 2008 In the January 2009 issue of The Writer, James Applewhite shares insights into the process of writing and revising poetry. Below he shows how his method worked in composing "Clear Winter."
Before:
This is the first draft of my poem "Clear Winter." The reader will note that the published version is a few lines shorter, and that changes have been made in word order, word choice and, above all, in the rhythmic momentum or "flow." The finished poem runs on more swiftly, as I had from the beginning intended. But in the first attempt, I was unable to quite capture in writing the seamless movement I had felt. Still, all the elements of the final poem are present in the draft. This is a remarkably complete first version, for me. Even so, the poem had to go through a series of versions, before I was able to bring back those spontaneous phrases and movements from the manuscript and give them a more finely tuned setting.
"Clear Winter"
(First draft, January 8, 1985)
Confusion of seasons is over.
Today was clear winter.
Light that on trunks was warm
Looked bare and bleak
On chill limbs against chill air.
I saw everywhere corpses of trees
Piled mercilessly by past
High water, crotch-chunk
Of one upon trunk of another.
I worry about my brother.
Angular cedars with crowns
Thinned of needles in death
Seem some desert tribe
Overtaken by an angel of death.
Finally I climbed clear
Of the river valley where memory
Surrounded with its proxy history
Tree-corpses. I saw air clear
In its isolation and pure
As a star. We are unable
to endure this light
The cold whets like a knife.
I stand above this used,
Abused river land and
Hypothesize the being
We cannot understand, who
Begins springs with fire of a star,
Who is the clarity of air
And the far zero dark.
I sniff for the scent of some fire,
For coffee or leaf smoke or
cigarette scent. All are purely
Absent. I turn toward home,
Alone as a pane of ice
This keen sun shines through.
I will kiss my warm wife,
And under the first star,
Gather cedar for a fire.
After:
The finished version of "Clear Winter" is four lines shorter than the first draft, and words have been cut or substituted in a number of lines that remain. These changes help allow the rhythm of lines to fuse one into the other, so that the whole seems a single movement. For example, "chill limbs against chill air" becomes "chill limbs high in chill air." The first draft let the word "death" appear twice at the ends of lines, and the word "star" appears twice. It also allows the word "corpses" to come in too soon. It was as if my first impulse had known generally what it wanted, but had had to move toward that goal by trial and error. But notice that except for a change in tense, the ending stands as first imagined and drafted.
Here is the published version:
"Clear Winter"
(Published in River Writing: An Eno Journal, Princeton University Press, 1988)
Confusion of seasons is over.
Today was clear winter.
Light that on trunks seemed warm
Looked bleak and bare
On chill limbs high in chill air.
I saw bodies of trees
Piled mercilessly by past
High water, crotch-chunk
Of one upon trunk of another.
Angular cedars, their crowns
Thinned of needles by drought,
Seemed a desert tribe
Overtaken by an angel of death.
Finally I climbed clear
Of the valley which memory
Stocked with its proxy
Corpses. I saw air
In its isolation now pure.
We are unable to endure
This light the cold whets to steel.
I stood above river land
And hypothesized the being
We cannot understand, who
Begins things with flame of a star,
Who is the zero far dark.
I sniffed for scent of some smoke,
For coffee, leaf-smolder or
Cigarette odor. All unendurably
Absent. I turned toward home,
Alone as a pane of ice
The keen sun shines through.
I kissed my warm wife
And under the first star
Gathered cedar for a fire.
--J.A.
--Posted Nov. 28, 2008
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