The
'process note' pieces were originally solicited by Maw Shein Win as addendum to
her teaching particular poems and poetry collections for various workshops and
classes. This process note and poem by Terry Tierney is part of her curriculum
for Maker, Mentor, Muse and her poetry classes at the University of San
Francisco. Thanks for reading.
Along with the thrill of receiving the first shipment of my new poetry book, Why Trees Stay Outside, was my realization that the poems spoke to me in a new way. Experiencing this sense of freshness made me want to dance on the roof despite my inbred midwestern modesty. When I compiled the collection, I was aware of common themes addressing our natural, spiritual, and social environment, and the overhanging malaise of the pandemic. A chorus of narrators questions our relationships with one another and our world with dignity and humor. This book is about love, its pursuit and loss, and our desire to cling to moments that make us who we are.
As I wrote and edited these poems, I never saw them as a set. When I feel a poem coming on, I drop whatever I’m doing (if I can) and let the words lead me from one image to another. I seldom have an idea where the poem will take me or whether it’s even a poem at all. Because I’m not sure how the words form, I try not to edit as I write since a heavy hand tends to stop the flow.
I might be too gentle or hocus pocus about my creative process, but I’m a vicious editor. If there is a common creation practice informing the poems in Why Trees Stay Outside, it’s my revision process. Completing a first draft for me means the nascent poem is ready for my poetry editing factory where it’s trimmed, ground, bent and stamped until my inner foreman signs off. Among the many aspects I care about, the most important is my love of evocative imagery and my ongoing battle against dead metaphors.
The concept of dead metaphors is a staple of poetry classes and essays, and Donald Hall’s essay, “Hall’s Index,” is the best description I have found. In short, dead metaphors are not quite clichés, but according to Hall they have lost their color, becoming brown and gray. Common examples of dead metaphors are a blanket of snow, kick the bucket, falling in love. None of these phrases convey what the words themselves originally meant, assuming we know the original meaning; they are so overused that they have become general and imprecise. They tend to call up stereotypes or simple meanings, not the much richer intent of the poet. The reader might even pass them over like leftovers.
For me, the effect of imagery on the reader is most crucial. New images, new combinations of words, even casting familiar images in a new way help the reader experience the image. The reader sees or feels something new, even if it’s not precisely what the poet intended. No two people will ever see something in the same way, but poetry can stimulate a closeness of vision. The reader becomes the creator along with the poet.
Reading pleasure comes from learning and discovery. The power of poetry is taking the reader to the edge of understanding and providing a glimpse beyond. I liken this to the way some ancient religions did not name their gods. They provided a context through words, music or ritual where worshippers might experience their god, but to name the spiritual entity somehow diminished it. New metaphors have a similar power. The impact of the poem can be felt more deeply by the reader when it is not simply stated by the author as if it were a thesis.
When I edit a poem, I scrub for dead metaphors, trite phrases, generalities, and unnecessary words. But I leave in occasional articles and conjunctions when they help orient the reader. Images should stimulate each of our senses. I hate adverbs, but some adverbs might pass my final inspection along with a few dead metaphors if they are right for the poem. Many of my poems tend to be compressed stories or vignettes, but that’s not essential. Since I often focus on relationships, I want to make those insights unique. Few poems make it through my factory without dozens of passes.
Some might call my editing process heavy-handed, and it’s true that I have edited some draft poems into non-existence. Once I have finished a poem, the images should feel new to me as a reader, especially after I put the poem down for a while, like my recent experience of reading my book several months after proofing the final galley. I have often said the goal of my process is to create an epiphany in the mind of the reader. But I also realize that describing the effect of a poem as an epiphany is a dead metaphor.
Here is a poem from Why Trees Stay Outside that first appeared in the Bellevue Literary Review. When the James Webb Telescope looks deep into space, it also looks back in time, and in this poem the telescope becomes a medium of memory and loss.
The
James Webb Telescope Detects a Heartbeat
They
say the pulses come from a distant galaxy,
an
infant cluster in the first moment of birth.
But
I wonder if the heartbeat is yours
there
in your nebula of blood and gas
mindlessly
chewing the corners of your blanket
with
toothless gums,
your
eyes still shut to screaming light,
the
weave of distance and time
where
you will always be our first child,
the
edge of our farthest vision.
We
squint in every spectrum
just
to see you the way you are
though
we know it’s the way you were
what
you might have been,
larger
than we can imagine
and
farther than any lost prayer,
your
growth beyond our lifespan.
What
do you see when you look our way:
are
we even there or are we infants
like
you?
Terry Tierney is the author of
the poetry collection Why Trees Stay Outside, just published by
Unsolicited Press on 10/1/24, The Poet’s Garage (Unsolicited
Press, 2020) and the novels Lucky Ride (Unsolicited Press,
2021) and The Bridge on Beer River (Unsolicited Press, 2023).
His poems and stories recently appeared in The Bellevue Literary Review, Remington
Review, Reed Magazine, Ghost Parachute,
Flash Fiction Magazine, Rust + Moth, Typishly, Valparaiso Poetry Review,
The Lake, and other publications. A member of the San Francisco
Writers Grotto, he lives in the Bay Area with his family, including two fluffy
cats and an enthusiastic Golden Retriever. Website: http://terrytierney.com.
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Maw Shein Win’s most recent poetry collection is Storage Unit for the Spirit House (Omnidawn) which was nominated for the Northern California Book Award in Poetry, longlisted for the PEN America Open Book Award, and shortlisted for CALIBA's Golden Poppy Award for Poetry. She is the inaugural poet laureate of El Cerrito, CA. Win's previous books include full-length poetry collection Invisible Gifts and two chapbooks, Ruins of a glittering palace and Score and Bone. Win often collaborates with visual artists, musicians, and other writers and her Process Note Series features poets on their process. She teaches in the MFA Program at the University of San Francisco. Along with Dawn Angelicca Barcelona and Mary Volmer, she is a co-founder of Maker, Mentor, Muse, a new literary community. Win’s full-length collection Percussing the Thinking Jar (Omnidawn) is forthcoming in Fall 2024. mawsheinwin.com
