Revisions continue.Reveesions continu.
Re
vis
ions
contin
u
Re:
vivid
suns
contain
you
To Martin:
Yesterday
in a lapse of judgment
I sat down
and wrote a poem.
Forgetting green,
I wrote, and thought,
Nice beginning.
You crossed it out.
Merry at the kitchen
table said, Cotton candy.
When you put it in your mouth
it melts like a cloud.
That's poetry, you said,
Added, Your line breaks
stink. The baby swiped
carrots to the floor.
You swept my poem
out the kitchen door in two
swift strokes.
I
ate
spi
nach.
______________________
Level with me, here:
Words
Form
Images
Structure
Say a chap sees your poem on a page. The chap takes your words and your images. With a few deft strokes of his pen the chap reorganizes all your words and all your images (adds clever internal rhyme as bonus). Chap takes your clay, punches it down, reforms it. Still your clay, different form. The chap takes your cards, shuffles them, deals out a new hand. Still your cards, chap's game.
This poem. Is it still your poem, or is it the chap's poem? Or does the poem belong to both you AND the chap?
What do you think?
(All hypothetical, of course.)
And should we all stick to spinach after all?
(Nah.)
