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Perfect Words
A handbook for poets with essays on how to publish, which contests to enter, who pays for your work, and forms like the sonnet. Award winning section of poems following the essay section.
Excerpts from Section I, Essays
On the writing of sonnets:
... after studying Crosland’s theory, I figured if I could write a sonnet within his parameters, I could write any form I wanted to. Crosland was positively myopic. He spoke sternly across the decades, by admonishing, “Words ending in “ty,” “ly,” and “cy” must not be used as rhymes whether in octet (first eight lines) or sestet(last six lines).” Crosland also denied the use of the pronoun “I” as a rhyme, as well as “easy or over-worked rhymes such as ‘see,’ ‘me,’ ‘be,’ and a whole long list of others.
I studied six pages of his theory, and tooled and whittled. Crosland was a high profile critic in his day, so I trusted his knowledge even if he seemed a little anal-retentive. For the next few days, I spoke, I am sure, in perfect iambic pentameter to everyone I met. That’s how deeply I’d ingrained the line formation in my head.
On entering poetry contests:
I always consider the entry fee. If it’s more than \\$10 American money, I don’t enter, because that’s the limit I’ve set for my contest entries. In addition, I like to know the name of the judge. I know many poets professionally, because of the articles I write, and there are certain judges that I know will not select my work. That’s because certain judges like a certain type of poetry. Some judges like confessional poetry; other contests revolve around formal poetry. There is one particular poet who frequently judges contests, and I don’t ever enter those. That’s because this poet has never selected a poem I like as a winner in any of the contests. I recall seeing the winning entries in a competition judged by this poet, and all I could think was, “Jeez, what made her pick that one?” That was one competition I was glad I didn’t enter. I’ve entered other contests where I saw the winning poem, and I was honored to be among the finalists because the winning poem was so good.
Excerpts from Section II, Poems
*from the collection,
An Obsession with Light
My Poetry Reading
Cappucino whines and green tables squat
and the man in front has Shakespeare’s face
on his coffee cup. I envy lightning-the quick cut
into visual space, the ability to coerce awe.
What that must be like, to strike
with no warning, to prey on clouds
and singe heat with light. I covet
the charge that sears metal
or changes an oak to ashes. One good strike
will burn, sharp edges crackling
long after all sound is done.
Rehab
Always there before the rest of the flock
on your one good leg, dark eyes not bothering
to beg because you know the best parts of our lunch
will fly your way--just crumbs
for the others with nothing missing.
I wonder where you go when you leave.
Please accept a confession of ignorance
about the range of a gull--after all,
people have an infinite horizon.
With our daughters, we skim across sand
like wild cackling shorebirds. They look first
for you--no other adoptee in this place
where being sole amputee is an asset, of sorts.
We pull bread apart, trifling, and I watch
as you fly off to some secret corner.
I think how I would love to bring you home
with me. We are kin.