I'll keep this brief. Or at
least, I'll try, because when I sit down in front of a white page, I never know
what will happen. Sometimes I have a vague plan, sometimes just a title,
sometimes nothing but an urge to write (though these times are often the worst).
When I sit down to write I will
typically limber up with a few sketches that may contain the odd interesting
image, but don't necessarily constitute a whole poem. After the initial
disappointment (or the empty feeling you get when reading back over work that
is in no way successful), I will sometimes hit upon something real. Invariably,
my subconscious fills that part in. I like to follow ideas down into it until
I'm surprising myself. This method is definitely inspired by Frank O'Hara's
idea in ‘Personism’ that you have to take chances in your poetry. You have to
take the risk of being illogical in your choices (I'm paraphrasing) of word,
line and image. When I hit on something I keep digging (now I'm borrowing from
Heaney!) until I reach the bottom. That moment when you stick your spade in and
it hits rock. Then it's finished. On the way down, some weird stuff can happen.
My digging tends to happen all
over the house in snatched moments, or very early in the morning/late at night.
We have a three-year-old son who likes to press the buttons on the laptop.
Also, my job as a secondary school teacher keeps me very busy. There really is
no time whatsoever during a typical working day to dedicate to writing (there's
hardly time to eat some days), so during the week I will typically write
between 8-10pm. At weekends I can occasionally take a whole day and dedicate it
to poetry, but more usually I will be up at 5am (sometimes 3, as I am today,
though that's more due to insomnia than compulsion) and work until mid-morning.
By necessity, therefore, my poems come quick and are shaped by life. I rarely spend
time on craft in an initial draft, with the exception of sonnets, which I love
and am constantly trying to write to varying degrees of success. I like to
listen to the sound of rainfall whilst I write, so I usually find one of those
ten-hour videos on YouTube and plug in.
When I am stuck, I look to the
bookshelf. Writing should be a conversation with contemporaries, and I find the
work of other poets to be the most
inspiring thing. When I'm in a rut I look to O'Hara and Koch, who reassure
me. More recently I have discovered the work of Martin Stannard. He is widely
published in the UK but, despite having studied an MA in poetry and having been
relatively engaged with contemporary poetry for the last few years, he had
slipped through my net. His collection, 'poems for the young at heart' through
Leafe Press, is fantastic. I also love the work of Serena Mayer (Broken Sleep)
for the surprising things she does with sentences, leaving them half-finished
and subject or objectless, and Phoebe Power on Carcanet. There are many other
poets who help me, but these are the particular names that spring to mind at
this moment because they’ve been gathering on my bedside table at night and
whispering ideas in my ear.
Once a poem's initial draft is
done, editing is usually a process of minute changes and deletion. I recently
introduced punctuation back into my poetry (I found myself labouring over
systems to indicate clause shifts and insert pauses, when in fact one already
exists!) so I'll be fiddling with commas and full stops for a while, deleting
sections that don't add anything or are blatantly 'poetic', chopping up lines
and also ensuring the narrative holds water - my poems almost always rely on
narratives for their drive. Then I save. I save, save and save again. Then
print off a hard copy. The hard copy is the final stage of my editing process.
I like to scribble all over it. Seeing its physical form gives a fresh
perspective. You notice things that don’t work; metaphors that are mixed. I
re-edit and it’s done. Until I edit it again, that is.
Not really a day at all then. More a collection of
moments. I have tried not doing it. Logically, poetry is an inconvenience. An
extravagance. I suppose that’s why I’m always desperately trying to be more
illogical.
James Roome received an MA in
Poetry from MMU and is based in Manchester, UK. His work has appeared in Magma,
Tears in the Fence, Ink, Sweat and Tears and the Wordlife anthology. His first
chapbook, Bull, is out now from The Red Ceilings Press.
Website: https://jamesroome.poetry.blog
Buy Bull: http://www.theredceilingspress.co.uk/
On Twitter: https://twitter.com/jamesroome
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