Alicia Costello

October 1, 2009

My Blood Consists of 99% Lyric Poetry

            More than any other form of language and literature, lyric poetry stands the test of time.  The most beautiful works of the ancient worlds—The Iliad, Beowulf (to name just a few,) fit into the category of exquisitely manufactured poetry. Beowulf and the Iliad are more narrative poetry, but the amazing meter and rhythm are undeniably lyrical.  Lyric poetry is as natural to a human as breath.  Not every person can devote their life to the study of poetry—civilization needs roads built and vegetables grown—but for those select few who devote their time and attention to the study and production of beauty in the forms of word and meter—that life has blessings. 

            I have been writing since the age of 11.  At first it was not poetry, but prose. During the high school years, I began to appreciate the workings of poetry, the grace even when the poem conveys less-than-graceful topics…poetry was dancing with words.  I read a lot of great poetry, preferring some over others, but appreciating all.  Later I wrote some poetry that was…let’s face it…terrible. The essence of terrible.  However, one must begin somewhere.  Two years ago I went through a creative, productive time and produced three poems that have since been published here on campus.  I became a Literature Major and began to study poetry in an academic setting, which I would do in my free time for no credit if I had to.  Each time I sit to write a poem, I try to incorporate every good thing I have learned about poetry.  Things like alliteration, end-rhyme, enjambment, and all sorts of terms and coined phrases in the readings.  I learned what poems to call “good poetry” and what to label as “bad.”  I learned to listen to the grace in each voice, in each author. 

            In Creative Writing class, I was attacked with a new beast: poetry that still searched for its own meaning.  A published poem is one entity, but these poems were raw, unpolished, unperfected.  I felt empowered that my advice might influence someone else’s work.  T.S. Eliot never asked my opinion on word choice!  Walt Whitman did just fine without my input at all!  Now, a student begrudgingly handed work over for me to praise the good and rip apart the bad.  I don’t deny, I’m completely the Simon Cowell of the group, and it doesn’t really bother me.

            Reviewing materials naturally grows out of studying literature.  Once you tell someone you study lit and poetry, everyone wants you to read their crappy poem and they want you to tell them it is great…not what you really think about it.   Last spring semester, when it was required of us to review at least one classmate’s research paper, I learned what reviewer I am, for it was the first time I was required to write down the criticism.  A paper reviewed by me no longer has white space when I finish with it.  Twelve pages of 1” margins utterly filled with cramped pencil handwriting suggesting a comma there, a word change there, a switching of paragraphs, a praise for amazing work (there were lots of those,) a plea for more explanation, entire paragraphs scratched out, some I completely re-wrote.  Later, I learned C.S. Lewis was the same type of editor for JRR Tolkien, so I didn’t feel as bad.  A classmate friend of mine asked me to read her paper as well, a paper she worked to the bone on, and when she got back the paper and saw the numerous marks, cried.  I made a girl cry.  But she later thanked me, telling that I was the most helpful revision she’s ever received.

            For this class, it was a first for me to formally review someone else’s poetry.  I was asked to read and “say what you think” before, but now I really wanted to help make the poem better.  Time had come to apply my harsh criticism to poetry, something I felt I knew well. 

            Veronica sent me a poem, which I casually suggested some revisions for, but I couldn’t totally revise it because I wanted to see what the other students liked and disliked about the poem.  She didn’t seem to hold much stock with her poem, so I felt I wasn’t obligated to do the same; poetry can only reach heights the poet stretches for.

            It came time to have my poem reviewed.  The affection for a poem develops out of familiarity, ownership, and time spent…it becomes a child to you.  I was nervous that I would become too attached to my poem to change it, no matter what anyone said.  My fears were unfounded, I not only took criticism, my poem is vastly different.

            I learned much about what I like in class…the terms I already knew.  Well, one thing I did learn was that irregular verbs are more desirable than regular verbs (teach us more stuff like that).  As my experience with different kinds of poetry progresses, it makes me a well-rounded poet.  Poetry has so many connections with romance, and finding poetry you like is akin to dating to discover what you like, you may know how to date, but you are unsure as to whom you’d date.  I learned a little theory; the authors of the book handed me some ideas about branching out, generating new concepts, etc.  You, Dr. White, totally shifted my focus and thought process in what we were doing the first day of school.  There was a student who signed up for the class hoping to study creative writing, not write some himself (hello, studying Creative Writing is called a Lit Degree!!! You can’t study all written word in one class!) and you delicately told him we were focusing on extremely modern poetry, as in, stuff classmates wrote this semester.  Categorizing our poetry into something that sounded so official made me re-energized to create something wonderful.   Now a refreshing has come over and pens will be matched to paper.