Rewoven – Revising Blogged Poems– “Born Blind (circa 1927)”
Here’s a revised version of the poem I wrote last Saturday for Victoria C. Slotto’s dVerse Poets prompt about quilting and the fabric of life. I posted the poem then as a draft under the title “Against the Weave,” and although I received very kind comments, I felt certain that I had not conveyed the real kernel of the poem, which is perhaps sadder than the original draft.
This issue of drafts and re-drafts is one of the hard things about blogging poetry. I, for one, get a strong urge to post quickly, especially when working with a publicized prompt. (One never wants to be too far down on the link list!)
Don’t get me wrong, prompts are terrific. They spark one out of one’s groove. One problem of a premature posting for me, however, is that I find it mortifyingly difficult/embarrassing to revisit work once it’s gone out into the world.
I also worry that it’s a bit of a burden to followers to repost revised work. (I’m not sure how many people are that interested in my creative process.)
All that said, I’m very thankful for the supportive community (dVerse Poets mainly, Jingle, and of course, my non-virtual friends!) who have given me the nerve to review, revise and repost. (Ha!)
(Please note that the details of the poem are all imagined/changes come mainly in middle. Also, sorry it’s so long.)
Born Blind (circa 1927)
The convulsive flicker
could just hook onto the gap
between white and black but
other spectral shifts–
cadmium to indigo to green–
could not be seen, nor shapes–
except those looming or not there–s0
he chose his shades by smell mainly: some washed
with the salt of fresh ham, others imbued
with a kind of must, a corner of the
barn where the planks rotted.
An occasional skein smelled
new mown while others
he could barely stand to sniff, their acrid
sharpness testifying to strident dyes, the warp
of fresh uniform–he remembered when his brothers
had gone off–even the diluted stink
of the slaughtering pen.
Then there were the webs
of cloth that he twisted before weaving;
their original patterns–the chintz or pink
geometry–converted on his cellar loom to
a knotted crisscross, stripes
that would hold up to years
of sun or shadow, feet and floor–and
those, when his quick hearing was sure
of isolation, he would cleave close–
donations mainly, they smelled
of the cleanliness of some other
farmhouse, run by some other
woman, girl, who wore a drape of skirt
over thighs unseen by all, and,
even in those rough crinkles
of sweat that refused to vacate the
joints of blouse or dress, carried softly tensile
traces–if only the ghost
of a fold–whose feel he craved
in the sameness of night/day,
beneath the clack-clack
of shuttle and loom.
He stood
like someone tied to a chair, chest
in seeming strain, hands
to sides, shirt,
like a boy’s, buttoned right up
to the chin, belt loops slightly
puckering. He’s very bright, you know,
they whispered insistently.
Eyelids fluttered
beneath a pale high
forehead that seemed to squint
in compensation. But meeting him,
one (turning from eyes,
forehead) was drawn to
those hands, with their large
chiseled knuckles.
Hard to realize from their
stiff dangle how very fast they could
weave. For he got
good at it, a past-time
allowed a blind man
when sons were meant to plow
straight furrows.
(P.S. – don’t forget to check out NOSE DIVE, new novel by Karin Gustafson, illustrated by Jonathan Segal. Thanks!)
I am also linking this piece to Imperfect Prose since it’s almost more a story than poem. 
Tags: blogging and poetry, Born Blind (circa 1927), Karin Gustafson poetry, manicddaily, poem about the blind in 20th century
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ManicDDaily 
December 13, 2011 at 10:46 am
I didn’t read the first draft but this one is wonderful. It seems complete yet pared down to only what is needed to convey strong imagery and a very interesting tale. Nicely done,IMHO.
December 13, 2011 at 12:30 pm
nice…i think i am the same…i often think of things i want to change right after i post it…smiles…but then it is released…often i capture these in my notebook for future publications…i am glad that you feel the freedom to rewrite and repost…this one is certainly tighter than the other…
December 13, 2011 at 3:12 pm
wow…the re-write is awesome karin.. you’ve woven quite some new threads into this…love it
December 13, 2011 at 3:14 pm
Thanks much. I appreciate your coming back to it. K.
December 13, 2011 at 3:58 pm
I wish to someday pen as well as you. You have a classic voice and I cannot see much tending due to your pieces, as they are remarkable the first time. This does however come from someone who very seldom revisits or revises her own work. I pen. I post. Editing is rarely done after it goes live. Always afraid I will work it over too much if that makes sense 🙂
You are an light to me, as you inspire me to go places I would not have thought of with my poems. I have many drafts, waiting…waiting on the courage to post them because they are so out of my comfort zone and some words feel “forced”. Any advice?
Anyway, thanks for sharing with the pub!
Kellie
@BackyardPonders
http://magicinthebackyard.wordpress.com/2011/12/13/in-the-silence-of-make-believe/
December 13, 2011 at 5:53 pm
Hi Kellie–what kind words! I don’t think I deserve them, but I’m always happy to give advice (for what it’s worth.)
Historically, I’ve often found it very difficult to look at something even after just giving it to a friend to read (much less after posting). I simply become terribly embarrassed; I can hardly stand to look at it. (This is in sharp contrast to when I am working on it, when I read it again and again.) This attitude is really not very useful, however, as it keeps one from getting and applying feedback.
I honestly think that blogging a lot has helped me overcome this problem. For one thing, if you have a high turnover of posts, it doesn’t seem as mortifying if some of them are not so great. (There’s always another day.)
That said, editing is extremely important for me. I do understand the fear of taking some of the “verve” out of a piece. And I have to say that I’ve worked a lot on fiction (novels) where I’ve edited them to death. But frankly it is usually my own difficulties in making decisions that leads me astray rather than true editing.
While there is definitely an energy in “first thought,” a critical revision can see things that will be unclear to a reader or that just don’t allow your point to come across. When something is new and fresh, it can feel so obvious in the writer’s mind–so clear–but it is amazing what readers will trip over. They just don’t have the same vision that you do in their heads and can genuinely not get what in the world you are talking about. So I really think it is important to revise and edit just to make sure that something is actually understandable. (I’m a big proponent of grammar and punctuation for the same reason–they help people understand the basics of what you are trying to say.)
My other big problem is that my first thought is often a super-wordy thought. So (believe it or not!) I really try to go over and cut and cut. Sometimes I make things longer, when I’m cutting, but I try at least not to add in something new. Reading aloud can help with that, or printing out on a separate piece of paper. I don’t often have the time to do that, so at least I look at the preview a lot, which is a bit like looking at the poem printed out.
Also when you revise things, you can really focus on sound. My aging mind doesn’t always pick up the most interesting words first go-round.
In terms of going to difficult places==this is very complicated when blogging. Unfortunately, a blog can feel very autobiographical because it is so immediate, and this can be a big obstacle if you have readers whom you actually know. I don’t have an answer to this one, except that in a way, if you really work on something–revising it and getting it as best as you can–it becomes a piece of art that feels a bit more separate from you, and the issues of privacy or “what will people think?” become somewhat less dramatic.
I really liked your open link poem tonight–the details were very particular and lovely. K.
December 13, 2011 at 5:02 pm
I missed the first post so you’re safe with me. I actually enjoy watching the creativity evolve and perfect…I think it’s one of the most valuable of lessons we can get in this blogging world. There is not a word here that is out of place or unnecessary (result of the revisions perhaps?I’m bad for wordiness!) Loved the write and am looking forward to getting back to Poetics myself.
December 13, 2011 at 5:44 pm
It’s always fascinating to get into the process of how another writer works these things out–I’m always revising, and my end poem sometimes isn’t even recognizable. I think it’s fine to go back with second thoughts when you feel you haven’t gotten something across. As a reader, I can’t fault your rewrite for being richer in detail and nuance–a closer look at your subject’s interior, and his place in his world. Very well built up in this one. I do have to confess that I still like the immediacy of the first, for emotional impact and resonating with the subject—-despite being hooked on some of the striking lines in the second. Both versions are solid writing, and it’s nice not to have to choose, but have them both.
December 13, 2011 at 5:55 pm
Well, thanks, Hedge (Joy)! It is all interesting. I did not really look back or do a comparison once I started again–but now I’m a bit blocked from looking back. I’ll do it though. K.
December 13, 2011 at 5:55 pm
I think you’re a very fine poet, so I hesitate to criticise, particularly as I seem to be in a minority of one (and one who also completely rewrote her own ‘quilt ‘poem after first posting!) — but I liked your first version better. I feel outside him, reading this; with the other, he came alive for me and I totally empathised.
December 13, 2011 at 6:13 pm
Well, that’s so interesting. I will look back. I have to say that I just plowed ahead myself, and did not do any comparison between first and second version–so much for reviewing!
December 13, 2011 at 6:23 pm
ps – please don’t hesitate to criticize. No one likes criticism but it really is a useful tool!
December 13, 2011 at 7:47 pm
Nicely penned. i think we all know the feeling that you express here…I am glad you followed your heart to re-write it!
December 13, 2011 at 11:27 pm
Don’t know Karin if you saw I left my draft up and then as I revised, posted successive revisions, poem before the one posted for tonight. Tonight’s has had time to sit and be sent out several times.
I am awed by the intensity, focus, and deliberateness of your work– you, like some of us, a perfectionist, I wager. This is terrific.
Regarding the mortification factor, I feel that to be read at all is such a privilege in these times, when the MFA programs and multiple academy-affliated contests are turning out poets and books in a flood not unlike a salmon migration. Those of us who are committed and serious poets are always revising, I think; I have a book-full of published poems that mortify me– in fact, several books if you count my first few chapbooks. Do trust that what you put out there however you see it, so far surpasses most of what we see and read online that you needn’t worry. xxxj
December 14, 2011 at 7:52 am
Hi Jenne–I did see that, and I’m afraid I’m a bit lazy for that! I tend to milk things for a second complete post. (Ha.) I do very much appreciate your kind and thoughtful comments. I am actually getting a lot better about the whole mortification factor. I think blogging has actually helped me a lot because if you post frequently, you know that you can substantively “erase” something by just piling up a bunch of new stuff on top of it. Also, as you say, getting any reader or attention at all is itself a huge battle, so you quickly realize that the world is not waiting to pounce on your less-than-stellar word choices. (Of course, by “you” and “your,” I mean, me and mine, as your word choices are in fact generally pretty stellar.) Take care, k.
December 13, 2011 at 11:31 pm
Another thought– I had a revelation about my own work some time back– I had cut myself off from it completely. I realized that I was deeply invested in finding fault with nearly everything I’ve ever written, done, said, et cetera. In other words, I was carrying a load of toxic shame on my back.
I have currently five unpublished collections of poetry I open each day and muse over, revising, rearranging, but I think we should beware, those of us with controlling tendencies, not to say that you are such a person, of cutting the heart and soul out of a poem because we want perfection. xxxj
December 14, 2011 at 1:02 am
The synaesthesia was cool, especially the comparison of colours to the salt of ham — so bold and direct — and unwinding of the image about the farmhouse woman’s thigh, which he alone can perceive.
December 14, 2011 at 12:04 pm
P.S. thank you for your feedback on my poem! I made the edit you suggested, which had been in the original 🙂
December 14, 2011 at 12:07 pm
You are very welcome. I loved the whole idea of that poem (as well as the execution.)
December 14, 2011 at 5:20 am
Nice.. havent read the original post but this one really nice and tight and vivid imagery.
December 14, 2011 at 6:12 am
I can relate to absolutely everything you say about the downside of prompts. I do find them useful, for the reasons you give, and more than that, because I find the very fact of having a deadline is helpful, both as a spur and as an exercise. But then, yes, there is the problem of revisiting or not, once the work is “out there”. I have not solved that one to my own satisfaction. Using prompts has definitely lifted me several leagues in terms of how prolific I was and am. A most interesting post. Thanks for it – Oh, and a super poem!
December 14, 2011 at 8:29 am
Well, you do a very good job with them, David!
December 14, 2011 at 8:49 pm
I think many of us post quickly in response to a post, then revise later. This was excellent the first go around, outstanding on this one. I don’t think we should hesitate to repost our improved work. I noted in comments, some people got to read it for the first time.
December 15, 2011 at 12:12 pm
i did not see the first draft, but really enjoyed this second 🙂 most writers re-work, so I wouldn’t hesitate to redo and publish. If people aren’t interested in it a second time, they don’t have to read it 🙂
December 15, 2011 at 2:07 pm
Very evocative.
December 16, 2011 at 11:41 am
Eyelids fluttered
beneath a pale high
forehead that seemed to squint
in compensation.
i was thoroughly engaged throughout this piece, friend, but loved these lines especially. i really respect your work and learn from you, even as i read.
December 16, 2011 at 11:42 am
Thanks so much. Hope all the Christmas prep is going well and that you are feeling better. K.