How Poems DON'T Happen

Poems, as a rule, are not attracted to me as they are to others. Poems are scared of me. For me to find poems, I have to look with a heavy sedative, an elephant gun, and the occasional AK47.

Needless to say, poems don’t just roll on to the paper and magically become this powerful, amazing poem that knocks the socks off everyone who reads it. In Barbara Kingsolver’s article, “How Poems Happen,” she basically says the same thing. “When a poem does arrive, I gasp as if an apple had fallen into my hand, and give thanks for the luck involved. Poems are everywhere, but easy to miss.” Well, the thing about Kingsolver and me is that there is one main difference. I’m naturally unlucky. And, to me, poems aren’t apples. They’re monstrous titans from some mythological time that don’t want to be captured.

When I try to write poems, either I can’t find one or I find the wrong one more than half the time. That’s the tricky thing: Titans are clever creatures. Poetry, that is. It takes inspiration, time, and a little creativity to make that “just right” poem that will be amazing enough to get you an “A” on your next report card. It seems I just catch the wrong Titan much of the time… either it’s too small of one or it just isn’t the right color. The thing about poetry is, for it to be successful, it needs to be the right size, and have the correct level of personality or “color.”

As Kingsolver said in her article, “There are dusty, lost poems all over my house…” Yes, that means that there are poems everywhere in circumstances all around us, but we need to find the right one! Writing poetry is a continual search for those certain words to portray that certain aspect of life, and then portray it to others in a way that they usually understand.

So look around you. See that bald man, sitting on his lawn chair while watching the sunrise? He could be your next poem. What about that squirrel skimming across the telephone wires above your head? Or that issue on television that has worked you up enough steam to power a boat for weeks? These are your poems: the things around you that you
feel strongly about.

I have to hunt many of my strong emotional feelings every time I want to write a poem. I think it’s an acquired skill, something that takes practice and will come in time. The future will eventually toss me a magic pen (or the magic keyboard) that will make poems come to me. Oh yes. When that time comes, I will say, “BOO-YA!” and sell my sedatives, my elephant gun, and my AK47. Until that day, however, I still need to search for that certain Titan every time I sit down with a piece of paper.

Last year in my cursed American Studies class, we were required to write a “good poem” while at Maywoods (AKA Walden). Knowing I was in trouble, I quickly looked around the little lobby I was in for some unusual thing that would spark a feeling, any feeling. It was then that I heard a sound. Turning my head towards the sound in slow motion, I glanced at a windowpane and saw… a bee.

My eyes darkened and my face twisted into a horrible smile as I cornered my Titan.
The poem I wrote as a result was one of the best ones I have ever written, though it is now lost somewhere in the black hole of my universe, also called my room. The lesson, however, was that poems come in all kinds of shapes and sizes, including little evil-looking creatures—bees.

Nowadays, writing poems are easier. True, I still carry around my weapons of destruction, but at least now I know what to look for. Poetry is everywhere, and looking for it is merely the act of finding emotion in an object or idea. When I find one, my eyes will darken and my wicked smile will form, and I will know that I have my Titan.

Hasta la vista, baby.