deepundergroundpoetry.com
Letters To A Young Poet II
September 15, 2018
Jade Pandora
Los Angeles, California
Dear Geoffrey,
I was downtown earliest today (near where I was born) before the heat burned away the early morning overcast I love. To the Hall of Records, securing copies of files having to do with issues of property lines, easements, abatement, old applications and licenses for add-ons. Not to mention the odd transcripts of court cases of who got what in a divorce or subsequent child custody hearings.
I enjoy extending my abilities as free services to any of my family: no matter which side, no matter how many times removed. And that includes those considered family by marriage (as long as the union remains intact - yes, there has to be some degree of red tape, I do have my limits).
But let me thank you for several letters from you (which I have with me and will be addressing, in lieu of dessert, I promise) that arrived in quick succession during my transition between Catalina and where I am presently. Submerged, at an immaculate food court of a sprawling shopping galleria. Having lunch while writing this letter under the busy cacophony of city streets above, though not a sound do we detect.
Such is often the swirl of my social life as a writer, having always had a head for rows and columns in bookkeeping, the sound of an old-fashion calculator, and my preference for “even” numbers, and never rounding off grand totals. I’m primarily left-handed (being ambidextrous), not to mention dyslexic (talk about a mind at odds with itself).
However, I learned long ago, thanks to readers of my poetry (both back in the day, and current times), that my verse has a feel of careful word choices with lyrical (musical) results. Until then, I never understood what people were talking about when referring to my writing style. You mean - I have an actual “style”? Apparently, yes, I do. “Lyrical”. Well, that’s the foundation of my style is all I’ll admit to (she mischievously asides).
How fortunate, when I thought of and mentioned my calculating mind. For at last it reminds and takes me to one of those two pieces of mail from you - folded in thirds, in a white legal-sized envelope (the other being a 6 1/2”x 9 1/2” clasped/gummed manila envelope, with your folded hand-written poems on six sheets of Meade college-line, 3-hole notebook paper).
I read the letter within. Words of explanation. Of how your mind is wired to better handle fixed poetic forms, which, for you and the way you perceive, as mathematical calculations. I was transfixed by this because I [think] I had never realized poetry with such a label. But going by the poetry I’ve read of yours thus far, it does make sense, and it is what you believe within the confines you have always encountered. Yet, I wonder, what are and were the events that have you shackled to such limitations?
When you express the [almost] hopeless inability to grasp the concept of free form verse, and how to approach it (even though, since the nineteenth century, many poets seem to start with and prefer free form, but I plan to expound on this in another letter). Yet this seems understandable from what you’ve begun to reveal. I know my next words may seem premature on my part to say, as if in a revelation, but bear with me, please.
If I am able to help free up the block that holds you hobbled, and keeps you on one side of poetry’s fence, simply by showing you the ease of its transition, all possibilities become available. And now, therein lies the conundrum of my own ‘block’ regarding sonnets (and who knows what else)!
If I am able to assist you through the maze, so will I be able to sift my way through, and we will meet, equal to the task!
Such an “ah ha!” moment (so familiar in the snapshot moment in haiku, yes) serves us well. It makes it necessary for me to pull up short in preparation to make my trek back to my home in the valley before rush hour and gridlock begin.
What I have written here will go to the post, and then I will fly. I shall look forward to hearing from you with immense anticipation (as unseemly as this may appear).
With my pen respect,
Jade
Jade Pandora
Los Angeles, California
Dear Geoffrey,
I was downtown earliest today (near where I was born) before the heat burned away the early morning overcast I love. To the Hall of Records, securing copies of files having to do with issues of property lines, easements, abatement, old applications and licenses for add-ons. Not to mention the odd transcripts of court cases of who got what in a divorce or subsequent child custody hearings.
I enjoy extending my abilities as free services to any of my family: no matter which side, no matter how many times removed. And that includes those considered family by marriage (as long as the union remains intact - yes, there has to be some degree of red tape, I do have my limits).
But let me thank you for several letters from you (which I have with me and will be addressing, in lieu of dessert, I promise) that arrived in quick succession during my transition between Catalina and where I am presently. Submerged, at an immaculate food court of a sprawling shopping galleria. Having lunch while writing this letter under the busy cacophony of city streets above, though not a sound do we detect.
Such is often the swirl of my social life as a writer, having always had a head for rows and columns in bookkeeping, the sound of an old-fashion calculator, and my preference for “even” numbers, and never rounding off grand totals. I’m primarily left-handed (being ambidextrous), not to mention dyslexic (talk about a mind at odds with itself).
However, I learned long ago, thanks to readers of my poetry (both back in the day, and current times), that my verse has a feel of careful word choices with lyrical (musical) results. Until then, I never understood what people were talking about when referring to my writing style. You mean - I have an actual “style”? Apparently, yes, I do. “Lyrical”. Well, that’s the foundation of my style is all I’ll admit to (she mischievously asides).
How fortunate, when I thought of and mentioned my calculating mind. For at last it reminds and takes me to one of those two pieces of mail from you - folded in thirds, in a white legal-sized envelope (the other being a 6 1/2”x 9 1/2” clasped/gummed manila envelope, with your folded hand-written poems on six sheets of Meade college-line, 3-hole notebook paper).
I read the letter within. Words of explanation. Of how your mind is wired to better handle fixed poetic forms, which, for you and the way you perceive, as mathematical calculations. I was transfixed by this because I [think] I had never realized poetry with such a label. But going by the poetry I’ve read of yours thus far, it does make sense, and it is what you believe within the confines you have always encountered. Yet, I wonder, what are and were the events that have you shackled to such limitations?
When you express the [almost] hopeless inability to grasp the concept of free form verse, and how to approach it (even though, since the nineteenth century, many poets seem to start with and prefer free form, but I plan to expound on this in another letter). Yet this seems understandable from what you’ve begun to reveal. I know my next words may seem premature on my part to say, as if in a revelation, but bear with me, please.
If I am able to help free up the block that holds you hobbled, and keeps you on one side of poetry’s fence, simply by showing you the ease of its transition, all possibilities become available. And now, therein lies the conundrum of my own ‘block’ regarding sonnets (and who knows what else)!
If I am able to assist you through the maze, so will I be able to sift my way through, and we will meet, equal to the task!
Such an “ah ha!” moment (so familiar in the snapshot moment in haiku, yes) serves us well. It makes it necessary for me to pull up short in preparation to make my trek back to my home in the valley before rush hour and gridlock begin.
What I have written here will go to the post, and then I will fly. I shall look forward to hearing from you with immense anticipation (as unseemly as this may appear).
With my pen respect,
Jade
Published 24th Sep 2018
| Edited 1st Oct 2018
Author's Note
Written for & entered in the Deep competition “Letters to a Young Poet”, hosted by Ahavati.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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24th Sep 2018 4:21pm
I find it hard to express the joy I am finding in these letters - how captivated both by their content and the narrative structure they are imploring. Much like the serial pieces employed by newspaper and magazine publishers in the 19th and earlier 20th centuries to bring readers back. I await with glee and anticipation your next installment.
tomcat
tomcat
25th Sep 2018 5:39am
It was wonderful to hear from you this morning, while the birds there on Oahu still slept.
I could finally breathe when #1: I knew you were safe, and #2: I heard how much you appreciate the letters.
Btw, do you remember the first time I said I could finally breathe?
I could finally breathe when #1: I knew you were safe, and #2: I heard how much you appreciate the letters.
Btw, do you remember the first time I said I could finally breathe?
25th Sep 2018 6:54am
24th Sep 2018 6:32pm
