Reflections

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Contemplating Carver,
Lines breaking and reforming
In my head as I slow cook eggs,
Browning in butter, sizzling in the skillet.
Steam rises from my coffee cup, the red one on the sideboard,
Lilly’s muzzle dripping as she raises her head
From her bowl, snuffling.
She smiles, red tongue lolling in black furred face.
On a quiet morning
The slow whirring of the fan,
The rattle of the jalousie panes,
White noise from outside to inside my head.
“Put it all in, make use”, he whispers
As the toaster pops.

Carver speaks to me in a quiet, intimate voice. I tried to recreate that voice as I made breakfast, freezing a moment in time to use as material for a poem in imitation of Carver’s style. I experimented with the line length several times, moving phrases back and forth in an attempt to use space to create a sense of rhythm. I used images designed to evoke the senses. Line Seven,
“From her bowl. Snuffling,…” is the line that gives me the most trouble. I’ve changed the punctuation here to “From her bowl, snuffling.” I begin to see how spacing and punctuation can make a dramatic difference in the poem’s effect on the reader.

Sunday Night
Raymond Carver

Make use of the things around you,
This light rain
Outside the window, for one.
This cigarette between my fingers,
These feet on the couch.
The faint sound of rock-and-roll,
The red Ferrari in my head.
The woman bumping
Drunkenly around in the kitchen…
Put it all in,
Make use.

From Bishop, Thirteen Ways of Looking for a Poem: A Guide to Writing Poetry, Addison Wesley Longman, 2000,p.21

An Imitation of Carver a draft
Thomas Westmoreland

When I was eleven,
I spent summer in the library,
Reading the Brittanica.
I felt rich, gaining knowledge, drinking hour
After hour from closely typed pages.
The world was stuffed with wonder, popping out
Before my eyes.

Now, I carry a computer
That carries the Brittanica inside.
I feel rich, the grand achievements of great men contained
Between the screen and the keyboard.
They wait for my query, and respond to my command.
I can be anywhere, and see the constellations from Australia.
I cave dive in the caverns of Japan.
I speak with friends, continents away, but with me always
And discuss the great questions that occupy our minds.

The world and I are connected,
My keyboard is worn from my wanderings.
The words of wise women whisper from its speakers.
I am rich, and filled with wonder
Driven to distraction and creating strange connections.