Finding the Form with Virginia Boudreau
“I must admit, I suffered significant angst wondering if I stole too much ‘heart’ away in the sculpting process. Some passages, relegated to my cemetery of lost words, are committed to rising again some day.”
Poetry has always been my preferred medium and, initially at least, my pieces start out with the intention of becoming some form of poem. The postscripts are no exception, and first drafts (all composed more than ten years ago now) were lengthy narrative poems. This being said, these particular works seemed to require more “breathing space” and a different “look.” It was substantial trial and error that led to the final versions and it helped that I had an excess of raw material to work with.
As a regular subscriber to the Brevity Blog, I’ve become increasingly intrigued with how writers make brief pieces sing. The work in TNQ represents my foray into new territory. I’ve learned I’m quite partial to the restraint imposed by the limited word counts in the flash genre. Most of my questions concerned word choice and sentence structure; how did selections impact or alter what I was trying to say? How could I achieve maximum impact with minimum words? Which language was absolutely essential, and which was self indulgent? After, I was amazed both at the amount of phrasing that was discarded and those lines that remained exactly as they’d been first recorded. I must admit, I suffered significant angst wondering if I stole too much “heart” away in the sculpting process. Some passages, relegated to my cemetery of lost words, are committed to rising again some day.
“I’d say the challenge of finding the best structure to express an idea that does not necessarily want to be tamed is somewhat like having an incomplete jigsaw puzzle set up on the table in the corner; you can’t wait to return to complete the elusive image, frustrating and downright painful as that exercise may be.”
The original poems almost seemed to write themselves. Though I’m inclined to begin with verbose free associations and copious expanses of text, it’s rare for me to have such clarity of intent at the inception of a new piece. In this case, I think the ease and accuracy of word flow in the beginning stages can be attributed to specific triggers activated in three separate workshops. The prompts, provided by accomplished facilitators, stirred latent memories that were more powerful than I ever would have imagined, and strong images appeared in quick succession. The final vocabulary decisions were guided by emotion in “Contrived” and “Shadows.” In both of those I felt the need to produce a visceral reaction in myself, if not in others. I felt more removed from “The Backyard Gate” and remember enjoying the word play and symbolism when I was revising that piece.
If I were to make a comparison, I’d say the challenge of finding the best structure to express an idea that does not necessarily want to be tamed is somewhat like having an incomplete jigsaw puzzle set up on the table in the corner; you can’t wait to return to complete the elusive image, frustrating and downright painful as that exercise may be. You know the goal is attainable; all you need to do is align the disparate pieces to conjure something from nothing. It’s like making magic, and, I’ve discovered, it’s why I write.
Virginia Boudreau is a retired teacher in Nova Scotia. Her poetry and prose have appeared in international literary publications.
Photo by Ricardo Gomez Angel on Unsplash