January 2024 - Workshop Shit!
For the workshop this month, poets worked with the idea of impending doom. In the two pieces of verse below by William Butler Yeats and Bob Dylan, both writers evoke in the reader an uneasy awareness that something is out of place or that some event is about to occur. Yeats’ imagery is ominous, beginning with a stanza that broadly creates a sense of chaos and confusion; his second stanza introduces the more concrete and imposing image of a Sphynx as some kind of harbinger. Outwardly, Bob Dylan’s song has a more narrow focuss, showing us a conversation between two characters (the joker and the theif), but with no less broad connotations and subject. Here the topic of discussion is the state of an uncertain and uneasy world, prompting the joker to begin the exchange with the words “There must be some way out of here.”
Prompt Poems:
The Second Coming
W.B. Yeats
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
All Along the Watchtower
Bob Dylan
There must be some way out of here
Said the joker to the thief
There's too much confusion
I can't get no relief
Businessmen, they drink my wine
Plowmen dig my earth
None of them along the line
Knows what any of it is worth
No reason to get excited
The thief he kindly spoke
There are many here among us
Who feel that life is but a joke
But you and I, we've been through that
And this is not our fate
So let us not talk falsely now
The hour is getting late
All along the watchtower
Princes kept the view
While all the women came and went
Barefoot servants, too
Outside in the cold distance
A wild cat did growl
Two riders were approaching
And the wind began to howl
With these two pieces of verse in mind, poets brainstormed imagery and phrases in two separate word banks. For the first word bank, poets were prompted to come-up with images that suggested some kind of approaching or imminent danger. These were organized around the five tangible senses (sight, hearing, taste, smell, touch), and also included a category for more subjective images (mind). After that, poets repeated the exercise, this time brainstorming contrasting images: things that implied a sense of impending healing or resolution. The two word banks can be found directly below.
Word Banks:
The Rules:
1) Read through both prompt poems (W.B. Yeats: The Second Coming, and Bob Dylan: All Along the Watchtower). Keep an eye out for images or phrases that suggest a current state of things in the world of the poem, or which imply some future event. How would you feel if you lived in the world of each poem? Is it a good place, or an uncertain place? Are you excited, or afraid?
2) After going through the two poems, begin to brainstorm imagery that suggests impending events. You can organize your thoughts with word banks like the ones above.
3) Spend 15 minutes on a free write trying to come up with a poem that draws upon your brainstormed images and the two prompt poems for inspiration. There is no need to finish a whole poem in that time, and any style or form is welcome; as with most prompts, the idea is to compile a starting point for future workshopping or revision, and for now your first thought is your best thought.
4) Once your free write is complete, and you’ve revised and workshopped your new poem to your own liking after, feel free to post it in the comments section below.
Prompt responses:
Andrew’s Response:
Beneath the painted windows and the arches,
They brace their hands in sombre prayer, and wait:
The hurdy-gurdy hums, fog looms on marches
Where monsters scream somewhere beyond the gate.
The rotting things that fell among the fens
Are burning now – plague-clensed and undisturbed –
While scratching in the crypt betrays deep dens:
They know where gosts are, hungery and pertubed.
But as the window rays grow high and steep,
And midnight murmurs fade against the dawn,
Beyond the doors shrill distant voices creep
Amidst the moaning monsters on the lawn.
Minds cleared, they know what ghosts are. And new light
Is welcome … ‘til the day again turns night.