*The images in this specific piece are granted copyright
privilege by: Public Domain, CCSAL, GNU Free Documentation Licenses, Fair
Use Under The United States Copyright Law, or given copyright privilege by the
copyright holder which is identified beneath the individual photo.
**Some of the links will have to be copied and then posted in
your search engine in order to pull up properly
*** The CRC Blog
welcomes submissions from published and unpublished poets for BACKSTORY OF THE
POEM series. Contact CRC Blog via email
at caccoop@aol.com or personal Facebook messaging at https://www.facebook.com/car.cooper.7
***This is #110 in a
never-ending series called BACKSTORY OF THE POEM where the Chris Rice
Cooper Blog (CRC) focuses on one specific poem and how the poet wrote that
specific poem. All BACKSTORY OF THE POEM links are at the end of
this piece.
by Pauletta Hansel
Can you go through the step-by-step process of writing this poem from the moment the idea was first conceived in your brain until final form? “When You Ask Me to Tell You About My Father” began as an in-class exercise for the Draft to Craft Poetry class that I teach, using an assignment that I borrowed from Rebecca Gayle Howell. The activity—we paired up and each poet interviewed the other about his or her father. (In Rebecca’s class at the Appalachian Writers Workshop the interviews were about our mothers.)
Then we wrote a poem about the other poet’s father and then eventually about our own, using the other poet’s poem and interview notes. So, when I sat down to write this poem, I had a specific reader in mind—Drew, my student and fellow poet—alongside my usual mix of internal/external audience (I am writing to better understand the subject/I am writing to be understood).
It began longhand, as almost all my poems do, and this poem began as a poem/prose hybrid, which is a little unusual—I usually know right away if I am writing prose or essay.
I moved from written page to typed page the same day—at least in part because I was taking the draft to class with me the same week. In my mind I was filling in the gaps of what I had shared in the interview, as well as including info I had given Drew. Drew had also shared his notes from the interview, so I had those to refer to. Most of what was in the notes showed up in the poem, some in a roundabout way (the description of Dad’s Christmas bulb nose was probably influenced by me saying he made a good Santa).
Where were you when you started to actually write the poem? And please describe
the place in great detail. The interview with Drew was in the hallway of the Thomas More University English Department—no
one else was around, so we had privacy—bright fluorescent lights and a Formica
topped table. Next to the copy machine.
I drafted the poem in our guest bedroom. There’s a daybed where I sprawl out to right longhand. My husband’s books are in that room—mostly Civil War and other military history. Lots of quilts and pillows on the daybed, quilt rack behind the bed and also a hat rack with my collection of hats mostly from the 40s and 50s. Hooked floral rug which, amazingly, my cat does not like to scratch. My stepdaughter says the room is haunted, mostly because it has old stuff in it. But I often start poems there, so maybe it is poem-haunted, too.
What month and year did you start writing this poem? The class when we did the interviews was in late September 2017 and the poem was drafted in early or mid-October. (Right)
How many drafts of this poem did you write before going to the final? (And can you share a photograph of your rough drafts with pen markings on it?)
I have the handwritten draft, plus five typed versions. I’m sharing the handwritten version (with some mark-ups) and the first and final drafts—I don’t have pen markings on the typed drafts—I worked on the computer at that point. The title came with the first typed draft. I also added line breaks, though I kept the long prose-like lines. In one version it looked sort of like the profile of a face, which was sort of cool, and I tried to keep that, but it didn’t work with intentional line breaks.
Were there any lines in any of your rough drafts
of this poem that were not in the final version? And can you share them with
us? Mostly I made minor
adjustments, but I took out an early line describing the Christmas bulb as “ the ones from the
fifties, not/the fairy lights you’d not find him on a ladder trying to
install—“ as it was tangential (though descriptive of his lack of interest in being
handy around the house!). I will say that I went back and forth with the sentence,
“That has to be/a symbol of something, that book,…” At least one reader felt like it was
too self-conscious, but I ultimately decided that the poem as a direct address
had an element of self-awareness that made the sentence fit the aesthetic of
the poem—plus it was an echo back to the poem’s beginning line. (Above Right: Pauletta's father in the 1950s)
What do you want readers of this poem to
take from this poem? This poem tends to have an emotional impact on its
listeners when I read it aloud, and I am glad of that. It is about loss, of
course, and how little we know of our parents, no matter how we try. The poem
has intentional line breaks, but it presents as a prose poem, and thus it makes
me read it that way as well, with a sort of tumbling breathless quality, like I
am trying to get it all in. (Above Left: Baby Pauletta with her father)
I hope that carries over to the reader when it is on the page. There is also something in the poem that is “about” reading a life as text, with its metaphors and serendipities, its mysteries and kismet, and as a memoirist and a poet who works from life and memory, that is part of my own purpose of writing—to make literature from life. (Right: Father and Daughter)
I hope that carries over to the reader when it is on the page. There is also something in the poem that is “about” reading a life as text, with its metaphors and serendipities, its mysteries and kismet, and as a memoirist and a poet who works from life and memory, that is part of my own purpose of writing—to make literature from life. (Right: Father and Daughter)
Has this poem been published before? And
if so where?
Yes, in Appalachian Heritage, Winter 2018: http://appalachianheritage.
net/2018/03/27/when-you-ask-me-
to-tell-you-about-my-father/ It Is in my new collection of poetry, Coal Town Photograph, out from Dos Madres Press in Spring 2019
Anything you would like to add? Thanks for the opportunity
Yes, in Appalachian Heritage, Winter 2018: http://appalachianheritage.
net/2018/03/27/when-you-ask-me-
to-tell-you-about-my-father/ It Is in my new collection of poetry, Coal Town Photograph, out from Dos Madres Press in Spring 2019
Anything you would like to add? Thanks for the opportunity
When You Ask Me
to Tell You About My Father
What’s left is the myth of him, the
words we use, scrawled
symbols
to remind us he was there.
A jumble of body parts:
skinny legs, a lap,
eyes that were not his without the glasses that left
permanent dents
on his Christmas
bulb nose, and if he was the
heart of us, he turned
into a broken heart too full for its cage. A broken everything—left
shoulder, right hip that would not stop him walking. He had a high
threshold for pain, though his mind was
drowning in it, a river pouring
through the doors, and anybody close would have to get a little wet.
Did I forget to tell you about his mother who died of the
consumption,
his father who’d come around
to drink the money from his piggybank?
Myth, more myth, but that doesn’t
mean it wasn’t true. Did we
talk
about his books, or just
the
Lexipro, before then the I’m OK, You’re
OK
that saved his life back in the 70s? I know we talked
about the churches
that he left, though it was never about leaving God, who’d
spoken just
to him, told him to
read. Books again, more books; so many books we
carted out the door,
boxes of them in the weeks before
and after. Did I
tell you there was one that slid off his lap when he died? That has
to be
a symbol of something, the book, the way it
kept getting lost and
being
found. Afterwards my mother saved it, labeled with a note she’d written
on a sticky from
a memo pad printed with
the words, “Things To Do,”
but we found it
in her basement, clearing
out her stuff, in a pile
left
for the trash. Mind: An Essay on Human Feeling, the abridged edition.
He’d got it secondhand, his name
scrawled beneath the price tag on
the flyleaf, and
as it says there in the foreword, “any abridgement
has its unhappy compromises” and this story I’m telling you,
it is
not my father,
it’s only what is left.
Pauletta.hansel@gmail.com
BACKSTORY OF THE POEM
LINKS
001 December 29, 2017
Margo
Berdeshevksy’s “12-24”
002 January 08, 2018
Alexis
Rhone Fancher’s “82 Miles From the Beach, We Order The Lobster At Clear Lake
Café”
003 January 12, 2018
Barbara
Crooker’s “Orange”
004 January 22, 2018
Sonia
Saikaley’s “Modern Matsushima”
005 January 29, 2018
Ellen
Foos’s “Side Yard”
006 February 03, 2018
Susan
Sundwall’s “The Ringmaster”
007 February 09, 2018
Leslea
Newman’s “That Night”
008 February 17, 2018
Alexis
Rhone Fancher “June Fairchild Isn’t Dead”
009 February 24, 2018
Charles
Clifford Brooks III “The Gift of the Year With Granny”
010 March 03, 2018
Scott
Thomas Outlar’s “The Natural Reflection of Your Palms”
011 March 10, 2018
Anya
Francesca Jenkins’s “After Diane Beatty’s Photograph “History Abandoned”
012 March 17, 2018
Angela
Narciso Torres’s “What I Learned This Week”
013 March 24, 2018
Jan
Steckel’s “Holiday On ICE”
014 March 31, 2018
Ibrahim
Honjo’s “Colors”
015 April 14, 2018
Marilyn
Kallett’s “Ode to Disappointment”
016 April 27, 2018
Beth
Copeland’s “Reliquary”
017 May 12, 2018
Marlon
L Fick’s “The Swallows of Barcelona”
018 May 25, 2018
Juliet
Cook’s “ARTERIAL DISCOMBOBULATION”
019 June 09, 2018
Alexis
Rhone Fancher’s “Stiletto Killer. . . A Surmise”
020 June 16, 2018
Charles
Rammelkamp’s “At Last I Can Start Suffering”
021 July 05, 2018
Marla
Shaw O’Neill’s “Wind Chimes”
022 July 13, 2018
Julia Gordon-Bramer’s
“Studying Ariel”
023 July 20, 2018
Bill Yarrow’s “Jesus
Zombie”
024 July 27, 2018
Telaina Eriksen’s “Brag
2016”
025 August 01, 2018
Seth Berg’s “It is only
Yourself that Bends – so Wake up!”
026 August 07, 2018
David Herrle’s “Devil In
the Details”
027 August 13, 2018
Gloria Mindock’s “Carmen
Polo, Lady Necklaces, 2017”
028 August 21, 2018
Connie Post’s “Two
Deaths”
029 August 30, 2018
Mary Harwell Sayler’s
“Faces in a Crowd”
030 September 16, 2018
Larry Jaffe’s “The
Risking Point”
031 September 24,
2018
Mark Lee Webb’s “After
We Drove”
032 October 04, 2018
Melissa Studdard’s
“Astral”
033 October 13, 2018
Robert Craven’s “I Have
A Bass Guitar Called Vanessa”
034 October 17, 2018
David Sullivan’s “Paper Mache
Peaches of Heaven”
035 October 23, 2018
Timothy Gager’s
“Sobriety”
036 October 30, 2018
Gary Glauber’s “The
Second Breakfast”
037 November 04, 2018
Heather Forbes-McKeon’s
“Melania’s Deaf Tone Jacket”
038 November 11, 2018
Andrena Zawinski’s
“Women of the Fields”
039 November 00, 2018
Gordon Hilger’s “Poe”
040 November 16, 2018
Rita Quillen’s “My
Children Question Me About Poetry” and “Deathbed Dreams”
041 November 20, 2018
Jonathan Kevin Rice’s
“Dog Sitting”
042 November 22, 2018
Haroldo Barbosa Filho’s
“Mountain”
043 November 27, 2018
Megan Merchant’s “Grief Flowers”
044 November 30, 2018
Jonathan P Taylor’s
“This poem is too neat”
045 December 03, 2018
Ian Haight’s “Sungmyo
for our Dead Father-in-Law”
046 December 06, 2018
Nancy Dafoe’s “Poem in
the Throat”
047 December 11, 2018
Jeffrey Pearson’s “Memorial
Day”
048 December 14, 2018
Frank Paino’s “Laika”
049 December 15, 2018
Jennifer Martelli’s
“Anniversary”
O50 December 19, 2018
Joseph Ross’s “For Gilberto Ramos, 15, Who Died in
the Texas Desert, June 2014”
051 December 23, 2018
“The Persistence of
Music”
by Anatoly Molotkov
052 December 27, 2018
“Under Surveillance”
by Michael Farry
053 December 28, 2018
“Grand Finale”
by Renuka Raghavan
054 December 29, 2018
“Aftermath”
by Gene Barry
055 January 2, 2019
“&”
by Larissa Shmailo
056 January 7, 2019
“The Seamstress:
by Len Kuntz
057 January 10, 2019
"Natural History"
by Camille T Dungy
058 January 11, 2019
“BLOCKADE”
by Brian Burmeister
059 January 12, 2019
“Lost”
by Clint Margrave
060 January 14, 2019
“Menopause”
by Pat Durmon
061 January 19, 2019
“Neptune’s Choir”
by Linda Imbler
062 January 22, 2019
“Views From the
Driveway”
by Amy Barone
063 January 25, 2019
“The heron leaves her
haunts in the marsh”
by Gail Wronsky
064 January 30, 2019
“Shiprock”
by Terry Lucas
065 February 02, 2019
“Summer 1970, The
University of Virginia Opens to Women in the Fall”
by Alarie Tennille
066 February 05, 2019
“At School They Learn
Nouns”
by Patrick Bizzaro
067 February 06, 2019
“I Must Not Breathe”
by Angela Jackson-Brown
068 February 11, 2019
“Lunch on City Island,
Early June”
by Christine Potter
069 February 12, 2019
“Singing”
by Andrew McFadyen-Ketchum
070 February 14, 2019
“Daily Commute”
by Christopher P. Locke
071 February 18, 2019
“How Silent The Trees”
by Wyn Cooper
072 February 20, 2019
“A New Psalm
of Montreal”
by Sheenagh Pugh
073 February 23, 2019
“Make Me A
Butterfly”
by Amy Barbera
074 February 26, 2019
“Anthem”
by Sandy Coomer
075 March 4, 2019
“Shape of a Violin”
by Kelly Powell
076 March 5, 2019
“Inward Oracle”
by J.P. Dancing Bear
077 March 7, 2019
“I Broke
My Bust Of Jesus”
by Susan Sundwall
078 March 9, 2019
“My Mother
at 19”
by John Guzlowski
079 March 10, 2019
“Paddling”
by Chera Hammons Miller
080 March 12, 2019
“Of Water
and Echo”
by Gillian Cummings
081 082
083 March 14, 2019
“Little
Political Sense” “Crossing Kansas with
Jim
Morrison” “The Land of Sky and Blue Waters”
by Dr. Lindsey
Martin-Bowen
084 March 15, 2019
“A Tune To
Remember”
by Anna Evans
085 March 19, 2019
“At the
End of Time (Wish You Were Here)
by Jeannine Hall Gailey
086 March 20, 2019
“Garden of
Gethsemane”
by Marletta Hemphill
087 March 21, 2019
“Letters
From a War”
by Chelsea Dingman
088 March 26, 2019
“HAT”
by Bob Heman
089 March 27, 2019
“Clay for
the Potter”
by Belinda Bourgeois
#090 March 30, 2019
“The Pose”
by John Hicks
#091 April 2, 2019
“Last
Night at the Wursthaus”
by Doug Holder
#092 April 4, 2019
“Original
Sin”
by Diane Lockward
#093 April 5, 2019
“A Father
Calls to his child on liveleak”
by Stephen Byrne
#094 April 8, 2019
“XX”
by Marc Zegans
#095 April 12, 2019
“Landscape
and Still Life”
by Marjorie Maddox
#096 April 16, 2019
“Strawberries
Have Been Growing Here for Hundreds of
Years”
by Mary Ellen Lough
#097 April 17, 2019
“The New
Science of Slippery Surfaces”
by Donna Spruijt-Metz
#098 April 19, 2019
“Tennessee
Epithalamium”
by Alyse Knorr
#099 April 20, 2019
“Mermaid,
1969”
by Tameca L. Coleman
#100 April 21, 2019
“How Do
You Know?”
by Stephanie
#101 April 23, 2019
“Rare Book
and Reader”
by Ned Balbo
#102 April 26, 2019
“THUNDER”
by Jefferson Carter
#103 May 01, 2019
“The sight
of a million angels”
by Jenneth Graser
#104 May 09, 2019
“How to
tell my dog I’m dying”
by Richard Fox
#105 May 17, 2019
“Promises
Had Been Made”
by Sarah Sarai
#106 June 01, 2019
“i sold
your car today”
by Pamela Twining
#107 June 02, 2019
“Abandoned
Stable”
by Nancy Susanna Breen
#108 June 05, 2019
“Cupcake”
by Julene Tripp Weaver
#109 June 6, 2019
“Bobby’s
Story”
by Jimmy Pappas
#110 June 10, 2019
“When You
Ask Me to Tell You About My Father”
by Pauletta Hansel