Bogumił Pacak-Gamalski

How do you write a poem? Where is it borne? I mean –  how the simple act of poetic writing occurs, how is it borne?

Of course, there are poets, who simply give themselves a task of writing a poem or three per day, or per week. When you do have a career as a poet, you are expected to keep writing. You need to publish here and there in a literary paper, every so often to publish a full new book of poetry. It is a job after all to maintain a name in circulation.

On the other hand, there are these impossible poets, who simply don’t give a damn about the business of being a poet. They just write when they feel like. Maybe once a day, or once a week, a month per chance?  And some might even get silent for extended period of time.  Free spirits.

What interest me in the original question is not how often or how rarely they write, but how the poem, the words are borne. Do you say them aloud? Is it possible that you think: I will write a poem about this or that? Do you seat yourself and start saying that poem aloud and copy it on paper (keyboard)? To be precise – is a poem borne in your soul or in your brain? Is it possible to use a verbatim form of recording a poem?

The other day I used a microphone that ‘types’ the words into a computer by itself (what will they think of next, LOL!).  Therefore the poem was deliberately born in the brain. It had no form or ‘sketch’ that I ‘copy’ on paper. It was becoming as I was saying it to the mike. I knew therefore what I was saying but had no idea what the next stanza will be. In a way it turned out to be …a discourse with the microphone. And the microphone was trying to correct my trail of thought, LOL, which I resisted angrily. It became almost a battle of wills. Very amusing. Decided to keep it, as a reminder that it definitely is not my way of writing poetry.  It felt almost Kantor-esque, if I can use the workings of great Polish and international theater stages by Tadeusz Kantor.

Here it is, cacophonic, almost angry, but somehow makes (maybe only to myself?) sense.

Verbatim

the day is done when

 the night is bright

 nothing is the same

 mornings are late

nights are brighter

by Moon’s shine

flowers are not done

flowering again

 birds are  not singing

 I think it’s harder

 to listen  exactly

 to what I’m saying

 do not correct me

 do not embellish

my words I am

 the poet nor are you

 my angel my fan

 my listener it

  takes too much time for

 you to understand

 what I need from you

  but we will  get  there

 a day at a time

 an hour after hour

 a year after year

 bye bye now

 time to go to bed

when we will talk again

 it should be easier

 I am going to

 a new day good night

 my lover per chance