Chicken Spaghetti

This is a repost of a guide that I lost when I had to move from Typepad; I just threw everything into the truck and didn’t check all the closets. By “street poems,” I mean poems of overheard conversations and soliloquies. Found-language poems, like “Now or Later” at Street Cake; scroll down to see it. I like to collect my verses in New York, but you can do this anywhere. To be clear, you can make up your own rules, too. These are mine.

A guide to composing street poems

In cities we are used to blocking out what is not necessary for us to know getting from Point A to Point B, but unblocking is the first step to listening for lines.

Material must come from people you don’t know. You may use questions strangers ask you directly and things they say to you. Those are fine.

You can’t make up any sentences, but you can break them up and add conjunctions if you like. It’s permissible to remove uhs, likes, ums, sos, etc. 

Walk slowly and stop often. Take the train and the bus. Eat by yourself. Drink coffee alone. Linger by the information booth. The people nearby are your collaborators.

Take care with names. Your goal is a poem, not libel.

Honor your collaborators. Remember what Grace Paley said, something along the lines of, “Every character deserves the open destiny of life.”

Keep an ear out for loud, one-sided cell-phone conversations. 

If you hear something that makes you think, “I want to hear the rest of that story,” that kind of line is gold.

The more languages you know, the better. Include non-English verses in a regular font, not italics.

Announcements, transit and otherwise, are always welcome. You will hear a lot of announcements. 

Cursing is okay but only in moderation. Same with snooty remarks.

Fill up a big cache of lines before you start putting together the poem. That way, they’ll rumble around in your head for a while and make connections on their own.

This week’s poem is “Making a Fist,” by Naomi Shihab Nye. It begins,

For the first time, on the road north of Tampico,
I felt the life sliding out of me,
a drum in the desert, harder and harder to hear.

You can read the rest of the poem at the Academy of American Poets.

“Making a Fist” is one of the first poems I read in a creative writing class at Columbia many years ago. I attended as a continuing-education student, and it has stayed with me all this time. In fact, I used the anthology it appeared in as the source for a cento that was published at Unlost, which includes a line from “Making a Fist.” The Columbia class was foundational in helping me drop my defensive “I don’t get it” approach to poetry. Worlds opened up! When I saw Bob Haozous’s sculpture “White Fist,” above, at the Heard Museum of Native American art, I made an immediate link to the Nye work.

“Bob Haozous: A Retrospective View” continues through November 30th at the Heard. I highly recommend a visit.

Poetry Friday is a longstanding tradition that began in the early days of the children’s book blogs, inspired by something similar among academic bloggers. (Shout-out to Grinnell professor Kelly Herold!) Everyone is welcome to join in. You’ll find a mix of subjects: original poetry (for kids, for adults), links to other poems, and other poetic adventures. You can read more about this fun weekly practice here and here. The Poetry Friday roundup for November 7th is at author Laura Purdie Salas’s place.

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Reminder: Next week several of us are attempting to walk in poet Donika Kelly’s footsteps; we’re responding to a meme or popular Internet video. Kelly’s poem is a serious piece with a fabulous turn at the end. Do join in if this appeals to you! I’ll publish my poem on Friday, November 14th. See last week’s post with additional details and a link to the mentor poem.

Photo by Susan Thomsen