More on Form (2)

Some years ago, halfway through scrawling a poem I was surprised how easily the words were flowing in an unplanned, but pleasingly similar rhythm. I stopped and scanned several lines: ᴗ /   ᴗ /   ᴗ /   ᴗ /   ᴗ /:  iambic pentameter, but lacking end rhyme, Shakespeare’s blank verse. Again, I hummed and tapped the metre for a minute or two, and more words flowed. Not only did they complete the poem but started a sequel I hadn’t thought of before.

What an amazing way to trigger inspiration, I thought, and decided to see how far the process could be carried. Each time I stared at a fresh page, to get back into the subject I reread what I had written before, then hummed and tapped the metre over and over, and listened. Soon new words fell into place, as smoothly as if on rails. Many weeks later, I had completed the first draft of an unplanned poetic narrative, which became my chapbook Coming Home: An Old Love Story, published by Leaf Press.

Lately, I’ve been wondering if the same method would work with a livelier, even less traditional metre for inspiration. After all, think of the bounce and skip of nursery rhymes. How many originated from the rhythms of a nanny jostling a toddler on her knee or children playing pat-a-cake.