Twelve Days of Poems: Afterward

My self-appointed assignment was to write a poem a day for the 12 days of Christmas - which begin December 25. An additional discipline was to make each poem exactly 12 lines long. Each poem was frivolously given a title corresponding to the appropriate gift from the famous carol, although I did not restrict myself to responding to the carol, or, necessarily, the "gift of the day".

I did have a female friend in mind when I wrote these poems. We are not romantically involved, nor does it seem likely that we will be. But it was helpful to have a specific person in mind, rather than generic ether or "the eternal feminine." Using Pam as a model, so to speak, allowed me to include certain physical and sensory details, which gave the poems a firmer ground in reality than they would have had otherwise. I can only hope that Pam was flattered by the attention, and did not mind having these poems shared with the blogosphere. Needless to say, "Pam" is not her real name.

Especially sensitive readers may have noticed a shift in the style of the poetry about midway through the series.At the least, I was aware of a difference as I was writing the poems. A number of unrelated factors were at work.

First was physical, as documented in days 6 and 9. I was sleep-deprived on Day 6 (Goose), and spent the day in a twilit fugue state. As noted in the comments for Day 10 (Leaping Lord), I got one of my severe headaches on Sunday (day 9). I was barely able to concentrate well enough to think, much less write, and the quality of the poem reflects it.

Incidentally, I have come to the conclusion these recurring headaches are either sinus, tension, or migraine in nature. At the moment, the jury is leaning toward mild migraine. The headache is currently bareable, but present.

Another factor influencing the stylistic change in the poems was emotional. Friday, New Year's Eve, was day 7 (Swan). The weekend proved to be lonely. A couple of different plans fell through on December 31st, and I chose to treat the evening like any other Friday night. Another plan fell through on New Year's Day, and I allowed this third disappointment to get me down. It seems likely that the poems written during this three day period reflect a degree of depression. For the record, I believe I take appropriate responsibility for my feelings, and I believe I am on the mend.

The final factor is also environmental, so to speak. The alarm I used last week, while I was on holiday, plays cd's at the stroke of 6 am - this may seem nuts, but the kitten usually woke me up well before then, anyway. The cd I've been waking up to for the past week is Gillian Welch's Time (The Revelator). This cd is filled with lyrical mystery, such as what Greil Marcus found in Dylan's Basement Tapes (see Invisible Republic). On the surface the lyrics might read like normal sentences — noun, verb, object — but on closer inspection there are seeming non sequitor, or lacuna, which prevent the lyrics from making perfect lyrical sense. Here's the opening verse of the title track, as an example:

Darling remember from when you come to me
that I'm the pretender,
I'm not what I'm supposed to be
but who could know, if I'm a traitor?
time's the revelator, revelator.

I suspect Milk Maid, Dancing Lady, and The Piper make a little more sense with this influence in mind. At least you know where I was coming from. Ms. Welch's cd also has a high incidence of "name checking" - everything from Jackson Brown (as in the above sample) to "Casey Jones" to Elvis Presley to "Sweet Home Chicago"; I had this allusive quality in mind as I was writing both Milk Maid and The Piper.

I'll close with another comment on structure. Certain of the poems wanted to rhyme, sometimes in a regular pattern, sometimes a single couplet. Since this was a daily discipline, I allowed the poem to move as the muse directed.