Fire. It's the time of year that we light them. In our houses and in our gardens. November 5th, in the UK, is Bonfire Night, and fire becomes an entertainment.
Fire keeps us warm. It comforts. It can even, for some people, ward away danger. But fire destroys too - homes, land, lives. But it also purifies.
We can control fire to a certain degree, perhaps like the way we can only control our own passions and emotions to a certain degree, unless we're particularly self-contained. But does everyone have a breaking point? A point when the 'fire' will escape and engulf someone or something? A point when the 'fire' will clear the way forward, or destroy what is in its path.
Free write around 'Fire'. What are the emotions, images, memories, songs, phrases ... anything at all... that spring spontaneously to mind? Follow the thread of one that feels the strongest.
I look forward to reading your poems, and here's one of mine from my collection, Learning How to Fall:
Spontaneous
It happened at the Turkey Farm.
Witnesses heard a woomph like someone
stepping smartly on a bag of air and when
they got there, found the charred remains
of cloth, some bones. And a man
in Minnesota had done it on his deck at home,
mid-morning, the temperature only 54
but the Budweiser in his glass was warm.
If she could do at will what all these people
did in error, she reckoned on a money-spinner,
all sorts of side-lines – self-help books like
How to Find the Warmth Within. She’d start
small, spend days imagining the glow
of an orange ball inside her chest. The weeks
focusing on the hairs along her arm until
she could feel and smell the heat, hear
a crack like a mosquito on an outside light.
She knew she was on a roll. Soon she’d be
hiring halls to accommodate the crowds.
She’d open with a nest of leaves transformed
to a smouldering pyre on her palm,
and build to her grand finale – the full
combust, walls racketing with applause,
the diminishing calls of Encore!
Lynne Rees
Wednesday, November 4
Monday, October 19
Free Writing Ideas
Write about five different things, one for each sense - sight, sound, touch, taste and smell - that you have experienced in the previous 24 hours.
We don’t have to search far for material to write about – it’s constantly around us, we just have to notice it, and remember to make a record of it.
Paint the picture/moment/event in words - really see (re-experience) all the details.
Give yourself 10 to 20 mins for each one. Start writing and make yourself continue until your chosen time is up.
You could do one a day for the next five days. Don't worry about reading back over them. Let them sit in your notebook for a while.
And for a little inspiration, here are some delicious excerpts from Charles Simic's notebook:
Seeing is determined not by the eye but by the clarity of my consciousness. Most of the time the eyes see nothing.
My soul is constituted of thousands of images I cannot erase. Everything I remember vividly from a fly on a wall in Belgrade to some street in San Francisco early one morning. I'm a grainy old, often silent, often flickering film.
Two young birch trees wrestling in the wind. The crow in the snow refereeing.
The day I went to make funeral arrangements for my father-in-law, I caught a glimpse of the mortician's wife nursing the mortician's new daughter. Her breasts were swollen huge with milk.
The restaurant is Greek. The waiter's name is Socrates, so Plato must be in the kitchen, and Aristotle is the fellow studying a racing form at the cash register. Today's special, grilled calamari with fresh parsley, garlic, and olive oil.
From The Poet's Notebook, Excerpts From The Notebooks Of 26 American Poets, WW Norton New York 1995.
Write well.
We don’t have to search far for material to write about – it’s constantly around us, we just have to notice it, and remember to make a record of it.
Paint the picture/moment/event in words - really see (re-experience) all the details.
Give yourself 10 to 20 mins for each one. Start writing and make yourself continue until your chosen time is up.
You could do one a day for the next five days. Don't worry about reading back over them. Let them sit in your notebook for a while.
And for a little inspiration, here are some delicious excerpts from Charles Simic's notebook:
Seeing is determined not by the eye but by the clarity of my consciousness. Most of the time the eyes see nothing.
My soul is constituted of thousands of images I cannot erase. Everything I remember vividly from a fly on a wall in Belgrade to some street in San Francisco early one morning. I'm a grainy old, often silent, often flickering film.
Two young birch trees wrestling in the wind. The crow in the snow refereeing.
The day I went to make funeral arrangements for my father-in-law, I caught a glimpse of the mortician's wife nursing the mortician's new daughter. Her breasts were swollen huge with milk.
The restaurant is Greek. The waiter's name is Socrates, so Plato must be in the kitchen, and Aristotle is the fellow studying a racing form at the cash register. Today's special, grilled calamari with fresh parsley, garlic, and olive oil.
From The Poet's Notebook, Excerpts From The Notebooks Of 26 American Poets, WW Norton New York 1995.
Write well.
Tuesday, October 6
Happy October
Autumn slips in very slowly, and rather late in the year, in the South of France. The two plane trees in the garden are still sprouting and green, although the small oak has decided that it's time to turn. People are still swimming during the day, but the nights are cooler and we tend to move indoors by around 8.30 rather than our usual 11.
I suppose when we think of autumn we tend to think of change: shorter days, trees becoming bare, fires lit for the first time in months. It's a season of things slowing down.
When I lived in the UK I used to look forward to putting on a thick sweater. There's something quite lovely about being encased in thick wool or cotton when it's cold and blustery outside.
The following poem is from a sequence commissioned by Medway Maritime Hospital to accompany a series of artworks you can still see in the Fracture Clinic Waiting Room - 'The Four Seasons' by Tony Crosse.
Autumn
This is the gathering –
fields grubbed bare
leaf, flower, seed
settled to mulch.
Winds rattle
the garden’s ghosts.
We light bonfires
to tempt the sun
but the day’s too full
of doubt. At night
the fox’s scream –
the first cold snap.
The four panels are abstract representations of the seasons and are made entirely from materials used in the Clinic:
Here are some ideas for a poem:
1. Write a haiku with an autumn 'kigo' (season word). There's a two part seminar on writing haiku here.
2. Write about slowness. Research the word first for associated ideas.
3. Find an artwork that you really like and write in response to it. Here's a post that appeared earlier in this blog.
I'm in the UK between 7th and 17th October (and I'm really looking forward to catching up with a few of you) so I'll comment on any poems posted when I get back.
Write well.
Lynne x
I suppose when we think of autumn we tend to think of change: shorter days, trees becoming bare, fires lit for the first time in months. It's a season of things slowing down.
When I lived in the UK I used to look forward to putting on a thick sweater. There's something quite lovely about being encased in thick wool or cotton when it's cold and blustery outside.
The following poem is from a sequence commissioned by Medway Maritime Hospital to accompany a series of artworks you can still see in the Fracture Clinic Waiting Room - 'The Four Seasons' by Tony Crosse.
Autumn
This is the gathering –
fields grubbed bare
leaf, flower, seed
settled to mulch.
Winds rattle
the garden’s ghosts.
We light bonfires
to tempt the sun
but the day’s too full
of doubt. At night
the fox’s scream –
the first cold snap.
The four panels are abstract representations of the seasons and are made entirely from materials used in the Clinic:
Here are some ideas for a poem:
1. Write a haiku with an autumn 'kigo' (season word). There's a two part seminar on writing haiku here.
2. Write about slowness. Research the word first for associated ideas.
3. Find an artwork that you really like and write in response to it. Here's a post that appeared earlier in this blog.
I'm in the UK between 7th and 17th October (and I'm really looking forward to catching up with a few of you) so I'll comment on any poems posted when I get back.
Write well.
Lynne x
Monday, September 28
Listening to Prevert
La meilleure façon de ne pas avancer est de suivre une idée fixe. The best way not to move forward is to pursue a fixed idea.
Jaques Prévert
I did have a pretty fixed idea to change the way AppleHouse worked and spent quite a lot of time researching online forums, getting as far as setting up three different ones but then deleting them in turn when they weren't as user friendly as this site, or were plagued by adverts.
It seemed that I couldn't find the right format for what I had in mind, so I've decided to drop my 'fixed idea', give the old AppleHouse blog a new look and carry on posting at least one exercise and prompt every month and commenting on as many of your poems as I can.
I hope you'll join me here for another AppleHouse season. And here's the first prompt for Autumn:
I discovered the poetry of Kay Ryan a few years ago, but only recently realised that she's the current US Poet Laureate. Her poems remind me of pressure cookers - tight forms that hold their words under such tension. One of her ways of working is to take a familiar expression, a cliche, or even an abstract concept and 'unpick' it, or explore it, in a poem. I really do recommend her work to you. Here's one example:
The Best of It
However carved up
or pared down we get,
we keep on making
the best of it as though
it doesn’t matter that
our acre’s down to
a square foot. As
though our garden
could be one bean
and we’d rejoice if
it flourishes, as
though one bean
could nourish us.
My challenge to you is to write a poem around one of the following expressions or cliches:
Putting on a brave face
At the end of the day
All's well that ends well (I know Shakespeare wasn't 'cliche' in his time but this one has been done to death!)
One volunteer is better than ten pressed men
Pushing your luck
Under the weather
Try free-writing to get under the skin of the expression you choose. Dig deep. Find out what it's hiding. Go to a place where the words have more resonance than their familiar usage.
Good luck.
Jaques Prévert
I did have a pretty fixed idea to change the way AppleHouse worked and spent quite a lot of time researching online forums, getting as far as setting up three different ones but then deleting them in turn when they weren't as user friendly as this site, or were plagued by adverts.
It seemed that I couldn't find the right format for what I had in mind, so I've decided to drop my 'fixed idea', give the old AppleHouse blog a new look and carry on posting at least one exercise and prompt every month and commenting on as many of your poems as I can.
I hope you'll join me here for another AppleHouse season. And here's the first prompt for Autumn:
I discovered the poetry of Kay Ryan a few years ago, but only recently realised that she's the current US Poet Laureate. Her poems remind me of pressure cookers - tight forms that hold their words under such tension. One of her ways of working is to take a familiar expression, a cliche, or even an abstract concept and 'unpick' it, or explore it, in a poem. I really do recommend her work to you. Here's one example:
The Best of It
However carved up
or pared down we get,
we keep on making
the best of it as though
it doesn’t matter that
our acre’s down to
a square foot. As
though our garden
could be one bean
and we’d rejoice if
it flourishes, as
though one bean
could nourish us.
My challenge to you is to write a poem around one of the following expressions or cliches:
Putting on a brave face
At the end of the day
All's well that ends well (I know Shakespeare wasn't 'cliche' in his time but this one has been done to death!)
One volunteer is better than ten pressed men
Pushing your luck
Under the weather
Try free-writing to get under the skin of the expression you choose. Dig deep. Find out what it's hiding. Go to a place where the words have more resonance than their familiar usage.
Good luck.
Saturday, September 5
Back briefly...
Did you all have a good summer? The heatwave here reached an almost unbearable level last week but a Mistral for two solid days (that snapped the spokes on the garden parasol!) has blown it away and we're back to a loveliness of blue and warmth and light breeze, a special combination that I've only ever experienced on this coast.
Thanks to everyone who expressed an interest in the subscription only poetry seminars. I'm still working on the fine details and will post all the information here once I've finished.
In the meantime here's something to ponder and perhaps let a poem emerge from your ponderings.
Getting rid of things:
1) Does it have significant sentimental value?
2) Would the memory of the time/place/person it represents be enough?
3) Does it have functional value (i.e. do I use it more than once a month)?
4) Would I be able to get by without it?
These are questions I asked myself before moving in an attempt to de-clutter and avoid packing up a load of rubbish! And they worked... to a certain extent. But here are some more questions:
What's the difference between the things we can get by without and the things that are essential to our well-being? Is functional value more important than beauty? Are we frightened of memories fading? Can we measure and compare the depth of our feelings and emotions towards different people/things?
Feel free to post any responses.
Lynne x
Thanks to everyone who expressed an interest in the subscription only poetry seminars. I'm still working on the fine details and will post all the information here once I've finished.
In the meantime here's something to ponder and perhaps let a poem emerge from your ponderings.
Getting rid of things:
1) Does it have significant sentimental value?
2) Would the memory of the time/place/person it represents be enough?
3) Does it have functional value (i.e. do I use it more than once a month)?
4) Would I be able to get by without it?
These are questions I asked myself before moving in an attempt to de-clutter and avoid packing up a load of rubbish! And they worked... to a certain extent. But here are some more questions:
What's the difference between the things we can get by without and the things that are essential to our well-being? Is functional value more important than beauty? Are we frightened of memories fading? Can we measure and compare the depth of our feelings and emotions towards different people/things?
Feel free to post any responses.
Lynne x
Wednesday, July 1
News
Hello everyone - many thanks to you all for contributing so enthusiastically to the haiku seminars last month.
Here are a couple I wrote during the course of the month:
early breakfast
the sweet flesh
of a freestone peach
longest day
the sound of salsa
from the beach
I think the first one needs some editing - it's not quite tight enough, not quite saying what I want it to. It could be that 'sweet flesh' is too sensuous and takes me away from the ideas behind 'early' and 'free'. Any ideas, please post them!
As last year, AppleHouse will take a break during July and August, and will probably take on a different incarnation from September.
I enjoyed the haiku seminars so much and it reminded me how teaching poetry and sharing my insights into the writing process has informed my life for so long. And I've missed that over the last year or so, since moving to Antibes and becoming an amateur builder!
What I'm planning to do is to set up an online poetry course which people will be able to subscribe to. If you think you might be interested then please let me know by emailing me at lynne@lynnerees.co.uk.
It seems that my offer of a creative 'life writing' course here in Antibes is also coming to fruition, so once again, I'll be regularly involved with other writers. I'm looking forward to it.
I hope you keep writing haiku through the summer - although the best thing is not to think about 'writing' haiku. Just take notes of the things around you, brief thoughts, memories. Then, when you have a few relaxed moments, look over them and see how they might fit together.
I'll be in touch.
Lynne
x
Here are a couple I wrote during the course of the month:
early breakfast
the sweet flesh
of a freestone peach
longest day
the sound of salsa
from the beach
I think the first one needs some editing - it's not quite tight enough, not quite saying what I want it to. It could be that 'sweet flesh' is too sensuous and takes me away from the ideas behind 'early' and 'free'. Any ideas, please post them!
As last year, AppleHouse will take a break during July and August, and will probably take on a different incarnation from September.
I enjoyed the haiku seminars so much and it reminded me how teaching poetry and sharing my insights into the writing process has informed my life for so long. And I've missed that over the last year or so, since moving to Antibes and becoming an amateur builder!
What I'm planning to do is to set up an online poetry course which people will be able to subscribe to. If you think you might be interested then please let me know by emailing me at lynne@lynnerees.co.uk.
It seems that my offer of a creative 'life writing' course here in Antibes is also coming to fruition, so once again, I'll be regularly involved with other writers. I'm looking forward to it.
I hope you keep writing haiku through the summer - although the best thing is not to think about 'writing' haiku. Just take notes of the things around you, brief thoughts, memories. Then, when you have a few relaxed moments, look over them and see how they might fit together.
I'll be in touch.
Lynne
x
Monday, June 22
writing haiku, Part 2 of 2
What an amazing response to the first haiku seminar and prompt. You’ve all re-inspired me too and once again I find myself making notes for haiku as well as ‘seeing’ fragments of them throughout the day... just like you, Kay.
The second part of the seminar will ask you to think about writing haiku in a different format, but before we move on to that, let’s just recap on some general aspects of writing haiku:
Economy:
say no more than is absolutely necessary; question the role of every word.
Simplicity:
avoid overstatement, decorative language, explanations.
Significance:
use concrete imagery that is capable of suggesting more than its literal meaning; allow meaning and idea to emerge from the details.
Authenticity:
write from your own experience, your insights, observations, memories.
‘Light touch’ is a good expression to keep in mind as an overall guide to writing haiku - with language, punctuation (is it really needed?) and the effects of line-break.
However, you won’t have to worry about line break in this half of the seminar as we’ll be looking at one line haiku, or single sentence haiku.
Take a look at this one by Jim Kacian, a master of the one line haiku:
a last glint of sunlight from each polished headstone
(originally published by White Lotus, Winter 2006)
When I read this haiku the language propels me (albeit gently) from the beginning to the end of the line. There’s no sense of pause within the line and the image, although divided into two parts (sunlight and gravestone) is all of one thing. It’s the kind of scene that we notice in a split second, with no sense of division, no conscious realisation that we’re aware of the sunlight before we notice it glinting against the stone. A moment perfectly captured.
This ‘oneness’ is what makes it, for me, an effective one line haiku.
Now take a look at another one by w.f. owen:
spring rain drips from the still naked tree
This can be read in two parts:
spring
rain drips from the still naked tree
or as a single sentence with ‘spring rain’ as the subject and ‘drips’ as the verb. And it can also be read with a pause after ‘spring rain’, with drips acting as a noun. But the overall image still feels contained within a single theme. There’s no strong juxtaposition that we were exploring in the phrase and fragment structure.
Here’s one of mine that was published on tiny words last year:
all this green forgiving the rain
I enjoyed playing with different pauses in this haiku: after ‘all this’, or ‘all this green’, or even, ‘all this green forgiving’, but I also wanted the reader to have a single experience of rain and spring time, to be submerged in a single experience, so the one line haiku was a better option than splitting into two or three lines that would direct the reader where to pause.
So, to recap on these one line haiku:
propulsion: language that drives you to the end of the line with the single line seeming essential to what the haiku is saying, what it has captured.
OR
multi-reading: pauses that are not marked through punctuation but which can be applied at different points in the line to suggest different meanings and/or relationships.
You’ll notice that I haven’t attempted to interpret or suggest meaning in either Jim Kacian’s or w.f. owen’s haiku. There are things that they suggest to me but I’d prefer you to have your own responses rather than be influenced by mine.
Haiku are quiet poems and it’s true that we can sometimes feel they’re not saying much, or anything at all. That can be due to the way we read them, or the mood we read them in, or even to our expectations of what they should be doing. And sometimes, it’s just a case of a particular haiku not being the poem for us. But there are plenty more haiku that will speak to us.
I hope you enjoy playing with this form and if you can restrict yourself to posting one at a time that will make it easier for me to respond.
Looking forward to reading your work.
The second part of the seminar will ask you to think about writing haiku in a different format, but before we move on to that, let’s just recap on some general aspects of writing haiku:
Economy:
say no more than is absolutely necessary; question the role of every word.
Simplicity:
avoid overstatement, decorative language, explanations.
Significance:
use concrete imagery that is capable of suggesting more than its literal meaning; allow meaning and idea to emerge from the details.
Authenticity:
write from your own experience, your insights, observations, memories.
‘Light touch’ is a good expression to keep in mind as an overall guide to writing haiku - with language, punctuation (is it really needed?) and the effects of line-break.
However, you won’t have to worry about line break in this half of the seminar as we’ll be looking at one line haiku, or single sentence haiku.
Take a look at this one by Jim Kacian, a master of the one line haiku:
a last glint of sunlight from each polished headstone
(originally published by White Lotus, Winter 2006)
When I read this haiku the language propels me (albeit gently) from the beginning to the end of the line. There’s no sense of pause within the line and the image, although divided into two parts (sunlight and gravestone) is all of one thing. It’s the kind of scene that we notice in a split second, with no sense of division, no conscious realisation that we’re aware of the sunlight before we notice it glinting against the stone. A moment perfectly captured.
This ‘oneness’ is what makes it, for me, an effective one line haiku.
Now take a look at another one by w.f. owen:
spring rain drips from the still naked tree
This can be read in two parts:
spring
rain drips from the still naked tree
or as a single sentence with ‘spring rain’ as the subject and ‘drips’ as the verb. And it can also be read with a pause after ‘spring rain’, with drips acting as a noun. But the overall image still feels contained within a single theme. There’s no strong juxtaposition that we were exploring in the phrase and fragment structure.
Here’s one of mine that was published on tiny words last year:
all this green forgiving the rain
I enjoyed playing with different pauses in this haiku: after ‘all this’, or ‘all this green’, or even, ‘all this green forgiving’, but I also wanted the reader to have a single experience of rain and spring time, to be submerged in a single experience, so the one line haiku was a better option than splitting into two or three lines that would direct the reader where to pause.
So, to recap on these one line haiku:
propulsion: language that drives you to the end of the line with the single line seeming essential to what the haiku is saying, what it has captured.
OR
multi-reading: pauses that are not marked through punctuation but which can be applied at different points in the line to suggest different meanings and/or relationships.
You’ll notice that I haven’t attempted to interpret or suggest meaning in either Jim Kacian’s or w.f. owen’s haiku. There are things that they suggest to me but I’d prefer you to have your own responses rather than be influenced by mine.
Haiku are quiet poems and it’s true that we can sometimes feel they’re not saying much, or anything at all. That can be due to the way we read them, or the mood we read them in, or even to our expectations of what they should be doing. And sometimes, it’s just a case of a particular haiku not being the poem for us. But there are plenty more haiku that will speak to us.
I hope you enjoy playing with this form and if you can restrict yourself to posting one at a time that will make it easier for me to respond.
Looking forward to reading your work.
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