Friends often ask me if I’m going to write a poem about their birthday or an outing we’ve had. While I don’t make any guarantees, sometimes the muse does kick an appropriate poem my way. It isn’t always a good idea (sorry Robin). My poems often tend to the dark side even if what I’m looking at is wonderful.

I’ll explain the reason for that in future postings. Today I want to concentrate on what happens during the editing process, the transition from truth to fiction.

This poem was written after a lovely day at our friends’ country place. The, um, house is 9’ by 12’ (with a loft!) so needless to say, it has a separate outhouse which the guys built first. I love the whole property but I have to tell you, the view from that outhouse is sublime. So when they asked if I was going to write a poem to it, I sure as hell hoped I would. And that it would turn out positively (sorry Robin!). I got lucky:

First Draft:
View

It’s not the most kingly of thrones, not
draped in silks or velvets or even
dry-panelled. Birds had nested
on a ledge near where heads go, mice
had left offerings underfoot,
while a silver-crusted lizard watches
eyelessly from above. You’ve scythed
the path clear to the door, checked
for skunks, foxes, the land’s
owners before you. And now I sit
gazing on summer’s late greens, the trees
heavy, downcast with rain’s fall, the sky
soft watercolour greys mixed
with the bruises of plums. No door
was part of your building plans, just this
chance to see bears approach, black
through bracken turning autumn’s early
gold. Berries hang dripping as wind slips
through. I linger, feasting on your view.

Now, I made a few of my usual mistakes when getting this down. I set my standard riddle for the reader, the guessing game of what the poem is about. I don’t even want to think at what line they might have figured it out. I just want to fix the problem. How to do it this time? I rejected the first title that sprang to mind: ‘The View While Peeing’. Perhaps something a little more subtle. For now, I’ve settled on ‘Outhouse Sitting’. Because I find titles such a struggle, I’m going to take Ronnie Brown’s workshop, Writing a Winning Title at Tree Reading Series on November 9th.

My next problem was bigger. True details don’t always make for good poetry. Yes, Albert had removed the bird’s nest and mouse droppings before we came. Much appreciated. But the past tense doesn’t work without a lot of explanation I have no intention of going into. So, sorry to undo your hard work, Albert, but that nest is back up on its ledge and those mice are hard at work again.

Then I heightened the bear threat because I want that sense of menace in this poem, the transition from velvets to implied teeth. It wasn’t there — we didn’t even wear orange vests to avoid hunters. It was a safe trip. But safety doesn’t make for great poetry so I emphasize the bear hunting on the property. And the risk.

Finally, I didn’t walk back whistling. I love silence. I stood listening on the path. Walked slowly as laughter rose from the house. But what’s below is the ending the poem needed. And the poem’s truth, its integrity, is the most important thing here. After all, this isn’t titled True Story.

Current Version:

Outhouse Sitting

It’s not the most kingly of thrones, not
draped in silks or velvets or even
dry-panelled. Sparrows stack
twigs at head level, mice leave
their little crunches underfoot, while a silver
flecked lizard guards eyelessly from above.
You’ve scythed the path clear to the door, checked
for skunks, foxes, the land’s owners
before you. And now I sit
surveying trees the colour of evergreens
in winter, downcast with rain’s fall, the sky
soft greys mixed with the bruises of plums,
smoke rising on the horizon. No door
was part of your plans, just this:
the convenience of watching through bracken
turning autumn’s early gold for black bear
approaching, for black bear hunting
for berries hanging dripping as wind slips through.
I’m lucky today. Walk back whistling.

p.s. This is my second poem on this website written to views from the loo (See Watch Me Edit for the first). All I can say is that it’s really important to pay attention to inspiration wherever it happens.