The sky is no clock.
My body wants to obey
its demand for sleep.
The sky is no clock.
My body wants to obey
its demand for sleep.
merge as the sky stops dancing,
parting from the clock.
Returning, the cold
breaks against the bedroom glass.
Wild-eyed, the cats watch.
In early dimness,
a quiet, unmoving sky
chills, waiting for dusk.
Dripping, drooping, weak.
The skin and the rain: both grey.
An unrestful sleep.
The willow droops black
against a lavender sky,
a still precipice.
My online speculative poetry class, Verses of Sky & Stars, is coming up on June 9th! The class changes a little each time as the group composition does, but if you want to get a basic idea, I talk about why I like teaching it in this post from April:
As our understanding of the world grows to incorporate more science and technology, our metaphors grow to include them. The static human behavior of looking outside to understand ourselves combines with an evolving society to give us reference points that shift over time and cultures. … Science fiction wrestles with how to figure out the universe and our place in it. Poetry allows writers to focus on metaphors and internal states. Science fiction poetry can get straight to the point and ask, “What can we learn about ourselves from the world around us?”
Poetry requires intense linguistic control. Every word matters. Whether you’re a poet who wants to create fantastical verses, or a prose writer who wants to learn the finely tuned narrative power that poetry can teach, you’ll find something in this class.
Over the course of a few brief lectures, peppered with plenty of writing exercises, we’ll discuss some common forms of speculative poetry, and the challenges they represent. I’ll also send you home with market listings, and lists great authors, poems, and books to pick up to continue your journey.
There is still time for you to join us next weekend. Enroll here at the Rambo Academy for Wayward Writers
Time for another round-up of my recent haiku! (Here is an explanation about why I’ve been writing and posting haiku.)
A day for walking,
but I sit and try to work.
My thoughts are so slow.
Cats watch the birds cry.
A window divides their worlds,
but watching is fun.
Clouds whiten the sky,
swaddling snug and restrictive,
the arms of autumn.
Cold drives off the bugs.
We shiver, but no bug bites
afflict our bonfire.
Brisk air on my arms.
Colder days come, and the dark,
but this day: fresh, calm.
The chilly blue skies
make the world bright as summer.
Leaves, trees, flowers, friends.
Colder than it looks.
The wind sways me with the trees.
So hard to stay still.
The leaves keep blowing,
tethered to branches and trunk,
brought short by their leash.
Dry leaves, restless wind,
all these things I’ve seen before,
trapped in recurrence.
Patreon content went up this week! There’s a poem for all patrons: “To the Person Leaving,” which I wrote for my grandmother’s funeral. For $2 patrons, there’s a chapter from an unfinished novel “Haloes of Limelight.” And for $5 and up patrons, there’s a reprint of my story with Trace Yulie, “Seven Months Out and Two to Go.”
As always, thank you to all my patrons! You help make my writing possible and keep my head in one piece!
When I teach my speculative fiction class (there’s a section this weekend, by the way!), I like to talk to the students about the most popular varieties of speculative poetry. A lot of speculative poetry is narrative, or works with imagery from mythology and folk tales.
One of my favorite varieties is poetry that uses science as a metaphor for understanding the human condition. Using sciencey science–the kind we teach in the classroom–may be relatively recent in the scope of human history, but as far as I can tell, people have used elements of the natural world to describe their inner lives as far back as we can track.
Concrete descriptions of the external world provide a way of translating ineffable internal states into concrete, shared experiences. I may not be able to point to the sensation of happiness, but I can point to grass–or photosynthesis–as something that exists outside myself in the world we share.
As our understanding of the world grows to incorporate more science and technology, our metaphors grow to include them. The static human behavior of looking outside to understand ourselves combines with an evolving society to give us reference points that shift over time and cultures. I love the throughlines like this we can see through human history, the ways in which we stay the same and also become different.
Here’s a cool example–apparently when we’re trying to talk about the human brain (at least in Western culture over the past couple of centuries), we tend to analogize it to cutting edge new technology.
Right now, computers are a dominant metaphor. We might talk about broad anatomical restraints as being similar to hardware, while software installation represents training that occurs within the anatomical structure. We run various programs to accomplish various tasks–our email helps us communicate, our search functions help us shuffle through data recorded in our memory banks, etc.
Before computers, there were other ascendant technologies, such as trains. Instead of comparing mental functions to hardware and software, they’re described as engine parts, or infrastructure. The things that keep trains on track become metaphors for the things that keep the human brain ticking.
In some ways, these are useful, clarifying metaphors. In other ways, they elide the plasticity of the brain. To risk extending the computer metaphor in the wrong direction, our software changes our hardware and vice versa. If we think of ourselves too strictly as machines, we risk ignoring the many other ways in which humans are not predictable systems of inputs leading to outputs. Like all metaphors, brain-as-technology rides a line between clarifying and confusing.
Science fiction wrestles with how to figure out the universe and our place in it. Poetry allows writers to focus on metaphors and internal states. Science fiction poetry can get straight to the point and ask, “What can we learn about ourselves from the world around us?”
Here’s a poem I wrote using the moon as a metaphor:
Moon, part II
like the blankness
of a page.
whose optimism winnowed
into the finite.
against the stars
with no one to call,
no man, no lady, no rabbit,
only the footprints of men
who won’t return.
You can register for the class here: www.kittywumpus.net/blog/speculative-poetry-with-rachel-swirsky/