How do you become a poet? Manual for Dummies
This is a brief guide for those who have had early spring inspiration, but how to splash it in the right direction – no idea. And also for those who have decided to become a poet. And not like that: “I’m a poet, my name is Flower, I give you all a hello!” And just like a poet, maybe not with a capital letter, but not with the smallest. And, of course, for those who have decided to discover a new, previously unknown talent.
In general, for all those who have never written a poem before, and if they have, then at 5. And I read to my parents to their frenzied applause. And the aftertaste of this childish vanity still burns in it with a little fire and demands to be turned into a greedy fire. Well, you got it. Let’s get started. Any manual is a brief instruction from a comforting simple five or six items that need to be accurately observed, and you will immediately become a grand master of the selected craft. This is how the authors of these manuals usually write. The author of the article does not claim that after reading his manual, drawn up on personal experience, you will turn into the descendants of Pushkin and begin to grow sideburns. What if you’re a perfect prose writer, like Gogol? But the traditional five points with practical advice he is happy to put forward and hopes for strict observance. Okay, first of all…
Don’t hurry to write at once
You are full of energy, inspiration, rich vocabulary, but if you can’t distinguish between iambus and choir, the author has bad news for you. You can, of course, prove with foam at the mouth that you are the future Mayakovsky, size and syllables have not given up on you. But listen to this! If they’re made up, then somebody needs it! Specifically, you, a beginner poet, should.
For the record, Mayakovsky had his own personal size and syllable. And he was called a staircase. So poetry is a little harder than you’d like it to be. So put aside a nice clean notebook and pencil and go deeper into textbook theory. At least get to know the size, or you’ll get laughed at.
Find the object of sighing Read the textbooks?
You discovered dactyl and laughed at amphiborea? Then let’s move on to point two. Does it have to be said that every poet has his own muse, always urging him to dirty the paper day and night? Well, there’s no music! But whoever becomes it is everyone’s business. Maybe your muse is an upstairs neighbor who wakes you up every night, waiting for you to fall asleep, with a drill or roulades from the columns, so that you jump up and rush to dirty your notebook. Remember that the brain works differently at night, in a more poetic way, so you should be infinitely grateful to your neighbor and be sure to devote a few lines to him. When you find a muse, take care of it, don’t be intrusive and don’t pursue it. It will call you when it’s time.
And if the muse is not there, then pay all your attention to the nature outside the window. After all, it was spring that was the first impulse for you to lose common sense and decide to become a poet. And this is an addiction, dear friend.
Now you can write.
Now you’re ready to sit down by the paper and grab a pencil. I assure you, as a long-time practitioner, that as soon as there is no more than an inch between the rod and a piece of paper, everything will go away. Your head will be empty, your obsession will be cleared up, and you yourself will be bewildered how it pleased you and where your hot thoughts and inspiration are. That’s how the tipping point comes in. Either you now laugh at yourself, embarrass yourself with your impulses, remove your notebook and go, still laughing, to do your usual business – prose, for example … Or you start to tear your hair, beat your head, moan and gnaw an innocent pencil, but at the table will stay, not remove the notebook and the first poems will squeeze out of yourselves.
So if you’ve come to your senses, your mind is clear, then praise and respect. And if you’re as stubborn a kettle as the author himself once was, you’ll get stronger. You’re terminally ill with this poetry and once you write it, you can’t quit. Now seriously: if nothing comes into your foggy head, start small. Look at what’s going on outside the window, and describe what’s going on in verse form.
Did you finish your first verse?
Don’t rush to find listeners, let alone fans of your talent. You’re likely to have a jump in size despite the textbooks you’ve read. And not even a staircase, but much worse. So read a few times, correct the number of syllables and then you can go bragging.
You need practice in any case. And poetry is no exception. The ability to deal with size and syllable is like the ability to ride a bike. If you don’t train daily, you won’t become a champion. All right, flag in your hands, beginner poets! And creative inspiration!