ordered words

In Part 2: A Problem To Solve, we tried to remember how it felt to fall in love for the first time, and thought about how to share that feeling. We realized that simply telling someone about what happened to us or how we felt at a certain time often didn’t explain our experience to them very well. Instead, we discovered that it was better to choose language that helped that person reproduce our emotions and thoughts in their own mind using their imagination.

 

That helps us decide how to write, but it doesn’t help us decide what to write about.

 

If we have fallen in love with Julia, there are many things we could write about. We could write about the first time we saw her. We could write about the first time we spoke to her. We could write about the long evenings we spent writing her letters, and the many mornings we scrumpled them up and threw them away. We could describe the bravery it took to ask her to the dance, or the sadness we felt when she refused.

There are so many things to write about, in fact, that if we tried to write about them all completely and well, we would soon be writing a novel, or a series of novels! It might end up taking longer to read about our experience than it took for us to fall in love with Julia in the first place. Earnest (who is, as you remember, our dear and curious friend) will certainly not put up with hours and hours of reading when it is sunny outside, and there are trees to climb and rivers to swim in.

 

So how can we decide which part of falling in love to write about?

 

Perhaps we should describe the moment in which we felt the most intense emotions. We could talk about the few seconds we spent walking away from Julia after she turned us down, and the terrible sensations we had in our mind and heart and stomach. But hang on! How could Earnest understand those feelings of rejection if we don’t describe how we fell in love in the first place? That would be a little like writing about falling off the roof, but only describing the moment we hit the ground.

 

“Well fine then!” I hear you shout, “In that case, let’s describe the very first time we met Julia.” We could talk about how pretty she looked and how surprised we were by our unusual feelings. But hang on! How can Earnest understand the experience of falling in love without knowing how scary it is to make that love known for the first time? That would be a little like writing about falling off the roof, but only describing the moment we lost our footing.

 

It seems we are no closer to deciding which part of falling in love to write about. How can we solve this problem?

 

Well, what do you think about when you try to remember falling in love for the first time?

 

Perhaps you think of a detailed list of events. Perhaps you think:

 

I first fell in love when I was seventeen. It was with a boy named Roger. I caught him staring at me when I was sitting in the bleachers at our high school’s football game one Friday night. He asked me to have a milkshake with him after the game. The next night, we went to the movies. The Thursday after that, we went for pizza and he asked me to be his girlfriend. We were together for three months before he had to leave town to go to college.

 

But I don’t believe that’s what you think of, even if your first love was Roger who stared at you and bought you a milkshake.

 

Perhaps you think of what the person you fell in love with was like. Perhaps you think:

 

I first fell in love with a boy named Roger. He was tall and had shaggy black hair. He had brown eyes. He worked as a mechanic and always smelled a little of oil. He wore an old leather jacket. He was quiet but had a beautiful voice. He loved dogs. He always looked for ways to help people.

 

But I don’t believe that’s what you think of, even if your first love was Roger who wore an old leather jacket and loved dogs.

 

Perhaps you think of the feelings that ran through your body. Perhaps you think:

 

When I fell in love with Roger, my heart beat faster and I felt hot. My breathing grew shallow. I became giddy and full of joy. I blushed whenever he came near me. I felt like I was sweating from every part of my body, even my toes in my tennis-shoes. It felt like there wasn’t enough blood to reach all the way up to my head.

 

But I don’t believe that’s what you think of, even if your first love was Roger who made your breathing shallow and head feel light.

 

I don’t believe those things because those are the things Earnest would think of, and he is a very serious and sensible young man. (And not at all creative and clever and brilliant, like you!) Perhaps you would say those things to a friend or write them in a diary. If you dwelled on falling in love, perhaps you would think of those things in time. But I suspect that when you try to remember how you fell in love, the very first thing you think of is a particular special moment.

 

I believe that for an instant you think only of the way Roger smelled like oil and leather. Or you think only of the first time he sang for you, in a quiet room when no one else was around. Or you think only of the way your skin blushed so red in your summer dress when he held your hand.

 

It might be a moment other people understand, like a tight hug or a first kiss. It might be a moment that seems trivial to other people, like a silly joke or a sudden argument.

 

In fact, people are so wonderfully different to one another that you might think of almost anything when you try to remember falling in love. But if I am correct, there will be a moment or an image that feels extra special, that pushes selfishly to the front of your mind and demands your attention.

 

Why do you think of this particular thing? If you think of a kiss, why not a kiss from the previous day, or the next? If you think of a certain picture of your partner, why are they not dressed differently or wearing their hair cut in another fashion?

 

If we think of the way Roger smelled of oil and leather, why that memory?

 

Perhaps it is because that slight smell of oil seemed to be with the two of you for that whole summer. Perhaps it is because that smell reminds you of the work Roger did as a mechanic, and how strong and rough and careful his hands were after years of fixing machines. Perhaps because that smell was there the many evenings you sat on the cold concrete of the shop floor and waited for him to finish work, when you spied on him as he quietly repaired cars and tractors for people too poor to pay. Perhaps because the smell of leather reminds you of how cold his jacket felt on your face on those hot summer days. Perhaps because he wore that jacket to make himself seem tough and grown-up, and because you were the only person who knew how frightened he could be.

 

Many memories of Roger remind you of a particular quality he had, or a certain good time you spent together, but those things are jumbled up and tangled with lots of other information that doesn’t matter any more. The special memory of the smell of oil and leather is important because every little part of it connects in some way to your experience of first love. It is dense with meaning. When you try to remember falling in love, this memory is the first one to come into your mind because it contains the essence of falling in love. It is whole and compact like an acorn or a goose egg.

 

Perhaps we could write about that sort of experience: the kind that is full-to-the-brim with meaning. We could choose a particular part of falling in love with Julia that contains the essence of falling in love with Julia.

 

What’s more, if we remember the properties of language from Part 2, we can change the way we describe that special memory if that will help Earnest (or whoever else reads what we have to write) understand our experience. We can even change details or even invent new memories if they will help our reader recreate our experience in their own imagination. What’s important is that we work away and refine our writing until every little part of it carries a part of falling in love with Julia. Just like every part of the smell of oil and leather had a special meaning, every sentence and word we choose must contain a little part of falling in love for the first time.

 

And if we manage to do that, we shall have written a poem.

 

Of course, people write poems about all sorts of things. Some very fine poems have been written about things that have never happened, or happened where no one could see them, or happened differently to the way the poem describes. It would be very wrong to say all poetry is written about special memories. What is important is that special memories contain much larger experiences, in the same way that poems contain much larger ideas and feelings. These kind of memories have the same kind of dense meaning as good poems, so are a very fine tool for thinking about poetry.

 

In the Part 4: Finding Words, we will construct a prototype of our poem by selecting, altering, and beginning to find language to describe a special memory we have of Julia.

 

Tags: poetry.for.engineers