The Making Of A Collaborative Poem: Kaibab and Carol

kaibab and Carol and a moment of Muses' mirrored mirage of poetic ponderings.

“One of the most famous examples of collaborative poetry-writing in modern times was the poem collection Ralentir Travaux[1] by Surrealist French poets André Breton, Paul Éluard and René Char. The poems were written collaboratively over the course of five days in 1930. The Surrealists had invented the art of Collage and collective creative 'games' such as the Exquisite corpse, where a collection of words or images are collectively assembled.
In 1940's, American poet Charles Henri Ford invented what he called the "chain poem", where each poet writers a line and then forwards the poem to another person across the world by post. In his Process Note, Ford explained the method of the 'chain poem': "Thus, after the first line is written, the problem of each poet, in turn, is to provide a line which may both 'contradict' and carry forward the preceding line. The chain poet may attempt to include his unique style and make it intelligible to the poem as well; in which case the chain poem will have a logical and spontaneous growth."[2] In the 1970s, some feminist poets adopted the concept to discover their "collective feminine voice".
More recent experiments of collaborative poetry include the collaborative works of American poets Denise Duhamel and Maureen Seaton, who have been writing poetry together for 15 years and have published three collaborative books: Exquisite Politics (1997), Oyl (2000) and Little Novels (2002).[3] Duhamel described this collaboration saying, "Something magical happens when we write - we find this third voice, someone who is neither Maureen nor I, and our ego sort of fades into the background. The poem matters, not either one of us." – Wikipedia

To whit, Kaibab and I said our good mornings, and as always, his response was poetic. This began an automatic writing exercise, as messages pounded across on hooves of higher thought that led to this:


I. Beginnings

I am sun in my quivering skin,
each bump, a word expoding myth,
that there are souls who fly away
within each other's homeword thirst,
brating sod with footprint rod
waking noise to sing the morning
-kaibab

oh my, such salmon jump of canyon
from big and blue to fruity meat of sandy shore
and you and I and poetry in our mouths
while we swallow stanzas that shimmer like mirages
in a feast of friendship that rises
from books of testaments
that we lived, not dreamed, this life
-Carol

II. Building On The Collaboration

can I come...
I should take you on my horse,
this blue-eyed day in Colorado,
perhaps I'll see you northeast smile
and we could talk about our poetry,
wouldn't that be a day?

Oh my, such salmon jump of canyon
from big and blue to fruity meat of sandy shore
and you and I and poetry in our mouths
while we swallow stanzas that shimmer like mirages
in a feast of friendship that rises
from books of testaments
that we lived, not dreamed, this life.

We are sun in quivering skin,
each bump, word exploding myth,
that there are souls who fly away
within each other's homeword thirst,
breaking sod with footprint rod
awaking noise to sing the morning.
-kaibab

III.Taking The Inspiration Further

such salmon jump of canyon
from big and blue to fruity meat of sandy shore

and you and I and poetry in our mouths,
swallowing stanzas that shimmer like mirages
in a feast of friendship that rises
from books of testaments
that we lived, not dreamed, this life

counting clouds, like sheep,
headed for an angry down-slaught
but far enough away
not to wet down our fresh inspirations,

eagles tend them, herd them,
so we can see sunshine slant a path
towards a new poem begin painted on sheer faces
where shadows slide to remind us
there is more to this than earthly meanings

we are banqueted, bedded down
on dreams of down-light feathery features
of what the wind chisels in a language
we lean to make sense of

come morning, when blue swells
in your eyes and small clutches of sagebrush
smokes its first pipe

we are pens, friends, putting ourselves in a position
to dip into vermilion, ocher
in ache an arch of answers
to our age-old question:

where do poets go when night slithers
and leaves us only stars to wish upon
and camaraderie of custom-made stanzas
beg to be noticed but we are alone
and wishing for a hand to kiss the words
into some semblance of simply-beautiful lines

Ah, I know, for I have counted on the moon’s swell
when ghosts, or something great and guiding, leads me
to plain sheets of wanting the body of another ballad
that sings in lunar’s sagging hem
that there is more to this than pen and paper.

when sky drops it shade and sigh,
I come to stand at this Colorado coloring
to feast upon desert berries and dusting of dew
while finger of milky way beacons,
in its crooked way, for me to remember
the colors of these kindnesses
that poets can share
-Carol




IV.A Melding:

I come...
take you on my horse
this blue-eyed day in Colorado,

perhaps I'll see your northeast smile
and we could talk about our poetry,
wouldn't that be a day?

such salmon jump of canyon
from big and blue to fruity meat of sandy shore
and you and I and poetry in our mouths
while we swallow stanzas that shimmer like mirages
from feast of friendship that rises
from banquets of testaments
that we lived, not dreamed, this life

we are sun in quivering skin,
each bump, word exploding myth,
that there are souls who fly away
within each other's homeword thirst,
breaking sod with footprint rod
awaking noise to sing the morning

counting clouds, like sheep,
headed for an angry down-slaught
but far enough away
not to wet down our fresh inspirations,

eagles tend them, herd them,
so we can see sunshine slant a path
towards a new poem begin painted on sheer faces
where shadows slide to remind us
there is more to this than earthly meanings

we are banqueted, bedded down
on dreams of down-light feathery features
of what the wind chisels in a language
we lean to make sense of

come morning, when blue swells
in your eyes and small clutches of sagebrush
smokes its first pipe

we are pens, friends, putting ourselves in a position
to dip into vermillion, ochre
in ache an arch of answers
to our age-old question:

where do poets go when night slithers
and leaves us only stars to wish upon
and camaraderie of custom-made stanzas
beg to be noticed but we are alone
and wishing for a hand to kiss the words
into some semblance of simply-beautiful lines

Ah, I know, for I have counted on the moon’s swell
when ghosts, or something great and guiding, leads me
to plain sheets of wanting the body of another ballad
that sings in lunar’s sagging hem
that there is more to this than pen and paper.

when sky drops it shade and sigh,
I come to stand at this Colorado coloring
to feast upon desert berries and dusting of dew
while finger of milky way beacons,
in its crooked way, for me to remember
the colors of these kindnesses
that poets can share

come, capture me from muse-day’s mundane
and race me across a heating horizon
along the path of careening clouds
to where phrases paint themselves pink with joy
that here, where salmon stanzas leap ladders
to follow footsteps old gods carved
in canyon’s kind face

that smiles in round-faced joy
that two can come together in such spirit
that even the sun seeks succor
in such fine friendship
and we are herded and drawn together in this inspiration
like air to earth, horse to rider, salmon to water
suspended in pastoral pane of poetic passion
grown wise with age and strong with simple suspension
while we hovered over a symbiotic scene

V.Of Course There’s More…..


Seaton: We've put together a set of guildelines we call "The 10 Commandments of Collaboration:"
1. Thou shalt trust thy collaborator's art with thy whole heart.
2. Thou shalt trust thy collaborator's judgment with thy whole mind.
3. Thou shalt trust thy collaborator's integrity with thy whole spirit.
4. Honor thy own voice.
5. Honor thy collaborator's spouse.
6. Thou shalt not be an egotistical asshole.
7. Thou shalt not covet all the glory.
8. Thou shalt love the same foods as your collaborator.
9. Thou shalt eat and tire at the same time.
10. Above all, honor the muse.
- Poetry and Collaboration: Denise Duhamel & Maureen Seaton by Denise Duhamel and Maureen Seaton -This article originally appeared in American Poet, the biannual journal of the Academy of American Poets. Copyright © 2006 by The Academy of American Poets.


Thank you to my Muse's awakening, http://allpoetry.com/kaibab