By Charles Ederer
Should have been in the letter I don’t remember
Where I wrote in cursive script that I was lost
In the trailing wind
An oblique horizon levitating with the sun
Setting on me
I told you about my life then asking
Whether things lost are never found again in daylight
Only in dream and night
I said this was a French ballad sad and strong
With an audience that sings with me
And now I press my hands to these salted floorboards
Thinking of you my English Channel
My Rome 25 years on
But few things are so close
Not tomorrow if all we have is stuffed into bags
Shut to the rest of us
There is a snowflake in this burned-out house in winter
If there is one in you
Drift with us
Over charred postcards and Polaroids
Under kitchen-sink faces
Through rays of diamond summer dust
Near the well where I watch unicorns play
Is a fallen tree on which to imagine
The ride home or some such scheme of war
In haste as the nights of Oostende
Flee tonight again
But the last you will see of me after tomorrow
Is reaching far into space
Footsteps outside this door
That every mile or so leads to my nobody name carved in ice
An arrow of pine needles crudely angled
Toward anywhere but here
Door, photo © 2010 by Charles Ederer. All rights reserved.
Charles is marketing executive who lives in San Francisco with his son, Alexander. About writing, Charles has this to say: It’s surprising to me how long it’s taken to move my writing to a place where I’m finally satisfied, though perhaps my gestation process has more to do with finding my voice than anything else. Having a reason to write is important, but having something to say with a road-proven voice is altogether more challenging, especially if my themes are to be universal.
About two years ago I completed my first official volume of work, titled A Perfect Vessel. In reading it from time to time, I often wonder where I found the grit to complete it the way I did and have it render the intensity I hoped it would.
Poetry to me is an iterative process, part of which is brutal editing. I’ve gotten to the point where I know (usually by the next morning) whether it’s good or not worth anyone’s time. Everything I need to say is contained inside me and it’s not so much a matter of writing well but finding myself through the journey of selection and placement. I’m seeking to be in love with what I’ve written, and if I’m not there yet I work it until it forms into something that speaks true for me and, hopefully, for the reader. It’s similar to the process of painting on canvas, really.
This piece was inspired by red Ravine’s post WRITING TOPIC — DOOR. The door icon speaks for me in my present state of life.
redravine.wordpress.com 
Charles,
Your poem was just what I needed this morning. I’ve read it while sitting in a coffee shop, twice. It slowed me down and made me think and I thought about everything you said. Love the picture, too.
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Hi Charles – there’s much I like about your poem – mostly its power, both visual and emotional.
A few particular lines that stand out for me:
and now I press my hands to these slated floorboards
there is a snowflake in this burned out house in winter
that every mile or so leads to my nobody name carved in ice
I also resonated with what you wrote about your relationship to your writing. “not so much about writing well but finding myself through the journey of selection and placement.” I experience my own revision process in a similar way. I don’t think everyone does revision/editing that way – from the heart. But the fact that you do is obvious in the tone and style – the vividness and intensity – of your poem.
thanks for sharing all this.
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I find lately that I’m fascinated by the revising process. Well, I’ve always been, and we’ve talked about that here on red Ravine, in a post about Ted Kooser or Donald Hall, I think. (I’ll have to go back and find those comments.) Having recently revised heavily a short story from a few years back, it struck me how important that revising process is. I also wonder about the idea of leaving a piece sit for a while and not revisiting it until some time has passed. Curious, Charles, about understanding more your revising process.
I was also curious about the door photo. It’s such a spare shot. Where was it? Whose was it? Would love to hear more.
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Sinclair, thanks for reading it and letting me know how it resonated.
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Charles, so great that the red Ravine Writing Topic on Doors resonated for you. Thanks for writing with us. Also, I’m with ybonesy, on wanting to know more about the door photo. Where was it shot?
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Jude, thanks for reading the poem and sharing your commentary. Putting something down on paper (or laptop) is only my first step. Rarely does it come to life right away. That means I’m ready to meet the need to express something of importance. From there, it’s constant revision, over and over, until the truth I’m seeking to tell comes out. I’ll revisit my progress daily until it starts to take form. I don’t have any goal or expectation. It just morphs, so to speak. This poem in particular isn’t completely final I can see. But it’s close. The story is there. The first two paragraphs need more work. I find forging a final piece can take months even up to a year. Usually everything I begin, then, goes through heavy editing until I am ready to “own” it. Until it becomes a true reflection of what I want to say in content, style and story and gets filed in a volume of completed work. If it nags on me, I know the journey isn’t complete.
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Bonesy, thanks for your comment. I find that any first draft is usually one dimensional. I want what I ultimately say to be multidimensional, both conscious and subconscious, to tell a story while making a statement. So this is a process of weaving lines and words to my style, which naturally expresses honesty, genuineness and courage. I have internal “checkpoints” that I honor and revisioning or editing helps me satisfy them. One of my pet peeves, which is often hard to avoid, is word construction that overuses metaphors or includes “writerly words” that an academic might use. I want everything I write to be accessible to everyone, tell a universal story and be whole (versus a million parts of grandiose words or psychotic wanderings). If there is a difficult subject, something troublesome, then I want to solve it in my own words. Whatever the journey is is mine to own and in doing so I aim to create a shared experience with the reader. So editing or revising isn’t a technical exercise for me. It’s an internal framework to hold myself accountable.
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QuionMonkey, thanks for your comment. The photo was taken in Chicago — a sunless winter day. The subject is, of course a door, though it’s one I would be relieved to exit. It’s barren and lifeless. I’m a very visual person and my poetry tends to be as well, not only with regard to imagery and story telling but also word selection, length, title, pacing, etc. It’s cool to accompany a poem with a photo. I’m glad you asked for one.
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