The snow had fallen fast and cold
Upon the advent of the night
For men and women young and old.
This bitter day had been foretold--
The weather-man got this one right:
The snow had fallen fast and cold
And wind had gusted uncontrolled.
The people shut themselves up tight,
For men and women young and old,
Afraid to be both brave and bold,
Did not desire to face the fright.
The snow had fallen fast and cold
And some who did not fit the mold
Went out into the icy light.
For men and women young and old
The drifting snow hid truth untold,
Revealed to those who braved the bite.
The snow had fallen fast and cold
For men and women young and old.
This isn't my first villanelle, but it is the first one in which the meaning, power, and form all jelled together quite nicely, in my opinion. I opted to write it in iambic tetrameter (4 iambs per line) instead of pentameter, because I think that tetrameter, while making it shorter and tighter, also sounds more musical. I love villanelles because if you do it right it makes such a wonderful sound. Of course, the words themselves need to make sense and mean something, otherwise the music sort of flees from the poem. Just think of some popular musical artists today whose voices and music are outstanding, but whose words either don't make sense or are riddled with mundane cliches. Even the most beautiful music won't help those songs, in my opinion.
I wrote "A Winter Storm" partly because I live in the Snow Belt, so snow is a fact of life, and I consider myself one of those who "don't fit the mold." I enjoy snowy and cold weather. I tell people to move who live here and complain about the brutal winters. I thought I did a pretty okay job in this poem of presenting a normal winter occurrence, but then offering a deeper twist of meaning toward the end. Suddenly the poem can be saying so much more than just a story about a physical winter storm. Like my favorite writing professor says all the time, "When you suggest, you create; when you state, you destroy." I always try to write suggestive poetry that invites the reader into the interpretation process. Although I'm not the best judge of whether I accomplish this or not.
A lot of my poetic inspiration comes from winter, snow, and the changing seasons in general. I write about what I know, or what I think I know, which (as I'm told by academics, at least) is one of the most important pieces of advice to any kind of writer.
One other thing that my favorite writing professor always talks about is what he calls the poetic eye (as opposed to the pedestrian eye). The poetic eye transforms everyday minutia into something more meaningful, or it brings a fresh, original perspective or description to the event. I think the poetic eye is one of the most important tools of a poet (after all, who else but a poet would describe snowflakes as nervous troops parachuting from their planes?) but I also think it takes a poetic mind to decipher these new-perspectived phenomena. I mean, sure, I can look at a cloud and say it looks like a charging boar, or look at leaves falling off of the maple tree in my front yard and say they look like precious gems. But what does all this mean? For example, my sister and I might be walking down our favorite path in the country, and she observes that the bare, tangled twigs gleaming in the fading sunlight look like cobwebs, and she leaves it at that. I take up the image and run with it, producing a stream of consciousness soliloquy about how the cobweb twigs represent the stillness and age of the forest, or how, like flies in said cobwebs, we are caught helpless by the beauty of nature (etc., etc.).
So, it takes a poetic eye AND a poetic mind to be a poet (what gall I have to call myself a poet). I think this separates people who like poetry from people who live it. A poet's eye and mind are never turned off; they can take in the big picture, figure out how the cogs of the world work together, and also see and appreciate the little things in life that most people don't notice or don't think about.
Live your life as if it were a poem. Everything has meaning, and everything is beautiful, in its own way. Take nothing for granted, don't think of any aspect of life with hatred or sadness; it all works together to make a beautiful and unique work of art. Remember that you can't have shadows without some sunshine somewhere, too. Have a great day everyone!
(C)2009, Andrew Kerstetter
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