It’s not just playwriting, of course; in any creative area, you have to provide grist for the mill. Life gives you plenty of ideas for the content, but to study the craft, you really have to look at what else is out there. This morning I was reading Patrick Kavanaugh’s book Spiritual Lives of Great Composers and came across this quote about J.S. Bach:

Bach’s brother owned a set of compositions, which he forbade the younger Bach to use. Perhaps because it was placed off-limits, that musical manuscript grew irresistibly attractive to the young musician. And so for weeks, Bach stole the precious pages and hid them in his room, where he stayed up late night after night copying the musical scores by moonlight. When his brother discovered the copied pages, he angrily confiscated them. But Bach had already gleaned valuable lessons in composition, as well as discipline and devotion to music, from the clandestine exercise.

I bought a book of staff paper today and checked out some Beethoven and Mozart pieces so I can start copying scores. :) You see, it’s been so long since I’ve done any composition that I feel like I’ve almost completely lost touch with that world. I’ve been forgetting the language of music notation. And the structure and theory behind music? Merely a memory.

I’m not saying all that is necessary to write music. It’s not. But for me, without it I feel like I’m churning out the same thing over and over again, never growing or expanding, never deepening beyond the shallow waters in which I start. To get past that, I need to study the works of the great musicians. (That’s more important, in my opinion, than studying the theory. But I happen to be rather fond of music theory, too. :))

And I need to start reading plays. And poetry, if I ever want to break out of the mold I’ve been in for years. (I rarely read poetry, so it’s no surprise that my own poems sound like carbon copies. In fact, I think they’re almost all in one of two or three different meters. It’s sad.) Particularly poetry that isn’t like the poetry I write. And the more plays I read, the more my understanding of the guts of theatre will expand, and I’ll produce better work. It’s exciting. :)

(One of these days I do intend to start painting again, by the way…)

So, Billy Collins came to BYU on Friday as part of the English Department Reading Series, which is usually held in the library auditorium, but this time it was in the JSB because they expected more people. And more came. And I was one of them.

Truth be told, I’d never read or heard any of Collins’ poetry before, and all I knew was that he’d been poet laureate, but that was it. I was expecting a boring ex-post-post-postmodern sea of Joycean reflective self-worshiping hogwash — you know, modern literature, written by the intelligentsia who write to make the critics happy. (And the critics are doped up or something, I can’t tell. But modern lit is in a bad way, that much I do know. :))

Collins wasn’t like that at all. He was funny, he was good. I loved it. Listening to his poetry made me want to write poetry — poetry like his, no less. I can’t wait to read the rest of his works. If you haven’t read any Collins, his poem “Litany” is awesome and a great place to start. (Thanks to the FTC for the link.) The “There is just no way…” line is my favorite. :)

[tags]Billy Collins, BYU, poetry[/tags]

[tags]ChristianAudio, Paradise Lost, John Milton[/tags]

I never saw a moor, I never saw the sea; Yet know I how the heather looks, And what a wave must be. I never spoke with God, Nor visited in heaven; Yet certain am I of the spot As if the chart were given.

I was pretty sure I’d seen it before, but this time it really stuck with me. I read it again. And then, to my surprise, I found I’d already subconsciously memorized it. It’s a beautiful little poem and it’s already snuggled into a nice, warm spot in my heart. Go Emily. :)

[tags]Emily Dickinson[/tags]

Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow. My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year. He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake. The only other sound’s the sweep Of easy wind and downy flake. The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.

I’m finding that “She Walks in Beauty” is not sticking very well in my mind. Perhaps it’s because the poem didn’t really mean anything to me (emotionally) when I started memorizing it — I just chose a poem and got to work. With “Stopping by Woods,” however, there’s a particular setting of the poem to music that I heard as a child and still lingers somewhere back there in my memory, so it was really easy to memorize and it’s sticking quite well. Does this mean I should only memorize poetry I love? I suppose so, and in the case of poetry which I’m not familiar with, I can read it over and over again first to get acquainted and then decide if it’s worth my time to memorize it.

[tags]memorization, poetry, Robert Frost[/tags]

She walks in beauty, like the night      Of cloudless climes and starry skies And all that’s best of dark and bright      Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellowed to that tender light      Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,      Had half impaired the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress,      Or softly lightens o’er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express      How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,      So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow,      But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below,      A heart whose love is innocent!

[tags]Lord Byron, poetry, memorization[/tags]

Why? As a writer, I believe that one can’t write well unless one reads well. When one comes across a striking passage, what better way to make it one’s own than to memorize it? I’d rather be known for quoting Wordsworth and Longfellow than for quoting Adam Sandler and Friends. (And it’s tempting to launch into a full tirade against the woes of modern pop culture, but alas, now is not the time. Soon, though, soon.) When the words of the poets are part of me, I feel fuller, richer, more alive than before. It’s great. :)

[tags]Shakespeare, poetry, memorization[/tags]