Verbal Alchemy: Poetry as a Chemical Formula
by Jeremy Jusek
10/23/23
Goals
Exercise #1 – Write Something (w/ a twist!)
Questions We Need to Answer:
When Has a Reaction Occurred?
∆G: Gibbs Free Energy
1) Energy must be put into the system to make the reaction happen
2) The resulting product is more stable than the original materials
∆G of a Stable Reaction
Raw Writing Material (RWM)
It is also possible to add too much…
Dense Writing w/ No Payoff
What are things that inhibit ∆G?
Exercise #2 (brief!)
Ask yourself: What are high ∆G moments for you?
Ask yourself: at what point do you settle into the writing?
What about writing that cuts deep multiple times?
- Most stories are not satisfying until the conclusion, which means ∆G typically
cannot be negative in fiction until the end.
- Some poems should end earlier.
Why is this useful?
Rebirth
The summer grasses.
All that remains
of warriors’ dreams.
Like an army of arms stabbing the sky with hundreds of tiny daggers,
like stalagmites covering a cave floor like brittle, dusty, unwashed teeth,
hungry, empty tree branches attempt to stitch the sky as they
await their leaves. Their gnarled, aging wisdom spreads upward,
bark-covered cobwebs a net, the stars caught in its threads
gleaming salamanders slipping through the ground’s
decomposing goo. Each egg a bud, each hatch a blossom.
Each fallen branch sinking into sludge and preparing
to help relaunch the spring phoenix and its brilliant light.
I write, erase, rewrite
erase again, and then
a poppy blooms.
∆G of a Stable Reaction
Elements of a Reaction
1) Figurative Techniques: image, metaphor/simile, point of view/voice, symbolism
2) Structural Techniques: lineation, enjambment, meter, rhyme, alliteration, white space, line breaks, form
What can be said about this guy’s performance? �(in relation to the rest of the film)
Focal Point
Among the dusty hall and overhead fluorescents
its hotel lobby art and dullard floral print bedspread
and the red chair, center of the room, owning
each shadow, red turning darker red, until red
is what the poet sees outside the window.
It could be blood, it could be lights, red.
It’s a lazy boy looking, peripherals planted
on the thing holding up traffic: a man
also in a chair at the center of the intersection
who sees himself everywhere
who sees himself sitting
who won’t see death coming from his sightline.
Is this the poem “Focal Point” about a man being reflective about the comings and goings of people?
Is it about a man seeing himself in others?
Is this about a man trapped
in crummy lighting?
How much weight does
the chair have?
Gravity: Craft Techniques Can Develop Their Own
What does this tell us?
You can define the unit cell as anything
Stuff I Found Rummaging in My Garage
13 old glue traps stuck fast with wood chips
a mouse skeleton lording over a kingdom of empty wrappers
rusted bike in three parts, toolbox below implying unfinished business
grease puddle underneath overflowing, dripping grill tray
crying daughter holding her father’s head
Selection from
“I Remember”
by Joe Brainard
Exercise #3 – Break and Rebuild Your Writing
Let’s Revisit a Poetic Device: the Volta
I see every round as it rips through his life –
I see broad daylight on the other side.
So we’ve hit this looter a dozen times
and he’s there on the ground, sort of inside out,
pain itself, the image of agony.
One of my mates goes by
and tosses his guts back into his body.
Then he’s carted off in the back of a lorry.
End of story, except not really.
His blood-shadow stays on the street, and out on patrol
I walk right over it week after week.
Balancing and Re-Ordering Equations
How can we use this to achieve balance?
Example Formula
Example Formula, Cont’d
My Grandfather’s Hands
My grandfather’s hands are rough leather, like armor for the family
My grandfather’s hands are tough and thick, deadened fingers knotted by the woods and bears and the tools in his shed
My grandfather’s hands are the foundation this house was built upon, tough as concrete, better for the family to stand upon than this marshy unstable ground
My grandfather’s hands help blow the trumpet that wakes us for breakfast and summons us from play at the end of the day
There we stand, shaky at first, the soldier’s awaiting their general’s call
Hoping, waiting, that they’ll grab us before we tumble down
But we wait forever, because grandpa is dead
And like his hands, we knew our foundation would crack eventually
Waiting, the vulture flies overhead
The poetic elements, broken down
M(1) = His hands are rough leather
M(2) = His hands are the foundation
S(1) = His hands are tough as concrete
S(2) = His hands are like armor
S(3) = Cracking foundation
I(1) = Knotted fingers
I(2) = The hands blow the trumpet
I(3) = Marshy, unstable ground
I(4) = Vulture flies overhead
R(1-4) = My grandfather’s hands
So if the volta is an equals sign, what does this look like?
M1 + M2 + S1 + S2 + I1 + I2 + I3 + R1 + R2 + R3 + R4 = S3 + I4
M1(I1, S1) + S2 + R1 + R2 + I2 = M2(I1, S1) + S3 + R3 + R4 + I4
M(1) = His hands are rough leather
M(2) = His hands are the foundation
S(1) = His hands are tough as concrete
S(2) = His hands are like armor
S(3) = Cracking foundation
I(1) = Knotted fingers
I(2) = The hands blow the trumpet
I(3) = Marshy, unstable ground
I(4) = Vulture flies overhead
R(1-4) = My grandfather’s hands
My grandfather’s hands are rough leather,
tough as concrete and sprouting knotted fingers.
For us, his hands are like armor,
protective guardians, both.
My grandfather’s hands are gentle and loving,
they blow the trumpet when we visit, signaling food is ready
in the lifting fog of early morning
and in the dimming, eye-squinting sun.
Neither trumpet nor hands are here—
we buried him with his trumpet, hands intact.
My grandfather’s hands were the foundation,
tough as concrete with dependable, knotted fingers.
The vulture circles over the deepening cracks
running through the foundation’s concrete.
My grandfather’s hands will make us wait forever,
drowning out the pathetic bugle
we though could replace his trumpet
with our inadequate hands.
My grandfather’s hands are rough leather, like armor for the family
My grandfather’s hands are tough and thick, deadened fingers knotted by the woods and bears and the tools in his shed
My grandfather’s hands are the foundation this house was built upon, tough as concrete, better for the family to stand upon than this marshy unstable ground
My grandfather’s hands help blow the trumpet that wakes us for breakfast and summons us from play at the end of the day
There we stand, shaky at first, the soldier’s awaiting their general’s call
Hoping, waiting, that they’ll grab us before we tumble down
But we wait forever, because grandpa is dead
And like his hands, we knew our foundation would crack eventually
Waiting, the vulture flies overhead
Exercise #4 – Balancing Figurative Elements
A Few Things to Remember:
Questions?
Works Cited
[1] “The summer grasses” by Bashō
[2] “A Poppy Blooms” by Katsushika Hokusai
[3] “Death of a Turret Ball Gunner” by Randall Jarrell
[4] “I Remember” by Joe Brainard
[5] “We Real Cool” by Gwendolyn Brooks
[6] “Remains” by Simon Armitage