[A letter for the Balladeer Alejandro]

[Astra]

Dear Alejandro,

Something terribly unfortunate has happened, which I hope you may be able to rectify.

I want to write a poem for a friend after we discussed her own (rarely-seen) poetry. To my great chagrin, all that I have been able to produce so far is a blank page. It disheartens. Have I really so little to say?

You are of course the first poet I thought of to write for help. Please, how do you decide what to write about? Is there a process that you follow?

Your friend,
Hypatia

[Don Nadie]

[Alejandro smiles longingly as he reads the letter. Thinking, perhaps, of easier times. Then, he pens a response]

Dear Hypatia,

Considering Amelie and Alois breathe, I hardly deserve to be thought of as a poet. I hammer little jingles for fun, profit, or when inspiration takes me... Which, I suppose, it does from time to time. I will admit some pride at my Hidden Poems!

I will not start with inspiration, but with comissions. Because those have an objective, and are an obligation, it is easy to focus. Part of me likes it, having an objective and finding a fun way to get there. The restrictions only make it more interesting! For instance, when I had to write something mocking Cosine, I thought of his rod, then started thinking of his rumored never-nudeness, etc. Thus, what could be more silly than accusing him of being a pervert, and making all the reasonable complaints about his behaviour salacious? It felt like an amusing game. Not an elegant one, or beautiful one, mind you. But I had real fun working on it!

What I mean with this example is that, when inspiration doesn't work, a restriction might. Telling yourself "I want to write a poem about the Asterbadian system" or "I want to write a poem about muffins" is easier than just waiting before the blank page. The Muse, I find, often arrives when you're already working. Similarly, restrictions like rhyme, metaphor, etc can make it more difficult and, thus, spur the imagination.

Of course, forced production will never be true and beautiful art. What makes the rarely-seen poems of our friend so lovely is that they are rare, done not only with an artfulness and skill I simply lack, but as true expressions of the heart. What is art, if not a heart reaching out towards another?

On this matter, the blank page is rather unsurmountable. I can only advice to listen to your heart, and your heart only. You have seen the dove? I was feeling complicated feelings over attraction and fear. Did you read Portrait of a Fool on Fire? I was feeling desperate, yet forced to be cheerful. Did you find Leap of Faith? I was feeling both scared and hopeful.

All we can do is listen, then. The heart is always talking.

Yours, ever a friend,

Alejandro

[Astra]

Dear Alejandro,

Thank you so much for your words of advice. I thought further about the restriction, and realized that I only wanted to write a poem that would make my friend happy. Following from that, here have I written a poem which makes me happy. I am not used to sharing these things, but I thought you might like to see what your advice has helped to create.

The little desert fox, he goes
Galumphing o'er the plains!
He sneaks along to find his prey
The little bird and her eggs!

The desert fox hides in the brush
His foeman passes him by!
No melek, kobold, goblin-band
Shall make a fennec pie!

A little fox must be so deft
If he shall earn his keep!
He has so many miles to go
Before it's safe to sleep.

But when the night is dark and still
The fox, he is alone.
"Where can I find me a friend,
That I might share my home?"

Your friend,
Hypatia

[Don Nadie]

Dear Hypatia,

I may not be the original recipient, but it did make me smile.

A suggestion, however. Your rhyme scheme is ABCB (a simple, fun one; I use it constantly). Plains and eggs, however (unless my accent again plays tricks on me) dont quite rhyme. So each stanza is ABCB, while the first one is ABCD. Can I suggest...

"The little desert fox, he goes
Galumphing so far on tiny legs!
He sneaks along to find his prey
The little bird and her eggs!"

You can change tiny for little, too (I do not mind repeating adjectives, though others may disagree). But this perhaps tightens it all? It's not as though it's greatly important, or necessary... But perhaps it helps?

Do write a copy for me, whether with or without feedback. I shall add it to my collection.

Yours, ever a friend,

Alejandro