Here we are on the 11th day of 2024 with a one of those fundamental, recurring questions which occurred to me when I first read Chad Bennett’s “Tonight” i.e. when is a poem not a poem?

I do wonder if the boundaries of poetry have been stretched too far sometimes as his just seems just to be unconnected, separate lines (the spacing underscoring disconnection). But re-reading several times I began to appreciate the poetry within each statement line, with its pauses for thought (some of which would make great prompts or even epigraphs). Thus Bennett’s poem is essentially a catalog/catalogue verse of eleven incidental happenings subsumed under the title of one night:-

The branch clicks back when the bird starts.

The senator leans away from the microphone.

The room drowses around the dog on the sofa.

The tectonic plates edge closer, closer.

She likes the flotsam when the orchestra tunes up.

The telephone rings with real emotion.

Now some of them are old and no longer know.

The actor forgets but improvises from experience.

The protesters gather outside the airport.

He has failed again to understand his diagnosis.

Something warm roars at tonight’s torn edge

And here is an 11 line extract from Lyn Hejinian’s “Final selection from “Eleven eyes” which again is a list poem but seemingly even more disjointed. It may be read as coming together in the final line of “None of this is true”:

The spoons have clattered
Aren’t children little pears and observant birds
I note that the green blanket is askew again briefly
I have flung my sweater over the banister again
The corn cockle is beautiful
For months I’ve owed someone I’ll call Amy Rossini a letter and tomorrow I’ll write it but I can’t explain
There was of course the matter of the curious descent into a mine and the terrible ascent of children hauling ore out of context
Brevity is not child’s play though child’s play is brief but slowly
Today a man in a green leather hat advised me to sink my shovel
If I were to write a letter to Knut Handekker now he wouldn’t remember who I was which in any case is not who I continue to be
Tchaikovsky died when he was 53… [more]

The above poetry gives a clue (and maybe inspiration) for today’s MTB Critique and Craft prompt:-

Poem Style:
• write a ‘Found’ poem from your own Jan-November 2023 poems
• write it as an 11 line list/catalog poem
OR
an 11 line verse poem (with or without stanzas)

Poem Structure:
• choose from one poem per month
• select ONLY the first line of the very first verse of your chosen poems
• select your title from the 12th month or any of the previous months’ first lines
• if you’ve posted less than one poem per month for Jan-Nov 2023 then choose a month where there is more than one to make up the 11

Poem Rules:
• your 11 lines can be written in any date order
• you must keep the original word order
• you may only change the tense or personal pronouns
• you may add a conjunction or a preposition for continuity
• minor erasure at start or end of the original line is allowed
• enjambment can be helpful

Suggestion: include links to your original 2023 poems in a separate column or paragraph

Comment: We are basically imparting new meaning to our borrowed text – the sense of it will inevitably be looser and lighter (as with the list poems above) but in these quasi-metrical lines our challenge is to find some poetry!

Useful links:
catalog verse/list poetry
list of prepositions

So once you have posted your poem according to the prompt’s guidelines above, do add it to Mr Linky below then go visiting and reading other contributors as that is half the fun of our dVerse gatherings.