While I was drawing this 2 middle aged women with dark orange tans came up the street on bicycles, pulled up on either side of me, looked down and started talking at me.

‘Well, hey there,’ said the woman to my right, ‘I see you’re doing some painting?’
‘Actually,’ I said, putting a pastel back in its box and looking up at her, ‘I’m drawing,’
‘Oh, how neat,’ she shouted out.
Then the other woman started talking.

‘On Oprah yesterday there was an artist who did this like massive portrait,’ she said, letting go of her handlebars and drawing a big air square with her hands, ‘and he’s like the fastest portraitist in the world. And he was like doing this portrait in 2 minutes only using his hands, no brushes, and right alongside of him they had the fastest violinist in the world and he was playing Vivaldi, one of the seasons, I don’t know which season, but it was, really, really fast.’

Then the other woman shouted out how neat again and then, without even waiting for my response to the Oprah portrait story, they both told to me to be sure to have a great day and rode off.

While I was drawing this a series of teenagers went up and down the street on red motor scooters while a short, fat woman with hair like a Lego man shouted instructions at them- ‘A little gas, a little break, a little gas a little break a little gas, a little break,’

Then, as if I’d called out, hey who’s related to that fat motorcycle instructor, a middle aged man came over to me, pointed to the woman and said, ‘That’s my sister. She’s got a whole heap of them motor scooters so she’s teaching my kids to ride ‘em,’

Then, because I didn’t know what else to say I said – ‘I have a proper motorbike at home,’

Then the man, who was wearing shorts but no shirt, put his hands on his hips, turned his attention fully toward me and started to tell me the story of how he’d once had a motorbike.

But luckily, before he was too far in, he was distracted by his sister who had stopped screaming out motorcycle instructions and was now literally bellowing out information about their evening meal.

‘We’re going to take the scooters out onto A1A,’ she was crying out, ‘we’re gonna go order pizzas. We’re gonna head on down there now and get us some supper underway.’

While I was drawing this a fat black and white cat sat in the driveway and stared at me.

Then a man came out and started putting fishing equipment in the back of a truck parked in the driveway.

Then a woman came up on a bicycle and parked it in the driveway.

After a while the fishing equipment man and the bicycle woman came out and sat on the porch drinking what I presumed, being in America and being only 8am, was coffee.

Pascale Petit is known for her vast imaginative reach, sharp editor’s eye and consumate craftmanship. Her fifth collection, What the Water Gave Me – Poems after Frida Kahlo is ‘a hard-hitting, palette-knife evocation of the effect that bus crash had on Kahlo’s life and work’.

Pascale Petit on What the Water Gave Me for Open Notebooks from Karen McCarthy on Vimeo.

Listening to her read with the paintings projected behind her at the Old Horse Hospital in London last week, I was struck by just how integrated the paintings and the poems are — it was as if the paintings were speaking, not the poet or the artist. Pascale IS however speaking in this interview I had with her about her writing process, where she shares some early first drafts from a collection that was 10 years in the making.

I’ve reached the technical stage.  Now I need to turn my ideas and sketches into a number of colour separations which will be layered to form the finished print.  I’ve decided to paint directly into the screen for the first layer and then will use either single colours or blends of colour for the detail.

I’m a little concerned that the sketches now look like lush rainforest, rather than a hawk’s habitat, so I may need to mute the colours a touch.  I’ve sketched out each layer and then hand-drawn each one full size, ready to expose into the screen when I go to the print studio on Friday.

The ideas are coming together.  I took Karen’s hawk photos as a starting point – I really want to work in the yellow of the hawk’s talons as a counterpoint to the calmer colours – and I found a feather at my allotment, and some more in a box when I was sourcing objects for another project. Scanned and solarised, they become something alien and unworldly.

I often work from photographs, so I took my camera to the Poetry Gazebo festival in Culpeper Community Gardens. I like the ‘hidden’ connections that are gathering in the print, with colours drawn from an event organised by Naomi Woddis, another Open Notebooks guest booker, and Karen reading her Wing poem as I took pictures of the greenness all around.  Next I searched my photo archives for images of leaves, water and wings. All these images are spread around me as I work on the colour sketches.

I was fascinated by the shape of Karen’s drafts for her own hawk poem; I hope to incorporate the form of her handwritten notes into the final print.

This isn’t live as in live TV but it is live in that I’ve written and posted my drafts as I go — so the process is transparent.

One of the photos I used as a prompt to help generate the poem.

One of the things I do when I’m writing is read other poetry books. I write down quotes and snippets that stand out or relate to my train of thought..

When I set the Hawk Prompt I also picked out this quote by Carolyn Forche, but when I wrote my rough draft I didn't respond to this, although I find that sound is very closely connected to the emotional tenor of my work.

Now as work on this edit I’ve returned to my original notes/free write. I rarely write poem drafts in lineated form. The messier my first draft the more likely it is to produce something worth working on.

I realise also I'm back on a subject I've been avoiding: grief. I don't want to bang on about my angst - but this is where the emotional heart seems to lie. I also picked up Sharon Olds' One Secret Thing in the library. Sometimes I find her work claustrophobic (if brilliant) but reading the first poem in the book 'EVERYTHING' that opens 'Most of us are never conceived./Many of us are never born -/we live in a private ocean for hours,/weeks... really heartened me and gave me the permission I needed to keep writing about this personal subject.

Re-reading my early scrawl I can see that the opening I’d originally marked for deletion, may just be where the poem needs to move towards: ‘I am most interested in the feet and claws’. In the notes above, it’s my son’s feet that I move towards.

The next step is to think about whether this is one or two poems. Is it the hawk or the child? Or is it hawk and child? Now I’ve finished scanning pages I’m going to go back to my notebooks for a bit, see what I get next.

Showing this kind of rough edit is uncomfortable I have to say: this is definitely in my discard pile. It's also disconcerting, changing my mind in public like this, but that's the constant part of the editing process. Trying new things. But it's interesting as a process: to identify the true ambition of the poem - not in terms of its syntactical realisation - but in the 'what does it want be/do' kind of way.

Yes, I definitely think it’s two poems. This new verse arrangement seems to have honed it down a bit – it feels more right like this.

I realise that what I was chasing here is the idea of being able to see an animal very close up - a wild animal. I once saw this fox that had just been run over, and it was all still perfect. It was fascinating. That moment when something's not long dead and still has the life in it. That's different to this, but this idea of proximity - as in Wing - is still there.

When Karen asked me if I’d like to make something visual in response to the hawk poem for Open Notebooks I was so excited I danced around the room a few times… when I stopped, I wondered if emptying my head and expending energy this way is actually the start of my creative process?   I often find the starting point for my ideas is a little like meditating – or maybe daydreaming…

Before I put anything on paper, I like to let ideas and images float and form before I start to model them in my head.  This usually happens when it would be difficult to note anything down; if I’m sitting on the bus, or swimming, or taking a shower – for some reason, being immersed in water often helps to kickstart the process.  Once the ideas are clearer, I make written notes, followed by tiny, extremely rough schematic pencil sketches to note the colours, techniques and processes I plan to use.

This is the stage I’m at now.  I know that the piece will have three segments, to echo the title of Karen’s film and the form of my own poem, and I know the colours I plan to use, and the broad shape of the piece, but I’m not sure yet if it is one print or a triptych, or whether I will incorporate text in the final work.  The next step will be to research some images and build the colours.

We decided to continue with 30/30 for the months with 30 days in them, so this is the first prompt for June.

• The human embryonic heart begins beating at around 21 days after conception. It is unknown how blood in the human embryo circulates for the first 21 days in the absence of a functioning heart.
• The average human heart beats 100,000 times a day and weighs the same as a small pigeon (around 10 oz)
• The heart pumps about 1 million barrels of blood during an average lifetime–that’s enough to fill more than 3 super tankers.

WRITE  A POEM WHERE EACH LINE FEATURES A DIFFERENT BODY PART.

April was an intense month. Firstly because I had committed to the 30/30 challenge to write a poem a day for 30 days, and secondly because I got married on 1 May.

Another 'notebook' entry: signing the register

I completed 18 poem drafts, which is a lot for me. I was also designated to provide a weekly prompt. The quality of the prompts amongst the group was high and I wanted to provide something that was stimulating and resonant. Ironically, I didn’t get much from my prompt in terms of a poem — perhaps because I’d expended a lot of creative energy on the prompt itself.

Scroll down to read the prompt in full…

I’ve invited the 30/30 poets who took part to share their poems/drafts here, along with comments about the process and I’m delighted to include a selection on Open Notebooks.

ANNE WELSH
The hawk poem (No. IV in the sequence) I wrote straight after viewing your
video, straight into my Facebook notes.

Then I copied it into my notebook and a couple of weeks later make the pencil changes to it.

Once I was happy with it, I rotated my notebook 90 degrees and copied it out as a final draft. I always
write my final drafts on the 90 degree angle so if I am at an open mic, I can flick through my notebook and find recent final drafts quickly.

And here the final poem:

You have rendered the hawk’s eyes obsolete,
broken in the river like the one I loved first.

To dream of crows is to long for sadness
but it’s the hawk’s competitive spirit

I cannot understand. You hold my hand
in the darkness, kiss me awake.

What intrigues me is Annie’s process of typing first, straight into Facebook, then copying that into her notebook and continuing with her edits in long hand. This forms part of a sequence Annie wrote throughout 30/30 — her first — and as the poems and the story unfolded day by day I became hooked on the sense of serialisation.

ANDREA ROBINSON

Draft 1

And the edited version with indented layout.

NAOMI WODDIS

To Dream of Hawks

What news do you have for me, hawk?
Your dead eye frozen, caught staring

at a flat sky, your talons the colour
of daffodils, your wings as beautiful

as they ever were in flight. This stream
is deaf to the dead branch of your body.

Your tiny head cooled by its rush of water,
what message do you have for me now?

AOIFE MANNIX

JOCELYN PAGE

I found it fascinating, the different responses: some referring directly to the hawk itself, others working the bird into the poem. The themes around death and resurrection following on from an earlier prompt. The intensity of writing a new draft each day brings an immediacy to the work — that original energy that can often get lost as we hone and refine. The 30/30 group is closed, so writers can produce drafts outside of the critical, public gaze, so I’m particularly grateful to have the work to include here in its earlier incarnations. It’s not easy, releasing poems when they are still embryonic.
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