This blog has been created as an open experiment of poetry composition, perhaps a glimpse at an emerging manuscript as it matures. This working manuscript should not be considered as complete or published. Instead, this should be viewed as merely an early stage in the process of creation.

I have placed below some of the pages from an isolated venture in one of my typescript loose-leaf folders. The contents here represent portions of an ongoing personal project with a particularly narrow focus intended to eventually develop toward a book-length poetry sequence with the tentative working title of

The poem will grow as new sections are added. The individual posts are designed so that they may be viewed as independent items; however, I have consciously carried themes, images, and similar language through the extended sequence with the hope that connectivity and continuity will be preserved among numerous sections of the long poem.

Readers are asked to regard this piece as a work in progress, a partial or rough draft rather than a finished product (even if some selected segments previously may have appeared in print), and I request everyone realize various edits, emendations, or expansion may be made to the posts at any time in the future. Moreover, at some point the entire sequence will be removed to undergo a complete revision.

Therefore, I urge visitors to become followers of the blog by clicking the link in the sidebar, as well as to follow on Twitter for updates. Readers are also invited to browse my personal web site for additional information.

Indeed, a significant part of this experiment involves a certain amount of transparency that includes the possibility for readers to communicate responses and offer constructive suggestions, both of which I welcome through post comments or e-mail messages.

Also, I advise that the order of the numbered sections is not meant to be at all definitive since the long poem’s sequence will certainly be reorganized as the work in this temporary format starts to resemble a completed manuscript and begins to assume a more formal shape that might eventually be suitable for publication. In fact, I welcome interest from book publishers as well.

Thank you for taking the time to examine this trial stage, a test which I perceive as a preliminary process in the composition of a possible poetry manuscript. —Edward Byrne

Friday, June 11, 2010


. . . . .
V. Winter Images

. . . . .1

All night long a slow moving snowstorm
. . . . . has filled the tree lines along these hillsides.

In morning light the wedges of evergreens,
. . . . . dressed white, ride higher ridges like those set

mainsails of old boats we’d often view last
. . . . . summer floating lazily just off shore in slight

August breezes, dyed by a low angle of evening
. . . . . sun still shining brightly against their triangles.

. . . . .2

When my son and I walk toward the woods
. . . . . not far behind our house, follow closely each

small cloud of breath appearing ahead of us—
. . . . . as though there were no other way we could

measure evidence of life on so pale a day—
. . . . . we see even these few tall poplars rising nearby,

their limbs yet empty of leaves, seem bleached
. . . . . white or covered now with linen cloth, in need

of some color, perhaps as in those seasonal
. . . . . prints of tinted poplars Monet once had painted

more than a century ago. The artist so loved
. . . . . his rich images of those trees he bought the land

where they stood until he filled his canvases,
. . . . . but then sold his models’ good wood for lumber.

. . . . .3

Alex removes both of his gloves to touch
. . . . . the whiteness—lifting a thick clump of snow

in one hand, tracing the length of an icicle
. . . . . with a thumb—lingering until his thin fingers

are almost numb. Although usually content
. . . . . to live merely in images on the page or within

a frame, whether summer or winter, I know
. . . . . my son can only feel the cold, must make it real.

No comments:

Post a Comment