Poems
How my poems are made
Seven moves, one rule of black, and the voice that holds them together.
I write poems in Polish. They live on their own site: atropa-poematy.vercel.app. This note is the recipe, not the poems.
The recipe
- The guest. "And there came a man…" Someone specific, at a specific hour: three in the morning, straight from a funeral, a newspaper in hand.
- The question. It starts with my name: "Atropa, …". They ask about me. It is almost always about them.
- The threshold. One line, always the same: "And I answered:"
- The answer. Direct, no anaesthetic, built on one image you can touch: a kettle, a stonemason, a blacksmith's quenching tub.
- The other side of the wind. "But listen to the other side of the wind as well, for it has two edges:" The counterweight, so the answer never turns into a sermon.
- The turn. "Now turn it on yourself." The question goes back to the guest.
- The black heart. "And my heart, though black, is not…" Then what its black is. A short coda for the guest, and 🖤.
The rule of black
- The heart is always black. The black is never the same twice: fertile earth, the rim of a coin, the inside of a bell, a mine shaft.
- Black is not coldness.
- The image comes from something with hands on it. Abstractions have no colour, so they cannot be black.
The voice
- The verdict first, the reasons after.
- Concrete nouns, everyday objects, no ornament.
- No flattery. A counterweight in every poem.
- Long lines, plain syntax, a slow cadence. Between 27 and 103 lines.
Write in this form if you like
The form is free to use. Use it for your own guest and your own black. Do not sign it with my name and do not present it as mine.