{"id":164237,"date":"2023-05-11T10:27:32","date_gmt":"2023-05-11T14:27:32","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=164237"},"modified":"2025-09-22T11:45:11","modified_gmt":"2025-09-22T15:45:11","slug":"making-of-a-poem-michael-bazzett","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2023\/05\/11\/making-of-a-poem-michael-bazzett\/","title":{"rendered":"Making of a Poem: Michael Bazzett on \u201cAutobiography of a Poet\u201d"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-large wp-image-164241 aligncenter\" src=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/05\/img-3483-768x1024.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"768\" height=\"1024\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/05\/img-3483-768x1024.jpg 768w, https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/05\/img-3483-225x300.jpg 225w, https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/05\/img-3483-1152x1536.jpg 1152w, https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/05\/img-3483-1536x2048.jpg 1536w, https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/05\/img-3483-scaled.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"auto, (min-width: 62.5em) 67vw, 100vw\" \/><\/p>\n<p><em>For our series Making of a Poem, we\u2019re asking some poets to dissect the poems they\u2019ve contributed to our pages. Michael Bazzett&#8217;s \u201c<a href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/poetry\/7973\/autobiography-of-a-poet-michael-bazzett\">Autobiography of a Poet<\/a>\u201d appears in our Spring issue, no. 243.<\/em><\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\"><strong>How did this poem start for you? Was it with an image, an idea, a phrase, or something else? <\/strong><\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">It was a phrase. I was sitting in my backyard, with a legal pad and a few books, including Fady Joudah&#8217;s <em>Footnotes in the Order of Disappearance<\/em> and <em>After Ikkyu<\/em> by Jim Harrison, which contains the line \u00a0\u201cI was born a baby, \/ what are these hundred suits of clothes I\u2019m wearing?\u201d I was thinking about dislocation and baby-logic, and object permanence, and the idea of first encountering something through a sense other than sight. Hearing a bird before you see it, for instance. Or how a visual stimulus like a leaf-shadow fluttering in the wind moves on the wall above a crib. In my baby-mind, I imagine that light-flicker as something animate, moving of its own accord. When does a baby stop engaging with stimuli as pure image or pure sound and begin to imagine what caused it? I&#8217;ve often wondered what it would be like to be able to reexperience the dreams we dream in utero, or in the first months of life before language, before we consciously encounter words and narrative structure. How would they be ordered? Where would the images come from? Do we bring anything with us from the other side? Are there things already written into us?<!--more--><\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">For some reason, I&#8217;d written down some notes on language on my legal pad: \u201cLanguage as energy, as predating culture, as something to discover \u2026\u201d And \u201cLanguage as energy\u201d leaped out at me, and I wrote, \u201cI thought birds were pure sound \/ until I was 5 months old \/ and one fluttered to my sill \/ and into my sight.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">I say I was \u201cthinking about\u201d the above things, but really they were thinking inside me. Or simmering. Or humming. I don&#8217;t know what the verb is, but it&#8217;s not thinking.<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\"><strong>How did writing the first draft feel to you? Did it come easily, or was it difficult to write? <\/strong><\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">I came across the lines when I was typing up another poem from the pad, and I typed it up and played with the lineation and liked \u201cI thought birds were pure \/ sound\u201d as an initial first two lines, with the slant rhyme of <em>bird<\/em>\/<em>pure<\/em>, the little head-fake that \u201cpure\u201d modifies \u201cbird\u201d (due to the enjambment) before it settles on \u201csound.\u201d I liked the way it was moving, and tried to follow its sound, which led to \u201cflutter\u201d becoming \u201cflicker,\u201d echoed by \u201cquick,\u201d and \u201clight\u201d rhyming with \u201cright.\u201d It sounded kind of jaunty, so I just followed the voice.<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">The cigarettes arrived as a joke, but a joke that somehow included the final image, which surprised me and also felt pleasing and symmetrical, with the half rhyme of \u201ccurled\u201d and \u201cbird\u201d echoing the opening stanza.<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">The whole thing came out pretty quickly, which happens sometimes. Not often.<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">The ensuing revisions were mostly just little tweaks. The biggest change was that \u201cHaving a smoke\u201d became \u201cSmoking a dart.\u201d I heard it and I thought, Yeah! Get a few more consonants in there. The original title was \u201cArs Poetica,\u201d but I changed it pretty quickly, because it didn&#8217;t seem the world needed another poem called \u201cArs Poetica.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\"><strong>Were you thinking of any other poems or works of art while you wrote it?<\/strong><\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">Besides the Jim Harrison, I had also written down an idea from Paul Ricoeur earlier in the notebook: \u201cInformation is the shadow of meaning.\u201d I think that idea was lurking there, too. Poems tend to come in \u201cfamilies\u201d for me, so it&#8217;s good to look at the whole legal pad. I was also doodling a bit, which I do when I&#8217;m writing in longhand.<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\"><strong>What were you listening to or watching while you were writing this?<\/strong><\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">This might sound funny, but I was rewatching the entirety of <em>The Sopranos<\/em> during that whole period. A six- or seven-month project of rewatching. I think that&#8217;s probably where the \u201cFuck yeah\u201d came from; it functions almost as a form of punctuation to my ear, the profanity not landed on, but drawn in on the inhalation. It&#8217;s not a register I work in very often. I almost hear it in Tony&#8217;s cadences, accompanied by that hopeful, puckish little-boy smile. James Gandolfini was so marvelous in that role. I&#8217;d pay a thousand dollars to hear him read this, as a little monologue: \u201c\u2026 from my muddah&#8217;s purse!\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">There&#8217;s also a little Mel Brooks in there, from <em>Free to Be \u2026 You and Me<\/em>, when he voices a baby in the opening skit with Marlo Thomas. I always loved the gag of a baby with a voice of a grown man, and now, in a way, that&#8217;s what I&#8217;ve become.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\"><em>Michael Bazzett is the author of six books of poetry, most recently<\/em> The Echo Chamber.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>\u201cI was rewatching the entirety of The Sopranos. I think that&#8217;s probably where the \u2018Fuck yeah\u2019 came from.\u201d <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2367,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[68811],"tags":[24555,67827,1054,68619,11718,6105],"class_list":["post-164237","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-making-of-a-poem","tag-about-poetry","tag-featured","tag-jim-harrison","tag-making-of-a-poem","tag-notebooks","tag-sopranos"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO Premium plugin v25.4 (Yoast SEO v25.4) - https:\/\/yoast.com\/wordpress\/plugins\/seo\/ -->\n<title>Making of a Poem: Michael Bazzett on \u201cAutobiography of a Poet\u201d by Michael Bazzett<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"May 11, 2023 \u2013 \u201cI was rewatching the entirety of The Sopranos. 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