The Triggering Town: Lectures and Essays on Poetry and Writing Read Online Free Page B

writing operations. It is important that a poet not question his or her assumptions, at least not in the middle of composition. Finish the poem first, then worry, if you have to, about being right or sane.
    Whenever I see a town that triggers whatever it is inside me that wants to write a poem, I assume at least one of the following:
    The name of the town is significant and must appear in the title.
    The inhabitants are natives and have lived there forever. I am the only stranger.
    I have lived there all my life and should have left long ago but couldn’t.
    Although I am playing roles, on the surface I appear normal to the townspeople.
    I am an outcast returned. Years ago the police told me to never come back but after all this time I assume that either I’ll be forgiven or I will not be recognized.
    At best, relationships are marginal. The inhabitants have little relation with each other and none with me.
    The town is closely knit, and the community is pleasant. I am not a part of it but I am a happy observer.
    A hermit lives on the outskirts in a one-room shack. He eats mostly fried potatoes. He spends hours looking at old faded photos. He has not spoken to anyone in years. Passing children often taunt him with songs and jokes.
    Each Sunday, a little after 4 P.M. , the sky turns a depressing gray and the air becomes chilly.
    I run a hardware store and business is slow.
    I run a bar and business is fair and constant.
    I work in a warehouse on second shift. I am the only one in town on second shift.
    I am the town humorist and people are glad to see me because they know I’ll have some good new jokes and will tell them well.
    The churches are always empty.
    A few people attend church and the sermons are boring.
    Everybody but me goes to church and the sermons are inspiring.
    On Saturday nights everyone has fun but me. I sit home alone and listen to the radio. I wish I could join the others though I enjoy feeling left out.
    All beautiful young girls move away right after high school and never return, or if they return, are rich and disdainful of those who stayed on.
    I am on friendly terms with all couples, but because I live alone and have no girlfriend, I am of constant concern to them.
    I am an eleven-year-old orphan.
    I am eighty-nine and grumpy but with enormous presence and wisdom.
    Terrible things once happened here and as a result the town became sad and humane.
    The population does not vary.
    The population decreases slightly each year.
    The graveyard is carefully maintained and the dead are honored one day each year.
    The graveyard is ignored and overrun with weeds.
    No one dies, makes love, or ages.
    No music.
    Lots of excellent music coming from far off. People never see or know who is playing.
    The farmers’ market is alive with shoppers, good vegetables, and fruit. Prices are fixed. Bargaining is punishable by death.
    The movie house is run by a kind man who lets children in free when no one is looking.
    The movie house has been closed for years.
    Once the town was booming but it fell on hard times around 1910.
    At least one person is insane. He or she is accepted as part of the community.
    The annual picnic is a failure. No one has a good time.
    The annual picnic is a huge success but the only fun people have all year.
    The grain elevator is silver.
    The water tower is gray and the paint is peeling.
    The mayor is so beloved and kind elections are no longer held.
    The newspaper, a weekly, has an excellent gossip column but little or no news from outside.
    No crime.
    A series of brutal murders took place years ago. The murderer was never caught and is assumed still living in the town.
    Years ago I was wealthy and lived in a New York penthouse. I hired about twenty chorus girls from Las Vegas to move in with me. For a year they played out all of my sexual fantasies. At the end of the year my money was gone. The chorus girls had no interest in me once I was poor and they returned to Las Vegas. I moved here where,