Still a developing poem (chiefly in its closing stanza for which I keep inventing new ideas and am yet to choose a direction) I have been indecisive about the working title of “Mist”. Recently shortened from “Mist from the Mountains” (one of ten possibilities that arose as the poem took shape), I have now returned to an altered version: “Mist on the Mountain”.
As I recite the stanza variations, it seems to me they do require a longer introduction—a line rather than a word, to best reflect their content. “Mist on the Mountain” is (at least for the time being) a more appropriate choice in its aspect and length—a better start to the poem. I am confident that it shall be the final title, but poesy is such that I cannot be certain.
There are times when one must live a while with a new approach to a stanza—to become accustomed to it—especially after devoting weeks to the existing incarnation of that stanza.
As one recites the new version with the rest of the stanzas and continue to develop its variations, it begins to feel part of the poem—not quite so peculiar.
I am working through such a process now following recent developments in the final stanza of “Mist” before committing to any significant decision regarding its incorporation into the poem.
Yesterday, whilst preparing the near-final draft of the “Mist” poem (previously “Mist from the Mountains”)—that is, extracting from the latest stanza variations the ones I intend to refine for the final draft—there came to me suddenly a new perspective on that ever-challenging closing stanza.
Hitherto, it had been intentionally styled as an anecdote—an afterthought, if you will, to reflect its origin—but a quick (and surprisingly successful) experiment produced a new set of variations that explicitly echo the structure of the rest of the poem, firmly establishing its thematic import.
I must now decide which conceptual approach to embrace as I come to the final draft: one embodying the origin of the stanza—thematically apt but structurally distinct from the rest of the poem—or one approximating the same but structurally alike and integrated—this is my task today.
It is painful to forego an existing set of variations for another altogether new (with its concomitant implications to be determined and applied to the rest of the poem)—but it may be inevitable. Why then write these paragraphs instead of beginning the work? To brace myself should it happen!