The Forest: raw draft to final poem - an exercise in editing.

Transcribed Notebook Extract:


…Chilled, the trees reach to the sky above me, spreading their roots of natural knowledge throughout the ground below.
What ancient beasts of unknown origin have passed through these now less than swollen forests?
Memories of an ancient time vibrate through the echoes of a goat’s voice, a time when all beings could remember their connection to everything else.
The rain gently washes away technology for a few peaceful moments.
Freedom is here; I must remember to thankfully receive this ancient power of liberty and keep it with me everywhere I go as my soul may share such tranquility.
The wolf was here once, a power animal for someone nearby.
Over there, high in the trees, the bird regards humanity with welcoming song and unseen eyes.
I feel as a guest to nature amongst these trees. Branches stretched out in greeting and acceptance, allowing us to breathe in gentle harmony.
In my heart I still run joyfully free with the ancient power animals whose spirits remain. I can fly with the birds if my mind is softened and willing; they would accept me with open wings and happy tears when I’m ready to join in their harmonies…
-Written in amongst the trees of Snowdonia.

The Finished Poem:

The Forest

An ancient goat’s voice echoed through the remaining trees.
It bleated a message of natural interconnected memories,
Liberated tranquility,
Disconnection from technology.


A vibration in decaying undergrowth
Introduced a power animal’s presence;
The maternal spirit of a she-wolf,
Guiding descendants of her crescent-moon killers.


A guest to Nature,
Humanity can run free in her forest.
We can fly with the birds
If our minds are softened and willing.
They would accept humanity with open wings
If we could all just sing with Earth’s gentle harmonies.

The first draft of a poem is usually an instinctual process, it flows from your body's centre to the pen in your hand like automatic writing; in the case of The Forest this was certainly the case.

Sometimes the original draft stands well on it's own as a stream-of-consciousness poem and in many cases it serves well to leave it as is and not edit in the slightest.

However, sometimes that first draft can be a little too raw, overly wordy and obscure to the point where you'll probably be the only one to understand it.

Editing is a very difficult skill for a poet to use - it can feel like slicing away pieces of your very soul.

The way I like to think about it is that editing a poem is like putting chainsaw to ice to produce myriad sculptures that melt slowly into soul cocktails supped by the poet and their readers.