I'm actually not sure if this threads been done before. Its worth exploring.
For me, editing is where the real writing begins. You polish your first draft and make it as good as possible. If you're using a workshop like this one you put it up for comments. People point out areas that you might not have considered, some of which you agree with. If you're not using a workshop it may just sit in a collection of your writing somewhere. Maybe six months down the road you pick and up and read it and notice that there are all these things that don't seem as good as you remember.
All of this thought happens before I sit down to edit. While I think you can correct the stupid errors you missed immediately good edits take time away from the poem. I try to let a poem sit a month, or sometimes over a year before trying the edit. I've just learned that instant edits tend to warp the poem in ways I really don't want. As you say here, everything tends to change. You need time to gain the perspective to weigh criticism. Here's the other thing: assuming your working on your writing your getting better. Let's say someone said: This poem lacks imagery and subtlety.
You think "crap, I agree, how do I add imagery and subtlety to this poem?" You sit down to edit. I think this is the wrong tact, especially if you're just starting out.
A better approach might be to work on some new poems that are more subtle and use images to show rather than tell. They may have flaws too but you're building skill with areas that you recognize as weaknesses.
Six months goes by, you've gotten better. You pick up the old poem you ask yourself again. What was I trying to say? What is salvageable? You begin your edit.
----
Okay let me give you an example (realize I've probably done 40 or so edits on this piece. But I'll take you through a few of the big ones and explain some of the why behind them.
Everything starts with an idea. I had read a biography on Howard Hughes. He'd written a 7 or 8 page memo instructing his staff on how to open a can of peaches. I wanted to write about that. I was experimenting with form at the time and wasn't that good at it. I wrote a fairly terrible ruba'i that didn't get me anywhere close to what I needed:
First attempt:
Peaches
It was not the first time your wings caught fire,
Flying for the sun higher and higher,
Not made of wax, or spruce, as some report.
Your ego alone drove this desire.
Now packed in a warehouse, your dreams to thwart,
Covered over with dust all flights cut short.
The “greatest” pilot of all now brought low,
by a need for control without resort.
You wrote instructions on the ground below.
Memos on what servants needed to know.
How to remove a bug, or close a door;
You had infinite wisdom to bestow.
Germs were everywhere on the walls and floor;
No matter how they cleaned, still there were more.
Could you eat even peaches in a can?
To eat what’s been touched, a thing to abhor.
Scrub off the label the order began,
Wash the bare metal next step in the plan,
When spearing the peach let the fork be light
For fruit touching steel is unfit for man.
Though these many rules you made them recite
You wasted away in a sick mad blight,
Codeine enough to stop five beating hearts
Coursing though veins to end this final flight.
Ugh, I know. The rhyme was awful. The imagery sucked. I was pulled into the form and abandoned writing well. I sat it down for awhile. Went back and reread parts of Hughes Bio. I starting taking notes. I realized that details we're what mattered to Howard.
I built a working title: Howard and the Details. I wrote the word peaches. and then started looking for an opening line that would take me there. This was therefore Edit 1: Complete scrap of everything but the idea.
Second Version:
Howard and the Details
They just never noticed
the details. How Jane Russell
had four nipples. How peas
were different sizes. How peaches were
dirty, dirty, dirty.
How germs crawled
all over your face,
hands. Touch
food with those?
Make the peaches dirtier
filthy.
They didn’t know
what to do. Fix the blouse,
it’s the seam. Line them up
with a fork for
perspective. And if I’m going
to eat those things:
Scrub off the label!
Clean the bare metal
of the can. Be careful
with the fork, don’t touch
anything else. Did you remember
to cover your hands
with paper towels?
They didn’t notice. They didn’t listen
And the damn plane was birch
not spruce.
Okay, this felt closer. There were quite a few flaws though. Which took time to see. The line breaks needed work. The opening line was static. The lines needed more tweaking. It isn't easy for me to recreate every little edit, but here's its current form so you can see what was done. I just went through line by line and took out anything that I felt wasn't needed, and tried to emphasize for effect. For example the first sentence: They just never noticed the details. Awful. So what? Who Cares? Not evocative. The title already leads you there. What the hell is just doing there? Okay, here's where it sits today.
Version 3:
Jane Russell had
four nipples.
Peas were
different sizes.
Peaches were
dirty, dirty, dirty.
Germs crawl
all over your face,
hands, touch
food with those?
Make the peaches
dirtier.
They didn’t pay attention.
Bette Davis’ bed was covered
in orchids, not gardenias.
Tiny blisters on the palms?
Syphilis! No, film editing.
Mason jars—perfect for storing
urine, and TV
dinners should always
remove that soggy-cherry thing.
Peach cobbler is better.
They didn’t know
what to do.
Fix the blouse;
it’s an engineering problem.
Line them up
use a fork for perspective.
To prevent sores
Mop with lye.
Burn the double-breasted tuxedo,
and all white dinner jackets.
Remember old clothes
are more friendly.
And if I’m going
to eat those things?
Scrub off the label!
Clean the bare metal
of the can. Be careful
with the fork; don’t touch
anything else. Did you remember
to cover your hands
with six Kleenex (not five or seven)?
They didn’t notice. They didn’t listen.
And the damn plane was birch
not spruce.
Well there be more edits? Probably, though at a certain point poems do get to a mostly done state. I probably wrote way more than you wanted, but I hope its helpful.
Best,
Todd
For me, editing is where the real writing begins. You polish your first draft and make it as good as possible. If you're using a workshop like this one you put it up for comments. People point out areas that you might not have considered, some of which you agree with. If you're not using a workshop it may just sit in a collection of your writing somewhere. Maybe six months down the road you pick and up and read it and notice that there are all these things that don't seem as good as you remember.
All of this thought happens before I sit down to edit. While I think you can correct the stupid errors you missed immediately good edits take time away from the poem. I try to let a poem sit a month, or sometimes over a year before trying the edit. I've just learned that instant edits tend to warp the poem in ways I really don't want. As you say here, everything tends to change. You need time to gain the perspective to weigh criticism. Here's the other thing: assuming your working on your writing your getting better. Let's say someone said: This poem lacks imagery and subtlety.
You think "crap, I agree, how do I add imagery and subtlety to this poem?" You sit down to edit. I think this is the wrong tact, especially if you're just starting out.
A better approach might be to work on some new poems that are more subtle and use images to show rather than tell. They may have flaws too but you're building skill with areas that you recognize as weaknesses.
Six months goes by, you've gotten better. You pick up the old poem you ask yourself again. What was I trying to say? What is salvageable? You begin your edit.
----
Okay let me give you an example (realize I've probably done 40 or so edits on this piece. But I'll take you through a few of the big ones and explain some of the why behind them.
Everything starts with an idea. I had read a biography on Howard Hughes. He'd written a 7 or 8 page memo instructing his staff on how to open a can of peaches. I wanted to write about that. I was experimenting with form at the time and wasn't that good at it. I wrote a fairly terrible ruba'i that didn't get me anywhere close to what I needed:
First attempt:
Peaches
It was not the first time your wings caught fire,
Flying for the sun higher and higher,
Not made of wax, or spruce, as some report.
Your ego alone drove this desire.
Now packed in a warehouse, your dreams to thwart,
Covered over with dust all flights cut short.
The “greatest” pilot of all now brought low,
by a need for control without resort.
You wrote instructions on the ground below.
Memos on what servants needed to know.
How to remove a bug, or close a door;
You had infinite wisdom to bestow.
Germs were everywhere on the walls and floor;
No matter how they cleaned, still there were more.
Could you eat even peaches in a can?
To eat what’s been touched, a thing to abhor.
Scrub off the label the order began,
Wash the bare metal next step in the plan,
When spearing the peach let the fork be light
For fruit touching steel is unfit for man.
Though these many rules you made them recite
You wasted away in a sick mad blight,
Codeine enough to stop five beating hearts
Coursing though veins to end this final flight.
Ugh, I know. The rhyme was awful. The imagery sucked. I was pulled into the form and abandoned writing well. I sat it down for awhile. Went back and reread parts of Hughes Bio. I starting taking notes. I realized that details we're what mattered to Howard.
I built a working title: Howard and the Details. I wrote the word peaches. and then started looking for an opening line that would take me there. This was therefore Edit 1: Complete scrap of everything but the idea.
Second Version:
Howard and the Details
They just never noticed
the details. How Jane Russell
had four nipples. How peas
were different sizes. How peaches were
dirty, dirty, dirty.
How germs crawled
all over your face,
hands. Touch
food with those?
Make the peaches dirtier
filthy.
They didn’t know
what to do. Fix the blouse,
it’s the seam. Line them up
with a fork for
perspective. And if I’m going
to eat those things:
Scrub off the label!
Clean the bare metal
of the can. Be careful
with the fork, don’t touch
anything else. Did you remember
to cover your hands
with paper towels?
They didn’t notice. They didn’t listen
And the damn plane was birch
not spruce.
Okay, this felt closer. There were quite a few flaws though. Which took time to see. The line breaks needed work. The opening line was static. The lines needed more tweaking. It isn't easy for me to recreate every little edit, but here's its current form so you can see what was done. I just went through line by line and took out anything that I felt wasn't needed, and tried to emphasize for effect. For example the first sentence: They just never noticed the details. Awful. So what? Who Cares? Not evocative. The title already leads you there. What the hell is just doing there? Okay, here's where it sits today.
Version 3:
Jane Russell had
four nipples.
Peas were
different sizes.
Peaches were
dirty, dirty, dirty.
Germs crawl
all over your face,
hands, touch
food with those?
Make the peaches
dirtier.
They didn’t pay attention.
Bette Davis’ bed was covered
in orchids, not gardenias.
Tiny blisters on the palms?
Syphilis! No, film editing.
Mason jars—perfect for storing
urine, and TV
dinners should always
remove that soggy-cherry thing.
Peach cobbler is better.
They didn’t know
what to do.
Fix the blouse;
it’s an engineering problem.
Line them up
use a fork for perspective.
To prevent sores
Mop with lye.
Burn the double-breasted tuxedo,
and all white dinner jackets.
Remember old clothes
are more friendly.
And if I’m going
to eat those things?
Scrub off the label!
Clean the bare metal
of the can. Be careful
with the fork; don’t touch
anything else. Did you remember
to cover your hands
with six Kleenex (not five or seven)?
They didn’t notice. They didn’t listen.
And the damn plane was birch
not spruce.
Well there be more edits? Probably, though at a certain point poems do get to a mostly done state. I probably wrote way more than you wanted, but I hope its helpful.
Best,
Todd
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson