Editing contest: How to make a good poem great

A community challenge for the weekend

Following last week’s competition results (which came with my feedback on each winning poem) there has been much discussion about poetry editing in my inbox – including some great material for a “Readers’ Questions” post, which I’m looking forward to getting stuck into soon.

However, one discussion led to yet another eccentric new blog idea, which I couldn’t resist trying out immediately: a competition for editing a poem. Here’s how it will work: a brave, anonymous poet has donated one of their “first drafts”, as seen below, and I am challenging blog readers to attempt to edit it into the best possible version.

This contest is open to everyone, but I am just giving you the weekend to work your magic. To enter, send your new version of the poem to hello@valleypressuk.com with the subject line “Editing contest” before 9am on Monday March 4th; I will share what I judge to be the best efforts on a follow-up post soon afterwards, and hand out a few modest prizes.

While not compulsory, I’d love it if you could also include a paragraph about why you made the changes you made, so we can get some insight into the editor’s mindset. The results should be absolutely fascinating – I can’t wait!

Here’s what you’ve got to work with. I shall be passing no comment on the poem myself (not yet anyway), and have presented it here exactly as it was sent to me. Good luck!

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Inspiration Day

I can’t put my finger on it. The colour.
It’s a grey area. 
Insipid, nondescript, under normal circumstances that is… 
In these conditions, magnificent!

Catching a light beam
Glowing like an ancient artefact from Indi Jones Locker.
Fleeting as its treasure is buried 
With a sweep of water and a mercurial cloud.

With the translucent fluidity of molten glass
Up up up, rising, long before 
its spectacular fall
as its crest crumbles in on itself.

Mesmerising. The rhythm continues 
over and over
Woosh crash, woosh crash.
Rough sand tumbling, 
raking smooth its hidden gems.

Stability sucked from under one’s feet,
only to return with the next tide.

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