The fischer form

The fun and freedom of writing a daily poem

My son, the wonderful

Nathan!

, created his own form of poetry a while ago. He’s written about it here. He originally called it “The Faust Form” and then decided it shouldn’t be named after him, so he renamed it “The Fischer Form.”

Once I understood the form, I started writing one each morning before anything else: before my to-do list, my journal, 500 words on my book, reading, all the things. Recently I came across a post of someone who begins each day by writing a haiku and finds it freeing and fun. That has been my experience. Make no mistake: I am most definitely not a poet. But writing in a different form is a good stretch, like trying a new form of exercise.

Take a look, visit Nathan’s piece explaining the form, and give it a try. Post your attempts in the comments if you wish, and definitely follow Nathan’s blog and post your Fischer form poems in his comments. Or let us know on Instagram at sarafischerpdx or nathanfaustwriting.

Here are my Fischer forms, thus far—if you’re reading on your phone you might want to turn the phone sideways to get the intended line lengths. These poems were written in homage to these heavenly couple of weeks in Collioure, France, where I’m about to start a weeklong writing retreat with the fabulous

Karen Karbo

and

Natalie Serber

. (And if you don’t already read their substacks, please do. They will make you happy.)

Collioure I

The decadent seascape shines
privilege in photos
as if I do boast.

But when I weep at being far from home;
the sea tells me we share a common dome.

Same sky, same moon, all one.

Collioure II

Ancient medieval streets
and terra cotta roofs
get me ev’ry time;

As if this old quaintness could unlock all the myst’ry,
holding its oft-sloping time for all of history

Showing me all time is mine.

Collioure III

I awake to chatter
in a tongue I read
and speak only cautiously

But when they speak to each other in a natural flow
je suis perdu; je ne peux jamais comprend un seule mot.

The mere attempt exhausts me.

Collioure IV

Each day I climb these steps—
One hundred seventy-five
I am bathed in pine.

So good for the endurance of the mind.
And for the heart, lungs, calves, glutes, hams, and hind.

So what? I ask amid the trees.

Collioure V

The moon eclipses the stars:
so big, so fat, so close—
here in our own orbit.

Each night when I am up at three or four
I watch the sky from the balcony door.

The stars. I miss the stars.

I look forward to reading your poems! Post them in the comments.