The Poetry of Sales: The Phoenix Sestina

All this month, I’ve described unexpected intersections between poetry and sales. We looked at six of my favorite poems, each of which yields to a different kind of close reading, to identify what communication science describes as six distinct ways of listening; we took a quirky parlor game, beloved by poets and artists, and showed how to convert it into a team-building exercise; and we celebrated how commercial jingles can prime the tastes of budding wordsmiths. What I haven’t done is write a poem for the occasion…until today.

Contemporary poets usually opt to write free verse, but we still sample formal traditions. My go-to is the sestina, an intentionally and explicitly acrobatic form invented by troubadours in 12th-Century Provence. A sestina’s opening stanza is six lines long, which determines six end-words. Those end-words must be repeated, in a prescribed pattern, across six more stanzas; the last stanza compresses six end-words into a mere three lines. The occasional pun or substitution that flexes an end-word is fair game, but the game is only fun if constraints are honored. The sestina was designed for poets to show off to the King’s court and, ideally, earn their room and board. 

Even if your interest in poetry ended at limericks, you understand the pressure of trying to impress an audience. “The sestina has everything to do with whether or not you can get said what you thought you wanted to say, as you find out what it is you can say,” wrote poet James Cummins. “A hundred sestinas must die, so that one may live.” They’re devilishly complicated to draft. Yet I’m inspired by the Maestro Group’s commitment to systems that make space for science and art—and which help anyone, even a poet, better their professional lives. I’ve seen people’s faces light up in trainings once they learn real, practical tips that they can use to move beyond sales plateaus. Like the phoenix, they can reinvent and take flight.

THE PHOENIX SHARES HER METHOD

Don’t be afraid to start with what fails—
hand not taken, rejected offer, ash.
A feather must mature into its red,
and fledglings often bounce before they fly.
Even kings blink. Even heroes lose way.
But when preparation begins again,

start with dirt underfoot. Turn loss to gain
by planting a process that never fails:
a grove of question trees. Admire the way
new branches become strong as oak and ash,
Arrow a quiver, three by three, and fly
with aim sure as a maple’s turn to red—

except this isn’t war. No shedding red.
The people’s challenge is not “man against
man.” What people seek are the wings to fly.
Your only foe is when listening fails.
Ask Icarus, my bold brother-in-ash,
who chose the sun over his father’s way,

trusting wind that whispered, Higher. This way.
Even the apple shaded ripest red
became, in Paris’s hand, prize of ash,                                               
seeding chance to begin again (again).
Assume nothing. Test to know what will fail,
to better tune a product’s song of flight.

Some artists paint fruit fresh yet add a fly
to show life under realism’s sway.
Don’t romance imperfection. Proofing fails
when starved for time and thrives when inked in red.
Polish presentations, polish again;
follow-up to sift embers from cool ash.

Ten lives ago, what did I know of cash?
Ten lives ago, doubt stung me like a fly.
I’ve learned my worth and claimed my worth again.
Whether pay is fuel or balm, find your way
to authenticity’s Thank you. (Sacred
rites for only if the wire transfer fails.)

I lift my name above the ash. Make way
post-sale, sails flying, a voyager red                                     
to black again: bet on hope. Never fails.

We can help your team with both the science and the art of sales. Reach us at mastery@maestrogroup.co for more information on training, coaching, and consulting.