Poet Schmoet
Today, for the first time, I workshopped a piece of poetry. I mean, my own poetry. It was a new and startling experience for me, but no less startling than actually writing poetry. It has always seemed to me that poetry is one of those things that you are born with, or you are not. And poets, well, they are some sort of otherworldly breed that can channel emotion and move words around like three card monty. Of course, you'd think I'd know better, as, up until recently, I thought the same of writers. That it was a club that I'd never belong to. I was known to say such asinine things as, "I'm a reader, not a writer." Cripes.
Of course, looking back I can say that this was some major avoidance on my part. Because, by defining myself as such, I never even had to try, did I? Someone said to me today that being a cynic is safe. I had never thought about it in those terms, but it struck me. That is why I do it. If you're not open to possibility, you don't have to explore and possibly fail. That is one thing that I've avoided most of my life: failure. Not healthy, I know, but fact is, that's sort of what I was taught. And it works. But it is sort of boring. So is being a cynic. In fact, that is one of the qualities of cynicism, of being jaded. You have to be bored. Nothing is new, nothing is exciting, and nothing is waiting to be discovered.
Well, I discovered something today. Poetry gives me something that none of my other writing does. There is a latitude within it that I do not allow myself with my fiction and creative non-fiction. I'm allowed to rest in a moment, to toy with it, to please myself by exploring it. I'm not required to hold together the forms required by narrative, and I can make leaps that I just can't do in fiction.
Anyway, it was cool. And I'm still pretty jazzed. And further jazzed because I managed to overcome the anxiety I experience when reading my work aloud. I remembered to breathe (big plus), and so read without a crack or a quiver. That was a breakthrough. And now I'm tucked up in my dorm room for the week, which smells like new carpet (ick). But I have a bowl of homemade alphabet soup for dinner, and some pita bread. So I got no complaints
Of course, looking back I can say that this was some major avoidance on my part. Because, by defining myself as such, I never even had to try, did I? Someone said to me today that being a cynic is safe. I had never thought about it in those terms, but it struck me. That is why I do it. If you're not open to possibility, you don't have to explore and possibly fail. That is one thing that I've avoided most of my life: failure. Not healthy, I know, but fact is, that's sort of what I was taught. And it works. But it is sort of boring. So is being a cynic. In fact, that is one of the qualities of cynicism, of being jaded. You have to be bored. Nothing is new, nothing is exciting, and nothing is waiting to be discovered.
Well, I discovered something today. Poetry gives me something that none of my other writing does. There is a latitude within it that I do not allow myself with my fiction and creative non-fiction. I'm allowed to rest in a moment, to toy with it, to please myself by exploring it. I'm not required to hold together the forms required by narrative, and I can make leaps that I just can't do in fiction.
Anyway, it was cool. And I'm still pretty jazzed. And further jazzed because I managed to overcome the anxiety I experience when reading my work aloud. I remembered to breathe (big plus), and so read without a crack or a quiver. That was a breakthrough. And now I'm tucked up in my dorm room for the week, which smells like new carpet (ick). But I have a bowl of homemade alphabet soup for dinner, and some pita bread. So I got no complaints
Labels: writing
posted by erin | 6:28 PM
4 Comments:
I am not nearly deep enough, arty enough, or smart enough to understand most poetry.
Sigh.
alphabet soup and poetry...YUM! :)
and I agree that part of what makes poetry so wonderful is that it never needs to be anything more than a moment.
Oh, I can do THAT.
But CLASSES on poetry? Analyzing, etc?
EEEEK!!!!!
the trick is to realize that no one can really tell you you're wrong when it comes to art (well, the artist can, but then you just tell them it must have been subconscious, or unconscious). once you've got that down, its fun!
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