Q. Is there such a thing as "poet's block"? What advice would you give aspiring poets to get us over those inevitable moments?
If you read The Poet’s Companion you’ll see that I don’t believe in writer’s block. I believe that there are times when you are full and overflowing, ready and willing to write poems, and other times when you are busy being filled with what you need to write poems. I know many writers that do something else during those times, paint or draw, play music or listen intently to music, give blood, teach someone to read, live their lives. All this goes into the pot that makes poems. The trick is not to worry too much about it and to always be ready by reading and writing as much as you can, allowing yourself to write bad poems, horrible poems, make big mistakes, and go on.
- Dorianne Laux, interview
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Writer's (Un)Block
I've mentioned the following quote before, but in a different capacity separate from this blog. Thus, I'd like to include it here. There's a lot to be said about Laux's statement, but I'll simply state that, for the record, I agree with her.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
On Loop
A good poem, like a catchy song, is completely infectious. It's rhythmic, it's quotable, and it lasts with you after your train ride, through work, and right before sleep curls up in your eyes. There's a point when a poem becomes addictive, figuratively put on repeat, and read until its lines are delicately memorized. In fact, if it were socially acceptable and possible to randomly quote poetry in public without coming off as crazy, I would.
This has been the case with Bob Hicok's poem "Angels of mercy" from his newest poetry collection, This Clumsy Living, which takes its title from a Rilke poem. Hicok's fifth book is startling true to his title, but that's precisely what makes him stand out amongst contemporary poets. He trips over himself in poems, constantly moving from subject-to-subject in a matter of lines, sometimes within the same line, resulting in a complex layering of thought processes full of wit and humor. He's perfected the one thing I can't seem to incorporate in my own writing: comedy with substance. What Hicok is able to say, what he's able to comment on through a myriad of well-crafted lines, extends further than his talent for being clever, hitting the reader right in the gut. This isn't a complete review of Hicok's book, but it is my recommendation to read the poems in this book if you haven't already.
Back to the poem. I am strangely attracted to writing that centers around and involves any and all of the following: hospitals, medicine, health, doctors, surgeries, etc. Some of my favorite writings from William Carlos Williams are those that clearly draw from his experiences as a doctor, e.g., his short story The Use of Force. And there's this spectacular poem from Sarah Hannah's book, Longing Distance, called "Anaesthesia Green," which ends on the familiar lines of waking up from "going under" when she writes:
This has been the case with Bob Hicok's poem "Angels of mercy" from his newest poetry collection, This Clumsy Living, which takes its title from a Rilke poem. Hicok's fifth book is startling true to his title, but that's precisely what makes him stand out amongst contemporary poets. He trips over himself in poems, constantly moving from subject-to-subject in a matter of lines, sometimes within the same line, resulting in a complex layering of thought processes full of wit and humor. He's perfected the one thing I can't seem to incorporate in my own writing: comedy with substance. What Hicok is able to say, what he's able to comment on through a myriad of well-crafted lines, extends further than his talent for being clever, hitting the reader right in the gut. This isn't a complete review of Hicok's book, but it is my recommendation to read the poems in this book if you haven't already.
Back to the poem. I am strangely attracted to writing that centers around and involves any and all of the following: hospitals, medicine, health, doctors, surgeries, etc. Some of my favorite writings from William Carlos Williams are those that clearly draw from his experiences as a doctor, e.g., his short story The Use of Force. And there's this spectacular poem from Sarah Hannah's book, Longing Distance, called "Anaesthesia Green," which ends on the familiar lines of waking up from "going under" when she writes:
The same shiver wakes youTry reading Hicok's poem and not taking a deep breath afterwards. It's impossible, especially after the last stanza.
To this iron bed,
At your lips the taste of tin.
This is the coldest you have ever been.
Angels of Mercy
Bob Hicok
Everyone waiting reading the coverless magazines
reading brochures on Alzheimer's & bone-loss two kinds
of forgetting
I call my father don't tell him where I am he says
they think his heart now maybe his kidneys now
maybe doctors what do they know stay away
from doctors son yes dad
The woman across from me yawns pushes her hands
up her face pulls the skin back her hands
are wings she's thirty years younger for a second
a moment of plastic surgery when her face sags home
it's a scrotum
The man beside me is held together by liver spots
he coughs I hold my breath
Two doctors come out sit in our laps kiss our mouths
lick our teeth our eyes stroke our heads purr
two doctors in white coats of feathers wearing piles
of snow two doctors speaking Spanish and Hebrew and rap
speaking tongues two doctors with six knees apiece
with accordians in their voice boxes two doctors burning
glowing two doctors made of lava tell us we will die
but not today we will die but not forever and then
and o they give us suckers I'd like orange please life
is sweet
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Toxic Triangle of Writing
In the March/April 2007 publication of Poets & Writers, Boston-based writer Caitlin O’Neil focuses on the “toxic triangle” of writing, which “refers to the metaphorical vortex writers get pulled into while trying to balance making a living, being committed to their literary lives, and staying connected to the world around them.”
Surely this term is applicable to various professions, but it’s particularly interesting in terms of writing, and especially at this time in my life. For the first time since my freshman fall semester, I’m currently not enrolled in a workshop, forcing me to deal with this “toxic triangle.”
In the past, workshops have been structured environments intended for the purpose of writing nonstop. There are schedules, assignments, and deadlines, all of which, though sometimes stressful, require you to crank out work at a seemingly endless pace. Sometimes you get lucky and write something brilliantly, and other times you write something awfully but it still provides you with a line or two that could eventually find its way back into a later piece.
Without this setting though, my priorities have shifted. I’m in classes that focus my attention differently, I’ve picked up more hours at work, and most of my pre-weekends are spent figuring out how I’ll entertain myself during the weekends rather than setting aside personal time to write, read, and research.
This recognition partly reinforces my intentions to, at some point or another, attend graduate school, where the extension of a structured writing environment will be key in my development as a writer. At this point in my life I’m positive that I want to earn my MFA as well as hopefully go on to publish and teach. The advantages of teaching are numerous, including its uses as a social outlet (in an art where isolation is almost mandatory), its research opportunities (that keep you connected to the literary world), and its inspirational tones. One of the article’s interviewees says, “Teaching is a passion of mine. I feel it necessary to pass on knowledge and to influence people to stay curious all their lives.”
Of course, there’s always a side B to side A, and there’s a lot to be said for the world outside of academia. It seems easy enough for me to say that I want to go immediately from undergraduate to graduate school to teaching, but that’s because it’s the only familiar setting I’ve known. What if this path produces not only a monotonous life, but also a lackluster writing career?
Another interviewee believes that “writers should steer clear of academia” and should “get out in the world and mix it up, get your hands dirty, get your ass kicked a little bit. Adults who have been in jobs that require risk are way more likely to have stories of failure and glory and betrayal and redemption than young adults in high school and college.”
Fair enough. (I should also point out that in this same issue there’s an article by poet Tony D’Souza on his experiences as a Peace Corps volunteer, something I've seriously considered as an alternative to immediately pursuing graduate school.)
The last – and I purposefully left it for last – side to the triangle is that pesky thing called “having a life,” which in social terms means going out, having healthy relationships, and all those bonuses that comprise a happy and well-rounded life. This is where I fall short, and thus the reason I left it for last, perhaps thinking that if I put it out of my mind, it will work itself out. Another interviewee says that “everyone focuses so much on writing, as if that’s all you need in life, but that’s a fallacy. You can’t have a productive life if no one is in it but you.” There goes my plan. It’s not for any lack of desire or want that I fail at maintaining a consistent social life, there’s just something inherently off about me, and I yearn for moments of solitude in which I can remind myself of the beauty of writing and reading.
For now, as usual, I’m at a standstill. But stay tuned, things change routinely.
(I’d also like to give credit where credit is due, so snaps to Rebecca Morgan Frank, my nonfiction professor from freshman year, who is mentioned and quoted in the article as well.)
Surely this term is applicable to various professions, but it’s particularly interesting in terms of writing, and especially at this time in my life. For the first time since my freshman fall semester, I’m currently not enrolled in a workshop, forcing me to deal with this “toxic triangle.”
In the past, workshops have been structured environments intended for the purpose of writing nonstop. There are schedules, assignments, and deadlines, all of which, though sometimes stressful, require you to crank out work at a seemingly endless pace. Sometimes you get lucky and write something brilliantly, and other times you write something awfully but it still provides you with a line or two that could eventually find its way back into a later piece.
Without this setting though, my priorities have shifted. I’m in classes that focus my attention differently, I’ve picked up more hours at work, and most of my pre-weekends are spent figuring out how I’ll entertain myself during the weekends rather than setting aside personal time to write, read, and research.
This recognition partly reinforces my intentions to, at some point or another, attend graduate school, where the extension of a structured writing environment will be key in my development as a writer. At this point in my life I’m positive that I want to earn my MFA as well as hopefully go on to publish and teach. The advantages of teaching are numerous, including its uses as a social outlet (in an art where isolation is almost mandatory), its research opportunities (that keep you connected to the literary world), and its inspirational tones. One of the article’s interviewees says, “Teaching is a passion of mine. I feel it necessary to pass on knowledge and to influence people to stay curious all their lives.”
Of course, there’s always a side B to side A, and there’s a lot to be said for the world outside of academia. It seems easy enough for me to say that I want to go immediately from undergraduate to graduate school to teaching, but that’s because it’s the only familiar setting I’ve known. What if this path produces not only a monotonous life, but also a lackluster writing career?
Another interviewee believes that “writers should steer clear of academia” and should “get out in the world and mix it up, get your hands dirty, get your ass kicked a little bit. Adults who have been in jobs that require risk are way more likely to have stories of failure and glory and betrayal and redemption than young adults in high school and college.”
Fair enough. (I should also point out that in this same issue there’s an article by poet Tony D’Souza on his experiences as a Peace Corps volunteer, something I've seriously considered as an alternative to immediately pursuing graduate school.)
The last – and I purposefully left it for last – side to the triangle is that pesky thing called “having a life,” which in social terms means going out, having healthy relationships, and all those bonuses that comprise a happy and well-rounded life. This is where I fall short, and thus the reason I left it for last, perhaps thinking that if I put it out of my mind, it will work itself out. Another interviewee says that “everyone focuses so much on writing, as if that’s all you need in life, but that’s a fallacy. You can’t have a productive life if no one is in it but you.” There goes my plan. It’s not for any lack of desire or want that I fail at maintaining a consistent social life, there’s just something inherently off about me, and I yearn for moments of solitude in which I can remind myself of the beauty of writing and reading.
For now, as usual, I’m at a standstill. But stay tuned, things change routinely.
(I’d also like to give credit where credit is due, so snaps to Rebecca Morgan Frank, my nonfiction professor from freshman year, who is mentioned and quoted in the article as well.)
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
The Circle Only Has One Side
Call it boredom. Call it entertainment. Call it curiosity. Call it exploration. Whatever this blog was born from is completely unknown to me, but here it is, my first online blog dedicated (mostly) to all things poetry: poems, poets, essays, etc. There are so many things I want to share in terms of poetry, and this seems like one of the easiest outlets for me to bounce ideas, opinions, reactions, and desires off of. Thank you, blog, for being my metaphorical wall.
Upcoming: reaction to and discussion of the "toxic triangle" in writing and the "Oh-crap-what-am-I-going-to-do-with-my-life" panic attack.
(By the way, the title and subtitle are taken from the poem "Two Jeffs" by Richard Siken. There is an empty space next to you in the backseat of the station wagon. Make it the shape of everything you need. Now say hello.)
Upcoming: reaction to and discussion of the "toxic triangle" in writing and the "Oh-crap-what-am-I-going-to-do-with-my-life" panic attack.
(By the way, the title and subtitle are taken from the poem "Two Jeffs" by Richard Siken. There is an empty space next to you in the backseat of the station wagon. Make it the shape of everything you need. Now say hello.)
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