Just in case I seem only an “inspiring” person who has most of her life together…
I have a specific person in mind as I write this post. Laurel, my dear, I write this to you (though all commenters are welcome).
It’s been one year since I started playing with poetry again. One year since I approached writing poems with wonder, with confidence in my right to try and to have fun. It’s been almost one year since I immersed myself in the toxicity of that poetry forum (which shall remain unlinked here).
Now, maybe I’m not writing as avidly as I did that first month because I’ve been busy. (Then again, I had plenty of energy when I began writing despite working a zillion hours a week. And I’ve not been busy since October when my job ended, but the pen seems dry.) Maybe I’m not writing because, as is my fashion, I often begin endeavors with bright enthusiasm, then fade over time.
There’s some truth in this, but there’s more. I’m lying to myself to deny it. The atmosphere of the forum: the snootiness, the stringent standards, the high academia, the ruthlessness of the moderators, and that encounter with the asshole wannabe guru — this silenced me. When I write a poem now, I choke. I hear the critic before I even capture an image and taste the words. I can’t hear the music in them now. Inspiration fled.
No matter how much I try to comfort myself with Ted Kooser’s encouragement, I remain bound.
Today, at the ocean, I managed to free myself a little. Perhaps it was the 25 mph wind. I wish I could return to the poem writer I was before encountering the forum. It’s a kind of innocence lost. And by venturing into the forum, I did it to myself.
Even in middle age, I am still affected by others’ judgment of me. Not as much as when I was younger, certainly. There are some people whose judgment or opinion matters more and to whom I respond: Husband, family, close friends. But why, oh why, do the opinions of strangers, especially disembodied ones on the Internet, have any impact? Why the hell do I give them this power? The forum stressed that the criticism should not be taken personally, that it was critique of the work. I understood this; I don’t feel I took it personally. But I did feel daunted by the focus on technicality. What keeps me from writing poetry is the desire to do it “right,” like a “serious” poet, but I get bogged down by the high standards of technique. Where’s the fun?
More importantly, how will I get it back?
First things first: The more free time I have on my hands, the less likely I am to write. Free time makes me feel…anxious. I tend to waste it doing nothing. The more I have to do, the more my back is pressed up against a wall, the more likely I am to try in the midst of a crazy, pressure-filled schedule to write a poem. While going to school, taking 3 and 4 classes at a time AND working full time, I’d find myself writing at work, in the car, in class, scribbling poems on the back of essays that were due in hours. The flip side of that coin is that I always take a notebook and pen with me on every vacation and never scribble down so much as a word. Go figure. (grin)
So, I guess I won’t ever need to apply for one of those dreamy writing retreats. I’d go and hang out in the cabin for days and get lost in the woods.
As for the forums, well…it’s a tough subject for me to address objectively. I know both sides of that coin too. I know that the only reason I continue to write now is because of the encouragement of some of the wonderful poets I encountered on various forums, a few of whom have become good, good friends and trust critics. Too, I know the reason I almost stopped writing is due to the toxic, mean-spirited, dismissive, patronizing criticism I received on some of those forums. A few of those critics make it a sport to go after everyone regarding of how experienced or novice they may be, and really tear a poem apart, or sneer at it. One critic told me pointblank that I had no talent and should stop wasting my time. Stop writing, he said. His words were initially devastating to me until I realized that I didn’t know him. I’d never met him face to face. I didn’t consider him a friend. I sure as hell didn’t respect his opinion. And I didn’t especially like or admire his poetry. So, I kept on writing.
I used to post on various forums daily. Daily. I learned so much from the critiques I received. And I learned how to read and critique other folks’ poetry too. But I know alot of writers never really connect to the whole online workshop experience. A face-to-face or live workshop is a whole other animal. If you can find one, you might enjoy that experience and gain more from it than the facelessness of the online world. The anonymity, the facelessness that cyberspace provides allows folks to be incredibly cruel. I just read an article in yesterday’s paper about that 400 lb woman who had the baby after going to the hospital with stomach pains–she had no idea that she was pregnant. Well, she was inundated with anonymous cruelty, people posting messages on various forums (and maybe on her myspace account—I can’t recall) that called her a fat pig and questioned her ability to a mother. It’s unbelievable. She just had a baby, the most joyous moment in a person’s life and people are….attacking her? It made me sad. Angry. And sad.
So, even though you know that when you post on a forum that there are some folks out there who are only out there to attack anything written by anyone, folks who are in it only to tear people down, even though you know that a critique is a critique of your poetry, not a personal attack….maybe the online forum experience is not for you.
I just read your most recent poems posted and honestly, K, I think you’ve come so far so fast in your poetry. Maybe what you need is a live workshop.
You need at least one reader of your work whose work you also admire who will tell you the truth. I have at least 3 such people in my life right now. I’m not always thrilled when these guys chime in and say, Laurel, it ain’t up to snuff, Laurel you can do better—but I know that I can trust them, that they’re telling me the truth, not to be cruel, but to help me better my poetry, to push me always forward, to help me want more from my writing, to aspire to something higher.
Keep on writing, K. Keep pushing yourself.
oh man, i can relate to this. i have given too much power to people i saw as authority figures. The voices of some teachers still ring in my ears. After I left art school, I hardly made any art at all, it was like I had nothing left. What helped? The artist’s way’s morning pages helped, feeling like I could play helped, workshops in intuitive style painting helped. Perhaps there are workshops or positive environments for writing you could search out? When I get stuck, I like to give myself permission to make crap, even make something with the intent to destroy it afterwards if I choose, so that the pressure is off entirely.
keep writing, perhaps start small. write haiku poems, had you heard about marilyn wanting to do “found poetry” (like found art, but with poems?) that might be fun. I guess, lightening it up somehow, bringing play back into it would be my advice. Take it or leave it of course!
xoxox
Most of my poetry has always been written for my own need to express my feelings. I get annoyed at “having” to write poetry according to some form. The exception is probably haiku, where I find the simplicity of the form helps coalesce the thought.
Then again, sometimes an iambic pentameter is just the thing when you want to write a formal poem to someone. It all depends on *why* you’re writing a poem. If it’s just for you, don’t worry about anyone else and write whatever you like in whatever form you like. If you want to later take those words and express them more formally, you can do that when you’re in that place.
But trying to force creativity in a certain form – well, I don’t think anyone needs that. The child in us simply will rebel and not want to do it.
I don’t know how one builds a thicker skin. Even the confident among us, those who like to think we listen to those we respect and disregard the rest, can find ourselves haunted by the words of somebody clearly outside that circle, somebody accomplishing nothing constructive, somebody who pushed a button they didn’t even know was there. It happens in all facets of life, and all you can try to do is say “well, my buttons got pushed! bleah!”, shake yourself off, and strike out again…
Thanks to all for the feedback. I will definitely continue. There’s the excellent point about the free time/production conundrum. It’s often the same with me. I’ll poke around here for a local group. There aren’t many in the valley (I’ve looked before); most of the action is in San Francisco or Berkeley, which are 50 miles from where I live (and here that’s an arduous journey). What I really need to do, however, is just WRITE. Play. Never mind technique yet, if I’m getting hung up on thinking about it. It brings me pleasure, so it’s important to do.
Your blog is great…Don’t be stiffled by what others say, you have to much to offer.
This has brought me out of lurkerdom. Poetry writing, the judgement of others and “self-inflicted” lost innocence. Oh yes. I’ve been there too this past year for the same kind of reason. Thanks for posting this – it helps to free me too.