I write. I happen mostly to write poems. I’m fine by that, I like it that way. Would calling myself a “poet” make any difference one way or the other?

Years ago I worked this very specialized software sort of job. Over the years I became pretty capable. Then one day “the” guru who designed the whole system went away. Some months later I started getting the help-me calls from offices around the country. Someone, the guru I think, said now it’s him, and so I was. Overnight I became one of those “experts” I’d heard about, and secret was I felt just precisely the same after as before.

Would being a “poet” be any different?

Call me a ground hog and I’ll be just as happy (or not) I think. And another answer is – I do write poems, yes, but do I call myself a poet yet? To my mind, no, even if it is what I “do”.

“Text generator” is my favorite description. I wish I had thought of it.

I really like Dave’s idea about craft in that it does away with all the mysticism that surrounds the word “poet” and “poetry” and “creativity.”

I think the writing of poetry can be taught just like the reading of poetry can be taught. And I think the cult of the writer contributes a lot to the problems Dana describes.

but no, not right now. right now, i’d just like to do the work that MFA candidates “get” to do in hopes of improving my writing.

and feeling more like a poet.

I have struggled with how to define myself for a long time. It almost seems like a question of legitimacy from other when you tell folks that you are a writer, and especially if you tell folks that you are a poet. It’s almost as if being famous or well known is the only mark or badge of legitimacy to non-writers and non-poets.

I also appreciated the comments many made here about MFA programs. I have been checking into pursuing one myself…namely for my own personal reasons and satisfaction. Namely, to rectify a wrong of not pursuing what I really wanted to in college in the first place. But that’s not the only reason I am thinking about plunking down a buttload of money for this…I do want to improve my work and make it the best it can be. I want — and need — some real development and mentoring.

And Dr. Omed, thank you for posting what you did. I would say that everything you have just said about who and what is the poet rang true for me.

-Nicole

1. I would have had to apply again at that point. (They only allowed students to take a leave of absence for two semesters, after which reapplying was necessary.)

2. Circumstances in my life and my employment made it so I could no longer be in a residency program.

But I can say that I learned more from Richard Kenney at UW in just a couple of lectures than I learned the entire semester from my mentor at the low-res program I’ve been part of. I can even say that the discussion he led in his class constitutes a great deal of what I’ve been exploring in my poetry ever since, as well as my philosophy about poetry.

I feel that, in contrast with established residency programs, some low-res programs — especially freshly minted ones such as the one I was at this past semester — are uneven and have a all sorts of hiccups. And after being at one of arguably the best residency MFA programs in the country, of having been exposed to that even a little bit, any low-residency program I set foot in was going to have a lot to measure up to.

That’s as it should be, I think. The best programs set the standard, and it’s up to the others to keep pace. But it’s also up to the students to know what they should be getting from any program. Certainly there can and should be variability in style and focus from program to program, but the same baseline quality should be there. Getting in MFA is just like buying a car: They are not all the same, and their quality and value is not consistent from one to another, despite whether all programs are accredited.

I don’t mean to say that these issues are across the board. I’ve seen, firsthand, what I think is one of the best programs out there. And I sure hope what I saw this past semester was indicative of the worst, because if there’s worse to be found, that’s just sad and scary.

I should also note that my experience in my program was largely limited to that of my mentor and the program director. There was another poet and writer acting as a mentor for three other students. I found him to be outstanding. He is one of the best readers of poetry that I have ever seen. Even when he claimed he didn’t know enough about a particular style of poetry to analyze it well, he proceeded to analyze the hell out of it with attention to all the nuance of the poem, all the possibilities of the poem, all the failings of the poem, and all the ways in which the poem could be contextualized within the framework of the poetry that has come before.

If that poet had been my mentor, my MFA experience would have been very different this past semester. I might be singing the program’s praises.

They say everyone gets a different MFA, even at the same institution. That seems to be true from what I have heard and seen. The experience is wholly dependent on your mentors, especially at the low-res program, in which often the only person you will be talking to about your work and about poetry in general both consistently and in detail (or not even in detail in my case) is the mentor.

And mentors are highly variable. Those who write well are not always suited for mentorship. Those with high profiles might be too busy to actually commit to the act of teaching. Those who thrive in a residency environment may flounder in a low-res model. That’s where the institution needs to step in and listen to its students, respond to their concerns, find solutions that make the experience better, and ensure as much quality control as possible. That is where I believe my institution failed me and, frankly, where it failed my mentor as well.

The “poet” lies a lot, but only when telling the truth. The “poet” tells the truth in such a way that you take it as a lie, whether you believe the lie or not. The only part of the truth you take in is the lie: All lies are partial truths; that is to say, forms of human understanding. What the “poet” has on offer is beyond human understanding, and what good is that? The “poet” brandishes that question mark like Hermes or Mercury held aloft the caduceus, the winged staff twined with two snakes. It’s hard to say what the “poet” is good for and hard to say what the “poet” is bad for. That mostly depends on you, or what you think of as you. We all have a little piece of the truth, because we all have a little piece of the “poet”, and like I say, the “poet” lies a lot.

The “poet” is the you that is not you. A trickster that wears your face when not wearing someone else’s. You may think of the “poet” as a figment, but the “poet” thinks of you as pigment. The “poet” is like Mona Lisa’s mustache, you don’t know how it got there and you didn’t do it. The “poet” may fib but is also an outrageous gossip. The “poet” talks to his selves and can’t keep a secret. The “poet” makes you keep it, slipping the wet brush in your pocket when you aren’t looking…. Read More

The “poet,” like Job’s Satan, is busy, busy, busy. Going to and fro on the earth, and walking up and down in it. The “poet” works all hours and is likely to call you at 3 in the morning. The “poet” dances with angels and denies God exists. The “poet” prefers paradoxy to orthodoxy; iconoclasm is the “poet’s” orgasm. Rene Magritte illustrated this with elegant concision when he painted a picture of a pipe, and wrote “Ceci n’est pas une pipe” at the bottom of it. This is not a pipe. Put that in your poem and smoke it.

(Reposted from Facebook by request of Deb, Dana, and Dave.)

I don’t really think of myself as a poet. It seems weird. I’ve been writing poetry for nearly 20 years, but until this year rarely shared any of it (RWP inspired me to change that, but I digress).

I think there is a tendency to think that if we call ourselves something we are either getting paid to do it as professionals or we are pretending. Especially with poetry.

Dana’s music analogy got me thinking about this. I know many musicians, so called because they practice the art of playing and performing and yet earn their living by other means. We seem to accept this for musicians. Same thing for runners and athletes who run marathons and triathelons and then on Monday go back to their jobs.

Thinking about it that way makes me wonder why those of us who write but don’t earn a living by it have such hangups when it comes to calling ourselves writers or poets.

My brother hunts and calls himself a hunter even though he earns his living as an attorney.

I write poetry. Maybe I shouldn’t be so weird about being a poet or a writer. It is, after all, what I do, if not for a living.

So, yeah, how about that tattoo?

Thank you for the Greek interpretation. I love it!

I have recently released my first book of poetry, and on the back of the book it says, “Katherine Mercurio Gotthardt is a poet and prose writer.” Perhaps that sounds awkward, but I really wanted to use that word “poet.”