by Ren Powell
As I finish up my final year of graduate school, I have been thinking about the way I have been stymied when trying to consciously incorporate theory into my writing practice. Too often I let academics intrude on my process, rather than complement it. I forgot why I write.
So now I continually return to the Swiss playwright Fredrich Dürrenmatt’s “Some Points on The Physicist,” specifically number 1: I don’t start with a thesis; but a story. His notes sit on my desk in a little frame.
Over the last year I have developed a new awareness of not only my writing practice but the impetus of my writing and the consequences it has in regard to form and voice. I have come to understand that I write primarily narrative poems that function rather like lyrics of feeling, in contrast with lyrics of thought or lyrics of vision (with the exception of my experiments with animated poetry).
My poems are characterized by somewhat surrealistic content masquerading as realism. I want my readers to struggle to place the poem’s events within their life’s narrative as a “real” event, just as they would with a familiar but inexplicable feeling of half-memory that can only be described as, “It’s sort of like … .” Not surprisingly, this is what I enjoy reading in the work of other poets, from Dante (no, I’m not kidding) to Brigit Pegeen Kelly.
I am a classical writer in the sense that I believe the function of poetry is to present a mimesis* by which a person can experience the re-creation of a moment in which they recognized the truth. It is not an attempt to evoke an emotional response, an epiphany or confirm or instruct a moral lesson. It is an attempt to evoke an experience of human awareness. (While potentially pretentious, it is certainly not an original ambition.) However, I am also a surrealist writer in the sense that I want the reader to access a universal truth by throwing suspicion upon accepted ideas of reality and forcing the reader to look beyond what the five senses perceive and what logic can conceive.
Although there are poets who freely invent their worlds, for example Poe invented tribes of nonexistent peoples, I am a stickler for accuracy in poems. My tendency to use trivia from the natural world might be termed hyperrealism in that it intentionally challenges the reader’s concepts of fact and fantasy. For example, one of my poems includes details regarding a real parasite that changes the sexual identity and function of its hermit crab host. The parasite is not only a metaphor but a scientific doppelganger for the character in the poem.
A tutor once remarked that my poems had “strange women doing strange things.” Maybe my poems are simply doppelgangers for me? If I could put into prose how I experience the world, I would be a philosopher not a poet.
I discovered that the writing process, for me, is as much one of discovery as one of expression. I will point out that I do not believe this is self-discovery but rather discovery of universal truths. This may sound grandiose; however, I would argue that the lyric poet on a journey of self-discovery also has potential for self-aggrandizing.
I would never go so far as to say that I write for myself, but I do enjoy the writing process because of the cathartic experience inherent in the creation of the lyric narrative. Yet ultimately I write to reach others: to verify my experience as human and real. I seek empathetic readers. Communion. It is a selfish act, and this is my only confession.
What do you want from the others who read your work? What do you have to say to them, share with them? Confess.
Ren (Katherine) Powell is native Californian living on the west coast of Norway. Ren has published three collections of poetry and 11 books of translations. She is a graduate adviser with Prescott College’s brief residency MA program and is pursuing a doctorate in creative writing at Lancaster University in England. Learn more at her website.
I’ve been thinking about this off and on all day, ren.
My intellectual goal is one very close to yours. I’d like to be able to express, with clear words, my sensual & intellectual experiences — and I have a personal distaste for poetry that attempts “to evoke an emotional response, an epiphany [to] confirm or instruct a moral lesson.”
That said, I know I do use emotion in my poetry on (probably lots of) occasion.
Because I am so interested in your POV, and the ideas in this piece, I want to take every poem I’ve written in the last two years and see where they land. (Oy! What a job that would be!)
So on to your question.
I hope for a bit of empathy. A shared aha! moment so I feel a little less alone in the world.
Aha! I’m looking for a feeling. And it’s odd, too, because in the big scheme of things I don’t have that many interactions with readers, even as a blogger. Hmmm. I am barking up the wrong tree, it seems.
More thinking to do on this one.
Thank you!
I, too, feel I am barking up the wrong tree most of the time. Sometimes writing poetry to feel less alone is not only futile, but intensifies the feeling of isolation (rejection notices, workshop critiques, “I don’t get it”)… poets are nothing if not stubborn idealists – I just hope there really is something up in the tree – or a tree, somewhere… woof.
Confession: Strange and interesting things happen in the world all the time. Emotions appear. I’m struck by coincidence or tragedy. All of this brings me to write — if I could dance or sing or paint, I would likely do that; the compulsion and the energy’s got to go somewhere.
What I share with my readers are my (some times lousy) attempts to capture my sense of the world & my theories thereof. I start with a story and a particular p.o.v. — there’s no escaping that for me.
What I’d like back in return is some version of “my, how clever you are!” combined with an intense desire for further conversation. I want to swap ideas and yes, I want to be recognized, seen. I want the stories that I tell in my poems to evoke emotion. I have a definite moral of the story, though that may change as the poem takes shape. Too much? The reader will have to decide for his or her self.
Thanks for asking.
Observer and teacher! I wonder how many of us really write because we want (and need) to be seen, too?
Thanks for sharing!
hmmm…i think i like to put on a meaningful show…for each poem and each manuscript to have that exact right combo (diff. for each one) of idea, music, emotion that transports readers…i want to give…not exactly a gift but the full force of my presence i guess which can work in collaboration with each reader to create an incomparable moment…i wish i could say i want to share my thoughts/emotions/stuff but i resist that a lot…that’s a good goal actually… sharing… but no i’m not there yet
Thankyou again for another very interesting article. I agree with most of your assertions.I also write narrative poetry laced with surrealism.I cannot divorce surrealist art from surrealist literature.For me they are interwoven.Also I wish to evoke an emotional response from the reader.I don’t think you can divorce emotion from human awareness (well,not the sort of human I am…or maybe I’m not one after all…that would explain a lot!)
ren powell replied:
February 25th, 2010 at 8:58 am
No- I don’t think you can divorce emotion from awareness, either. But I think there is a difference in intention- which one attempts to directly invoke and/or indirectly catalyze. Some poets attempt to convey the emotion directly – I prefer to let the reader interpret the experience and then respond emotionally – although that obviously isn’t always “successful”.
Ren, this was both very interesting and very insightful.
“I write primarily narrative poems that function rather like lyrics of feeling…”
I think I do this (or try to)when I write also.
And I agree with you about accuracy. I fret a great deal about the veracity of what I’m writing, partly I think because some of my subjects (e.g. the Holocaust) demand it, and partly because I see poetry as in some ways charged with empirical reporting as one of its roles (maybe it’s the scientist in me…).
This doesn’t mean I try to have everything be autobiographical or literally reflect events, only that in the general sense I strive to make poems that are consistent with what I know to be true.
For me, writing is also about reaching/touching others, sometimes just for the sake of exerting a pull on them, because to me this seems to be the force of beauty, the ability to alter a person’s emotional trajectory, to get him/her to add the poem’s world to the universe of their experience. Other times I may seek also some more altruistic and/or (hopefully) well disguised didactic role.
I write for myself in the primal sense that I eat or drink, not for the final product, but for the [ideally pleasurable] sating of some basic need.
ren powell replied:
February 25th, 2010 at 8:59 am
“I write for myself in the primal sense that I eat or drink, not for the final product, but for the [ideally pleasurable] sating of some basic need.”
What a nice way to put it.
My approach to poetry is essentially devoid of academic overtones, and seldom begins with or embodies preconceived intellectual trappings – nor does it embrace formal poetic structures. Early in life, while I attended university, I attempted a serious academic pursuit of writing, especially poetry, in the hopes of becoming a “better writer”. I was “only” a lyricist (and lead singer) in a rock band at the time.
I suppose I wanted to be perceived as relevant (whatever the hell I thought that meant), so I put forth an earnest effort to explore the history, structures, and scholastic “wisdom” regarding poetry – to play poetry by the accepted rules, with my writing endeavors so aligned. I was completely unfulfilled, felt pretentious, and fell away from poetry for many years.
A tragedy in my life, the violent death of my 18-year-old son, brought me back to poetry quite unexpectedly. Emotionally devastated, and finding it almost impossible to re-center my life, I began to journal to preserve my sanity. A wonderful therapist, whose help and insight I was seeking at the time, pointed out to me that my journal entries had begun to unfold as free verse poetry.
From that point forward, I continued actively writing in a free verse poetic style, because it was fulfilling, liberating, and personally revealing – it was cathartic. I was writing for myself, confidently and honestly. I found my reason to write.
I do not write for others. I do not consciously ‘want’ from the others who read my work. Do I want to share with them? Yes. I want to share with them my personal thoughts and feelings, in as honest a voice as I can. I need to reach out, to not feel isolated. My need to write and share is selfish.
I write when I am moved to write, about what inspires me at the moment, to write. It is a release of something inside my head, my heart, my mind, my psyche –something inside of me, which needs to get out. I’ve been on the planet long enough, and lived life unfettered and unguarded enough, that I have quite a reserve of experience to draw upon – good and bad, joyful and painful.
It is the recall of, reaction to, regret for, or the rejoicing of bits this reserve, or an opinion so related, sparked by something in the moment, that inspires me to write. I so seldom, as to claim never, approach writing with a preconceived outline or agenda. I may occasionally write to a prompt or suggestion, but my writing most always evolves from stream-of-consciousness.
Am I now the “better writer” I once wanted to be, I don’t know – and I have reached a point in my life where I don’t care. I write to scratch that itch inside, to silence a persistent muse, to preserve my sanity – I write because I must. I share my writing because I want to, and I have received enough reaction to my writing to know that it resonates positively for some – so I suppose I write for them.
I write for myself to make sense of my experiences and my emotional reactions, especially disturbing ones, to deepen my memories, to expose and own the shadow, to love the journey when I feel lost. I write as connection and communion, to make a bridge between us, to create intimacy. I write because it’s fun playing with language and words and leaps of association and surprises and twists. (When I start to write, I don’t know where I will end up. And I do like to make up words or turn nouns into verbs and experiment with structure) And I write to keep the darkness at bay, to light a candle, to set my heart on fire or because it is already on fire and needs to be soothed, to heal, to transform what is painful into something of beauty. And in hopes that you will be transformed. And because some of my happiest hours have been spent with books and I show my admiration by imitating those who have led the way.
Go for the Gold! Do what you love!
rob kistner replied:
February 22nd, 2010 at 2:27 pm
Having just read your uplifting post here, it brought me face to face with how dark my thinking and attitude has grown in the past year. I remember feeling the way you do, but I’ve become lost to the joy of the journey. I’m going in search of that me I once knew… thank you Wendy, most sincerely.
I write for multiple reasons: to try to share what I’m seeing in my head; to make sense of my past, present, and future; to share my own experiences, hoping that others will be uplifted; and yes, to be seen. I don’t have much, if any, academic overtones to my work, since I have not studied poetry in any academic setting at all except for one creative writing class. And maybe, to some degree, I’m better for it. I have had a bad tendency to try to conform my work to that of others in the past. Not to say that I don’t welcome critique, revise, or try to improve. But I’m not sure how well I’d do in a workshop setting or MFA program or….?
The speakers in my poems are either slices of myself or people close to me.