by Robert Peake
Ask a poet a question, get a flurry of questions in reply. At least, that’s what my mind did when I read this month’s question “How do you write poetry every day?” I came up with more questions, such as:
- How do you not write poetry every day?
- How do you write good poetry every day?
- How dare you write poetry every day?
- How does poetry write you every day?
- How do you be a poet every day?
That last question is one I am answering in my own life by living it. And the ways I have found to answer it involve addressing all the previous questions, fanciful though they first may seem.
So, let us begin with the original question, and its opposite. How do you write poetry every day? How do you not write poetry every day? The truth is, I veer somewhere between the two. I write poetry regularly. To me, regularly means often enough that I still feel like I am in the game, and long enough that it matters. Robert Hass is quoted as having said, “Take the time to write. You can do your life’s work in half an hour a day.” In fact, I take about 40 minutes.
And interestingly enough, 30 or 40 minutes seems to be a magical amount of time. It’s less than an hour, and therefore harder to resist. But it’s enough to get me going, to feel that I have put in a reasonable amount of time. If things aren’t flowing, I quit after 40 minutes. If not, I often run over. Short, regular bursts, with flexibility to follow the heat when it comes, have served me well.
Next question: How do you write good poetry every day (or at least regularly)? Well, good luck. Two of the faculty at my MFA program were colleagues of William Stafford, and raconteurs. I was fortunate to hear them tell of a time during some gathering or function when Stafford split off from the group at lunchtime, deciding to eat by himself and write some poems. The rest simply ate. Afterward, skeptically and conspiratorially, they quizzed Stafford on what he had written. He handed them half-a-dozen poems. “And,” said one faculty member to the other, eyes gleaming in amazement, “some of them were pretty good.”
It seems to me that poetry is a lot like photography. The secret to getting good photos, or poems, is to take a lot of shots. Though we might not all be as prolific as Stafford, I firmly believe that writing good poetry comes from reading, writing and revising poetry often. This, of course, takes time and energy — time some might say could be better spent elsewhere. Hence, the question: how dare you write poetry?
There are many things one can do with a life, and many needs in this world. Some see poetry as a dying art. Others favor a more tangible medium. But for me, poetry is very rightly done on a dare. It is a dare against reductionism in our relationship to language, and therefore our world. I dare to explore the complex and often contradictory states of human awareness through poetry because they are there, undeniably, in my art and in my life. That is not to say my art can justify any amount of neglect in my life. I believe in Flaubert’s credo: “Be steady and well-ordered in your life, that you may be fierce and original in your work.”
This is how poetry can begin to “write me” in my life. I work for a man named David Allen, who invented a simple but remarkable methodology for managing the mundane (and not-so-mundane) aspects of work and life. Even if he were to boot me out the door today with a footprint on my back, I cannot deny that his Getting Things Done® methodology has transformed my art and life. One of the major tenets of his approach is to capture ideas, activities and projects into a trusted system.
For many years, I captured poetry ideas in my ubiquitous pocket notebook. It seemed as though there were moments in my day when poetry could peek through the morass of thoughts and feelings that go with daily life. Now, however, I capture everything else, and know that I will process it in due course. In this way, I have managed to shift my mindset from a swirl of to-dos in my head (think Pig Pen from the Peanuts series) with the occasional glimmer of poetic insight, to living more and more in the poetic mindset. Daily meditation also helps.
Nurturing this “head space,” first by deciding to be a poet every day (whether or not one writes every day), is by far the most important aspect of my relationship to art. Combined with the (flexible) discipline of writing regularly; realizing my job is to take many shots, not expect everything to be good; and continuing to dare against all odds to be true to what is uniquely mine to express — well, this is how I answer the ongoing question “How do you be a poet every day?”
It is a worthwhile pursuit. Living as a poet is a process that heightens my relationship to myself, to others and the world around me. I encourage you to find your own ways — not matter how often you write, or how good you think it is now — to be a poet, in whatever circumstances you find yourself, a little bit more each day.
Please send your poetry questions to advice (at) readwritepoem (dot) org and leave your thoughts about this question and answer session here, in the comments section.
Getting Things Done® is a registered trademark of The David Allen Company.
Robert Peake studied poetry at U.C. Berkeley and in the Master of Fine Arts in Writing program at Pacific University, Ore. His poems have appeared in North American Review, Rattle and are forthcoming in Poetry International. Robert writes about poetry at robertpeake.com. (photo credit :: John J. Campbell)
Thanks for this. I was feeling uninspired today, and you’ve given me some gourmet food for thought.
[...] poetry is a product, being a poet is, to me, a worthwhile and lifelong pursuit. In my latest column for Read Write Poem, I dig beneath the question of writing daily, to answer how one can, in fact, engage life as a poet [...]
Thanks for the great article, Robert! I especially appreciated the advice to think of writing as taking pictures with a camera–sometimes you may only get one or two good shots per roll, but you have to be willing to burn that much film to get them. Sometimes I can get caught up in feeling like I’m failing if my scribblings don’t lead directly to a completed poem, but I know do so much better when I write from a relaxed place, without expectation. I have a file filled with half-written poems that never really worked out, and I mine it regularly for snippets to fit into other poems, or for phrases or ideas to use when starting a new piece. So it helps to remember that in the end, as long I’m writing regularly, no effort is ever wasted.
Excellent, thought-provoking yet also so helpful in its practical advice. I respect the seriousness with which you took the question and your answers. This article is a wake-up call to me to get more serious about writing, reading, managing time, and behaving like a committed poet. This insight is wonderful: “It is a dare against reductionism…” Thank you.
@Shayla–chow down! Glad it was helpful.
@Kristen–yes, it can be hard in a culture that values product over process to see that all time spent writing is time well spent. It’s something I struggle with, too.
@Therese–Your thoughts on commitment remind me of the Scottish Explorer W.H. Murray’s quote: “Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back, always ineffectiveness. Concerning all acts of initiative and creation, there is one elementary truth the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then providence moves too.” Whether you call it providence, luck, or the muse, commitment is key.
I was actually thinking about this yesterday. For me, poetry isn’t primarily about words, nor is the birth of a poem primarily about writing. It is about a search for truth, a doable daily search for insight into some great truth about life or being human. The words come as a way to artfully communicate that insight. A metaphor must be about something. So I am not looking for a prompt to WRITE, I am looking for a prompt to think, to feel, to know, and thus the words, the metaphor, the focus, comes. Coming here, I am confronted with people who think about writing as writing, and I began to doubt my own ‘hothouse flower’ approach, and upon reflection, I am just like that, and I want to continue to foster it. Maybe that means it isn’t even poetry, but some kind of versed philosophy or something. I guess I don’t mind.
Kristen McHenry replied:
March 9th, 2010 at 7:38 pm
I love your approach, jmcneely! I think more us could learn from your way of doing things.
Bravo, Bravissimo. Pleased you’re part of the scene here!
Best,
Allan
@jmcneely–poetry and philosophy have a lot in common. As one of my mentors, Marvin Bell, is fond of saying, they are both “survival skills.” But constructing a philosophy that is useful to oneself, and communicating that to others, are two very different matters. The same seems true with poetic feeling. There are many ways of living, and of writing. Ultimately, I think it’s the living that counts.
@Allan–happy to be here! Thanks.
“How do you be a poet every day?” sounds strange. How about “How are you a poet every day?”
I am one every day, just like I’m also other things, like a cook when I cook and a reader when I read.
My take as an old dog is not to muse too much about what it means to be a poet. Just be it and do it.
Johannes, I agree that musing about whatit “means” to be a poet is not very useful. More important, to me, are the practical steps I take each day to keep in touch with the poetic mindset.
There are abundant reasons not to write – my toast is too dry, the sun didn’t come out today, or it did. Plenty. Why do I like to go for walks? Because I have feet! Sometimes I comfort myself in this way – I’m not a poet but simply a man who writes poems. I agree with both Stafford and you, Robert, that the question is most by our nature not why do I write, but why don’t we all write? Some big, some small, but I think no less of the smallest flowers in my garden, and maybe especially the ones that got there by themselves without my hand. Why shouldn’t I encourage that same process within myself?
And I still keep finding lines I’ve drawn in the sand – and erasing them when I can. I find more poetry that way, in everything.
Thank you for this thoughtful and encouraging article Robert.
Neil–thanks for taking these thoughts and making them your own. Now go write something!
This was great to read.
How to be a poet every day? Be willing to trip often and make a fool of yourself.Be shameless! Stay humble and proud at the same time.
[...] At ReadWritePoem, Robert Peake How do you be a poet every day? [...]
[...] actually wrote this post before reading Robert Peake’s column. It may as well have been in dialogue. Seems we might have a mutual [...]