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)
