by Sage Cohen

The idea that talent and suffering go hand in hand in the life of poetry has become legendary; and the “starving poet” is now an all-too-familiar archetype. I think it’s time to blow some kisses to this archetype and bid it adieu. Why? Because it keeps us small, scared and struggling. And it keeps our poetry starved for something bigger in us.

The truth is, starving poets are too busy trying to make ends meet to write much poetry. And the well-fed, reasonably-employed poet has such comforts as a roof over her head and some tried-and-true organizational skills to employ toward the success of her writing life — whatever she defines that success to be.

A few years ago, when I had the good fortune to hear Mary Oliver read, she mentioned a review in which the reviewer had no particular objection to Oliver’s poetry per se, but seemed quite troubled by the fact that this poet found the time to lie around in the grass and contemplate nature. Oliver must have a trust fund, the reviewer concluded, in order to afford such leisure, thereby suggesting that poetry is available only to the independently wealthy.

The truth, said Oliver, is that she lives extremely modestly on money she has earned. And in so doing, she is liberated from the overwhelming demands of “making a living” so that she has the time and space to make a (writing) life. What Oliver clearly understands (and the reviewer clearly doesn’t) is that the wealth of creativity is available to every single one of us in any given moment. We need only choose to tune in wherever we are — whether it be a field of daisies or a swath of concrete — and start writing.

If we don’t question the popular paradigm that aligns “wealth” with money and we make the pursuit of cash a primary goal, we may find that we have little time left over for poetry. And on the flip side, if we neglect our material needs in pursuit of a life poetic, we are likely to end up in real, uninspiring distress.

But if we agree that a prosperous life is one with time to literally and figuratively smell the roses, and then luxuriate in the time to write about it, then we are establishing a root system for a new “poetry of prosperity” — one which we feed and water with our attention and our words. By recognizing, welcoming and prioritizing both our material and creative needs, we have a far better chance of striking a balance that feels like true wealth and can sustain us over the long term.

For money, I write marketing content for businesses such as Blue Shield, Intuit and Wells Fargo. For love, I write poetry and nonfiction. I’ve always considered my “day job” to be a critical part of my creative process; it pays the bills and hones my writing skills so I can have the luxury of doing what I love most — writing creatively. By choosing to be grateful about the opportunities my day job creates rather than grumpy about the time it takes from the writing I’d rather be doing, I’ve discovered more and more opportunities to bring the two together until a few years ago, love and money converged in the authoring of Writing the Life Poetic: An Invitation to Read and Write Poetry (2009, Writer’s Digest Books).

And with this shift, I have an even greater appreciation for the skills cultivated for more than a decade at my “day job,” which has sculpted me into a high-performance communicator skilled at meeting deadlines, promoting effectively and generally following through on my goals and commitments.

For me, the choice to be satisfied with the cross-fertilization of all of the work that I do is true wealth.

No matter what your financial status, time limitations or family commitments might be, I know that you have the skills and the creativity to cultivate a spirit and a practice of prosperity both in your life and in your poetry. In fact, you can choose right this minute to start re-imagining the “starving poet” stereotype as the “prosperous poet.” Once you start investigating, you may be surprised to find yourself shaping a life that is wealthy with time, inspiration, community and even money. I’ll bet you will find yourself doing more and more of what you love most without sacrificing anything but an old archetype whose time has come and gone.

Sage Cohen is the author of Writing the Life Poetic: An Invitation to Read and Write Poetry and the poetry collection Like the Heart, the World. Learn more at Writing the Life Poetic.

by Sage Cohen

One of the trickiest –– and most liberating –– aspects of poetry is that there is no Gold Standard against which we measure its worth. Without this standard, it can also be difficult to evaluate when a poem is finished. Because each poem is trying to accomplish something different, it is up to us to decide when the poem has arrived. This is not easy to do, even when one has been writing for decades; but it sure is satisfying to practice!

The important thing to remember about revision is that it is a process by which we become better acquainted with the poem and push it farther toward its own potential. In the revision stage, we revisit and may reinvent the choices we’ve already made with language, image, voice, music, line, rhythm and rhyme.

The tricky balance involves wildly experimenting with what might be possible in a poem –– beyond what we first laid down on the page –– without losing the integrity of idea or emotion that brought us to the poem in the first place. This is a skill that develops over time, through experience and largely by feel. If it seems like you’re groping around in the dark when revising, welcome to the club!

The process of revision poems is unique for each poet; and often, each poem has its own, unprecedented trajectory. I’ve had a few “whole cloth” poems arrive nearly perfectly complete in one contiguous swoosh of pen to paper. And I have other poems that have taken me more than 15 years to finish. More typically, I work on a poem for a few weeks or months. Sometimes, I think a poem is finished; and years later, it proves me wrong, demanding a new final verse or line structure or title.

For the purposes of establishing a revising practice, I recommend that you divide writing and editing into two completely separate acts that happen at two different sittings, preferably on different days. The goal of this checks-and-balances system is to give yourself the space to let it rip when you’re writing without fearing interference from your inner editor. Don’t worry: if it’s bad now, it will still be bad next week; you can fix it then.

Once you feel you’ve exhausted every last drop of poetic possibility in the writing of the first draft, or any time you get stuck and don’t know where to go next, put your poem aside for a while. The next time you return to it, you’ll be wearing your editor hat.

In my experience, time is the greatest of editors. The longer a poem sits untouched, the more likely you are to have a sense of how to proceed when you sit down to revise.

Don’t know where to start with your revisions? Try asking yourself the following questions:

• What is most alive in your poem? Underline the line(s), word(s), phrase(s), stanza(s) that seem to be the kindling feeding the fire of this poem so you can easily reference what’s working well throughout the revision process.
• Is there introductory information at the beginning or summary information at the end that could be trimmed?
• Who is speaking? What would the poem be like if told from a different speaker? (For example, if a poem is about an experience shared by a mother and daughter, told by the daughter, try telling it by the mother.)
• Where is language weak and flabby? How can you give it more energy and muscle? Can passive verbs become active? Can modifiers be cut? Should “dropped” be changed to “plummeted”?
• Verb tense: What would your poem be like in a different tense than it was written? Even if it happened in the past, try the present; and vice versa. See what gives it the most power and energy.
• Does the shape of the poem (line length, stanza breaks, white space) mirror the emotion and rhythm of its content? Should it?
• Are punctuation and capitalization consistent?
• Is there good music of repeating sounds throughout the poem?
• Does each line break create the desired interest, pause, movement, and focus on key moments or words?
• Is the title serving the poem? How can the title take the poem further?

Remember that only you know the best way to craft your poem. Have fun, be willing to experiment, and you’ll learn a little more about revision each time you try.

Sage Cohen is the author of Writing the Life Poetic: An Invitation to Read and Write Poetry and the poetry collection Like the Heart, the World. Learn more at Writing the Life Poetic.