The writer's journey and the Influencers They Meet Along the Way (response #3)

                Carl Phillips’ Another and Another Before That: Some Thoughts on Reading was a really insightful piece on his own journey in reading and writing in which he has taken the time to express what he’s learned on this journey.  As a fellow writer I can appreciate the suggestions he has to offer. The way he starts of this piece does remind me a bit about our class discussions about paying attention walking and writing.  His concept on how to look at reading is great:  “as the lifelong construction of a map by which to trace and plumb what it has ever meant to be in the world, and by which to gain perspective on that other, ongoing map—the one that marks our own passage through the world as we both find and make it.”  I agree with his idea that reading is necessary to gain perspective on the world, it’s like that old saying about putting yourself in the other person’s shoes and seeing if you can walk a mile in them.

                There was one point in his essay that I laughed when I read because I do so strongly relate to the sentiment he shares: “Writing has always been for me an entirely private act—I don't share poems with other writers, I've no particular interest in having my work workshopped. Writing is one of the few spaces where I can be alone and not be questioned as to why or how I choose to be myself. Reading has also been that, from the start. I think it's true to say that, through childhood, the one thing I most looked forward to was being permitted to go upstairs to my room and read.”  It is as if he captured on paper, verbatim the thoughts that have for years swam through my head. It wasn’t until my first college level creative writing class that I learned to accept that sometimes, just sometimes, constructive criticism is a good thing. It also helped that when we did our workshops though the responders had to write their names, the poets were allowed to remain anonymous so there was somewhat less of a social anxiety to deal with. This, I greatly appreciated considering (go figure) I had already been clinically diagnosed with anxiety just six month prior.

                I can appreciate how later in the article he says everything counts, from People Magazine to the New York Times. But right before that he said something that really stuck in my head, “any poet worth reading probably read everything that came to hand, out of that insatiable desire, that curiosity that makes us wants to grapple with the irresolvable and/or memorable and transcribe it in lines.” While I agree whole heartedly with his statement, it’s somewhat disheartening because lately it just seems like there’s not enough hours in the day to read all I want to! He seemed to understand this sentiment also as he ends the piece with this pearl of wisdom, “If we are genuine readers and writers, we should see squarely the impossibility of reading everything there is to read—and yet, impossibly, we should want to try.”  On this same note, I Love the fact that he lists all the authors that have influenced him over the years and what he has learned from them. It gives me something to look forward to when I have some free time; reading suggestions are always welcome. In conclusion, I have to leave you with my favorite quote from the article: “To read is to get a sense of the many ways in which vision has manifested itself in the past and continues to do so. We are wasting our time, though, if we believe that we shall thereby gain access to our own vision.” For me, this was pretty thought provoking and after considering it for some time, very true. Never have I read two authors that sounded exactly the same; it seems to echo back to his earlier statement that, “an original voice can perhaps half willingly be seduced; it is rarely mastered.”

Sailing on a Heat Wave

Perhaps you don't recall...

that summer I sailed away,

propelled by heat; powerful surges,

 rocking, rolling, rippling undulation of days.

Sweltering waves of afternoon sun, 

washed over you. Lulled
as you were, to sleep.

Pallid brow, dew-drenched

despite your sanguine blush.
Fragmented light, glittering, danced down the wall.

 golden rays like smoke tendrils

 traced the contours of your face;

  lightning whispered away,  

summoned me, from there...

to adventure.

The Disease

Everywhere I look, you kiss.
 you cuddle.
        you coddle.
               you croon.

When I start to feel a snide remark
     slither
       up
          my
              throat----
 I bite my tongue;
 as much as I want to be bitter,
 I can't.

I feel a pit
in my stomach.

I'm not, that angry girl anymore;
the one who laughs at "you fools."

I want to know what it is that drives you,
puts you in this rabid, ravenous state.

What is it that causes
the ever-glowing twinkle in your eyes,
that keeps you together
despite the constant fights?

Blind to the world
and everything in it, except,
each other----
when I see you like this.

You hunger  for each other;
Cannibals,
so gently tearing each others' flesh.

I wonder,
and the pit in my stomach swells.

Still, I find myself smiling,
witnessing  your joy, I realize---
I want your disease.

I wonder
how everyone's getting infected,
Everyone but me.
I crave the madness that you share.

I name the pit envy,
        and love
 was your disease.

D.A. Powell Making a Case for Exploration, Making mistakes and Against Over Thinking

The D.A. Powell essay was actually very interesting and informative. It gave names to techniques I had been, but never realized I have been using in my writing all along. The section of the essay where he discusses Tristan Tzara’s opinion of poetry we’ve written as being the greatest mistakes we’ve made Powell says, “Perhaps the first and greatest instinct of poetry is to mistake, misstep, mishear.” I agree completely; I whole heartedly believe in accidents of discovery and the “Mondegreen effect.” Despite the fact that I’ve had too many Mondegreen situations to count happen to me with music that I “thought” I knew, some of my greatest discoveries in my own writing have been the result of misreading my own handwriting in my poetry diaries. In my case, I generally always write my poetry in small cursive so it’s harder for other people to read on the off chance that there are snoops around who would read it. As a result of this I’ve have misread my own writing on several occasions where it turned out for the better.

I think the part in this piece that most related to the issues we’re discussing in class about paying attention, walking, and writing was where towards the end of the essay Powell references Rachel Zucker telling his students to “take the familiar from your work and make it unfamiliar,” when she says to “revise towards strangeness.” Though I didn’t completely feel comfortable embracing this notion, Powell’s addition to her advice, “revise toward discovery,” I absolutely agree with. When we take the walks we have to write about our thoughts and the sights we see in combination with the fact that we are obligated to make ourselves consciously aware of our surroundings which, in this day and age doesn’t seem to happen very often. Because of this, I think we are naturally forced to start to think about these things in ways that are different from the familiar. Before our walks I never would have looked at the creek coming back from to town from my best friend’s house as a, “muddied ribbon, its faint shimmer faded from years of wear as it vainly (which ironically, originated as valiantly) struggles to cinch the waist of this legless college town.” However, in my free-thoughts while I was staring at the creek, I thought about the reputation of “Chico drunks” and how most creeks really do look like shiny ribbons from far away and my great uncle Archie a 93 year old marine core raider one of the bravest men I know. Later when I was looking back at it I thought of something he used to call the “worthless drunks” he’d met in “his day” and the end result was the aforementioned line in my notes. Though all situations and ideas were familiar to me before in some way or another, the form they took in combination was something strange to me; yet, I liked it. This is the understanding I gained from the concept of revision towards strangeness and discovery that Powell communicates.

In another section, I love the analogy he makes about not being able to use an ultrasound on your brain for a poem that is still developing. Far too many times in my writing experience I have asked the exact questions to myself that his students ask him if he worries about. Is this too____ or is this too ____. I love the advice he gives at the end of the paragraph on the top of page 223 where he says it’s good to worry about tone and language but, “take these worries on at the time of revision, not at the time of first vision.” If I had a mantra for poetry writing I think this would be it. It is far too easy to over think things when you’re working in an environment where the tools you have to use are as endless as the possibilities you have to use them, profoundness and vagueness are celebrated, and success is never guaranteed (despite the fact that it is human nature to strive for success).

Yesterday's Dreams

When you left

I learned to write, I learned

to capture my voice----

on a page I

drained all

the

hurts

I

dare

 not

 name.

when you left

I learned not to cry, I learned

to put pen to paper----

Dry-eyed like the creek

at summer's end;

tears,

once

 freely flowing

trickle

away

to

 nothing;

like you.

Gone.

When you left

it was

words on a page,

I, with pen

glued to parchment

I, write you away.

 yesterday's

dreams.