My poetry writing “process” is all over the map. Some days poetry will fall from the sky and into my lap and all that left is to write it down – other times, I am not so lucky. Each piece generally begins with some minor inspiration or, otherwise, some event, to which I feel poetry will help me respond. This semester thus far, has offered many of those events for me. Emotions have run high – for various reasons – and at times like this I look to poetry to help me process.
The “process,” as I’ll call it, begins with jotting down small phrases throughout the days when I felt so compelled. These phrases do not always make sense, they do not fit together in any logical pattern, they may be brilliant or otherwise completely uninspired – it does not matter. These lines do not need to represent poetry in the moment they are written, rather, they should represent the emotions felt at any given time – the art comes later. Generally, I am not faced with any time limits when I create poetry; it does not matter to anyone whether a piece takes hours or years since I write entirely for myself. So often these little notes pile up until one day I can suddenly begin to see the connections between countless seemingly unrelated notes; it is then I can begin to sew the seam work that will hold them all together.
What happens next is a great amount of editing – what currently exists on page may or may not make the final cut, but I have only one rule – no deletions. If I ever feel so compelled to change a line previously written, I simply write it elsewhere. Because this process is so fluid for me, I dare not risk losing something – some emotion – I felt the need to write down, due to one brief moment when I thought I had it figured out.
My poetry is ever-changing; I have pieces from years ago I felt were finished that I often go back to. I reacquaint myself with those emotions and often shift things to better reflect my new point of view. In this way I suppose I never really finish a piece; the emotions I felt before do not simply vanish from existence. I describe this as closing a door without locking it; the door stays closed unless for some reason I decide it needs opening again. I am certain that doors exist which I have closed and will never reopen, but still, the option remains.
