Maybe you saw/got entangled in yesterday's comment thread about whether or not balance is a useful goal for poetry. Possibly I went off the deep end about it, but I think some of my discomfort with the word balance extends beyond the realm of art into the human tendency to grasp at catchwords or phrases that murkily symbolize what people aren't but think they ought to be.
Balance has always been anathema to me as a goal-symbol because it's a whitewasher. My conception of balance is that achieving it requires me to muffle my actual messy complicated thoughts and feelings about myself and my people and my place and settle into a sort of medicinal serenity. A balanced person doesn't get worked up about daily challenges. A balanced person doesn't ever go too far. A balanced person never falls down a badger hole, never wallows there in the funk and the dirt. Balance prefers that I bland myself.
My mentor, Baron Wormser, repeatedly told me, as I was learning to be a poet: "You've got to use your Stuff." He was right: my Stuff is my only material as an artist. And so, over the years, I've become fiercely protective of my awkward, hayseed erudition; my cadences and my anxieties; my dumb domestic rounds and my hare-brained plunges into one or another obsession. My life is highly unbalanced, though it lurches through many patterns and routines.
I wrote in yesterday's comments that I can't think of a single great poet who seeks balance, and I stand by that statement. All of them are in pursuit; all of them are obsessed; all of them are metaphorically juggling 95 chainsaws while trying to peel potatoes and change a diaper.
Okay: this is not a calming, stress-free way to live. Sure. I give you that. But if I am trying to write the best poems I can write, I have to toss in that 96th chainsaw. And then the 97th.
I guess, in a way, this screed against the cult of balance is just me making excuses for why I'm such a loon. But as a teacher of poetry, I spend so much time with people who are longing to be poets, who work hard at it, who have skills and voice and talent and power . . . and who again and again and again make a hard u-turn away from their Stuff. As if the Stuff, in all of its sloppy, soggy, tear-ridden, frustrated, worried, tired, petty glory, isn't the shape of themselves.
This breaks my heart, as a fellow poet, and stymies me, as a teacher of poetry. There's something I'm doing wrong, something I haven't learned yet, about how to help them hone their commitment to their material . . . their awareness of their material. I need to do better. I keep trying.
6 comments:
I do not for one moment think it's something you are doing "wrong" at all; to face one's "Stuff" is really freakin' scary and takes courage that can only be generated from within one's own Self. It's not only hard work, it scares the hell out of me. I think the thing that scares me the most is that I'll fall down that rabbit hole, only to find out that there's nothing there but echoes.
I suspect the echoes in that dark, damp hole are your Stuff.
The dark, damp hole IS my stuff. I figure if it doesn't scare me, I can let it go. Yes, Carlene, hard to face. Teresa said a few years ago when you get to the edge, you either step back or step off. Talk about disregarding "balance!!
A friend just wrote to me this morning: "I guess I'm not ready for the dam to break." I am one of those who never was a good swimmer -- all my nightmares were about drowning -- and I try really really hard not to keep the dam from breaking. I highly respect and admire those who are not afraid of diving into their Stuff and coming up gasping, but alive. I'm obviously not ready to do it myself!
I agree with Carlene, "to face one's "stuff" is really freakin' scary" and absolutely does take an almost insane level of bravery to not only confront, but to shape the formless chaos of emotions/experiences into something that has a form, a coherency. The thing about rabbit holes is they, in my experience, have always led to a wonderland, even if some aspects may be scary (the Queen!)
Ruth's comment referencing Teresa's statement about getting to the edge & being forced to make a decision is very apropos (gosh I love that word) to this conversation, which I'll admit to admitting myself without invitation. I recently found myself forced to this edge, and I've leaped & am still falling but part of the fall involved me self-publishing my work for the first time, so perhaps there's value in the experience? I guess I'll know once I find the bottom.
Nancy's comment about holding the dam at bay is so relatable. I've spent my whole life doing that, and it's very, very emotionally turbulent once you do let the sluice gate open. I've cried and laughed more in the past few weeks than at any point in my entire life. Had I a choice in the matter, I honestly don't think I would have chosen to let the dam break.
Regarding the commentary in the post, "A balanced person doesn't ever go too far...never wallows there in the funk and the dirt. Balance prefers that I bland myself." I agree with the sentiment being expressed here. Balance requires that we remove ourselves far enough from the subject (our life, our work) to prune, or perhaps re-adjust as needed to ensure some sort of harmony. But, the way I read poetry is so laser focused--I'm experiencing each poem in it's own light, and I believe the "balance" being discussed here is in regards to an entire collection or manuscript. Perhaps wiser readers look at the whole to see how it's balanced--but as a "layman" reader, I don't & I'd wager most others don't either. Not to say seeking a balanced whole isn't a worthwhile goal, but the labor should equal the output. I guess I'm trying to say--all the sweat the smith puts into forging a balanced blade is never wasted. All of our own struggling to achieve a sense of balance, it may not add up to much, but in the act of doing so, we are perhaps improving our "poetic eye" as well as practicing the art of removing yourself enough to see the bigger picture. Always worth it, in my humble opinion!
Whoa Dawn, love a rant!!! Women have always been told to calm down, don't get so wound up, stop crying, you're a bleeding heart, etc. etc and my favorite, don't wear your heart on your sleeve.
Still I like those times when I feel balanced on my two feet and my shoulders are level and I've made it through something really hard. Those plateaus are a great place to rest and reflect until the next deep dive or need to go to the mat to duke it out!
On my fridge I have a postcard that says: Freak Out and Fall to Pieces!!!
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