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Monday, November 7, 2011

You can’t please all the people all the time (hint: stop trying)


i have this habit after my poetry workshop of not reading the feedback the other poets give me on whatever poem I handed in the week before. it’s fear. i know. i spend a lot of time when I write feedback on their poems, but, well, I sort of don’t want to hear what they have to say. I have this ridiculous vision that my poems are like Athena, springing forth fully formed from my head, and so they don’t need revision.

Which isn’t true. a good writer is/has a good editor. In fact, these days, for poems to even get typed, they’ve already been worked over by hand at least once and will likely undergo change several times more before print … but,  … When I was home in NJ last month, i found the short story from college on which my teacher had written that it was … too purple, too poetic, too much. ~ less x, less y, less molly is how I read it. Even though over these years I couldn’t remember precisely what that teacher had written, I could still feel how stung I was by her critique. Looking at it in hand last month, I was right to feel burned by it. It was pretty much everything you don’t say to a budding writer, or a budding human for that matter.

It has taken me years to show people my writing. I began to post my poetry on facebook about three years ago, and it was a ‘safe’ forum for me, as everyone reading it was a friend of some stripe. And I got some good feedback, lots of love, and much indifference, but it was a heart-pounding moment everytime I clicked “publish” ~ “will they/won’t they” … and eventually, much later, “does it matter.” It did, and it didn’t – I am a sensitive person, and my ego sometimes needs soothing, but much like with the painting project, I allowed the poems to go “up” anyway, perfect or not. (though I would still, even after several years, go back and tweak a word or title here and there)

About a month and a half ago I put up a poem on facebook about being institutionalized ~ and I took it down pretty quickly. About a month ago, I put up a poem about rape ~ and I took it down after a few days of gnawing my lip. Then ~ I took everything down. In a moment of extreme reaction/self-protection, I wasn’t going to have that all public. I even got a “like” on the rape one before I took it down.  But … things … my poems have recently been getting more “real”, more graphic, more uncomfortable, ultimately more authentic, and suddenly, facebook did not feel like the “safe” place for me to put these anymore. I felt exposed, even though, yes, everyone was/is still a friend of some stripe. But, over the years, my stripes have gotten wider, and my circle of “friends” has expanded, and somehow, I don’t really want to expose some truths about myself or my experiences to such a mass audience.

And so, everything came down. Even the “silly” stuff, even the non-exposing stuff. It was the pendulum swing – everything up or everything down. Do I regret it? Maybe a little. There were some wonderful and supportive comments from people, friends. But I felt myself retracting, wanting to hide it/me. So, *cue irony* here I am on a blog, a more visible, barely more anonymous forum, and one of the first things I’ve tried to do now that I’m going to be using it more often is to figure out how to get a page that will also publish my poetry. (I downloaded Wordpress, and am way overwhelmed with words like “code”!)

So, here’s the thing. The truth will out. It will out on facebook, or blog, or classroom. People will write it’s melodramatic & cliché (like a professor said last semester), or, more likely, they will write supportive comments meant to help *improve* my work, not detract from it. They are not ticking time-bombs, this stack of unassuming pages. Although I’m not sure I feel ready to look, and sure I feel melodramatic saying it ;) I’m warming up to the idea that creating art implies and demands being vulnerable ~ and being teachable. If I want people to read it, I have to let them have their ideas about it. And, but, still, in the end, I have to follow my inner compass, because f*d if that’s not what this is all about anyway. 

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