Sunday, July 26, 2015
Manifesto Part Two
2. Avoid preciousness at all costs. There is a strain of contemporary poetry that depends on preciousness. By preciousness, I mean taking itself very seriously, using heightened language where plain language will do, compressed syntax, both typographic arrangement on the page and grammatical arrangement, and a didactic abstraction in place of narrative or imagery to explain/tell the reader what the poem is about. This is not for me. If you are trying to sound important or deep, you are most likely trivial and shallow. The experiment of paraphrasing the content expressed by poetry of this type is an instructive exercise, one which reveals the truth of this general rule. I never worry about the meaning of a poem while I am writing it. Or not much. I worry about sound, form, diction, imagery, reversal, and narrative. I aim for simple. For pleasures of ear and mind's eye. By doing this, in as unpretentious a manner as possible, I find there are often startling, mysterious, paradoxical depths to my work.
Thursday, June 18, 2015
My Manifesto Part One
As a preface, I want to admit the limits of my aesthetic creed. The following may not apply to anyone but me, but, for me, it is an ideal at which to aim.
1. Do not write with an intention to getting published.
In other words, do not let ideas of what may be "publishable" or not, what currently seems to be the prevailing aesthetic regime with regards to content or style, have any say in the creative process, except accidentally through constant reading and reflection. Don't worry about what kind of stuff is getting published at journal A or Magazine B, etc., and then try to emulate it. And when Journal A or Magazine B rejects your stuff because it is not the kind of stuff it publishes, don't fret it. This attitude of mine may seem wrongheaded to many professional writers (and their agents) whose livelihoods and identities depend on getting published. Of course, it is easy for me, because I am a poet. Nonetheless, I think there is a much better standard to aim at, one which, ironically, will probably serve as a better path to publication, if that is important. The trite dictum "be yourself" does not suffice either, however. I think writing is a desperate act of love. A poem is a note, a postcard to the universe. It says, I am paying attention, although it may not always seem it. I see you. I am humbled by your complexity and your beauty mixed with tragedy and comedy. I can't really put it into words, but I am going to try. In this sense, for me, writing has to be guided by inspiration. I hear, see, think, remember something which somehow coalesces into something else, the first line of a poem, or the first few lines, or the poem in its entirety. I do not reject this message. I follow its voice, which, in the end, is my voice. I am not afraid of its formal nor of its informal qualities. No content is taboo. None is preferred. If I seem to circle the same objects, so be it. I can't force it. I can't "sit down to write", even if I have a time when I sit at my desk each day. If nothing happens, nothing happens. That's okay. The world doesn't need me. I need the world.
1. Do not write with an intention to getting published.
In other words, do not let ideas of what may be "publishable" or not, what currently seems to be the prevailing aesthetic regime with regards to content or style, have any say in the creative process, except accidentally through constant reading and reflection. Don't worry about what kind of stuff is getting published at journal A or Magazine B, etc., and then try to emulate it. And when Journal A or Magazine B rejects your stuff because it is not the kind of stuff it publishes, don't fret it. This attitude of mine may seem wrongheaded to many professional writers (and their agents) whose livelihoods and identities depend on getting published. Of course, it is easy for me, because I am a poet. Nonetheless, I think there is a much better standard to aim at, one which, ironically, will probably serve as a better path to publication, if that is important. The trite dictum "be yourself" does not suffice either, however. I think writing is a desperate act of love. A poem is a note, a postcard to the universe. It says, I am paying attention, although it may not always seem it. I see you. I am humbled by your complexity and your beauty mixed with tragedy and comedy. I can't really put it into words, but I am going to try. In this sense, for me, writing has to be guided by inspiration. I hear, see, think, remember something which somehow coalesces into something else, the first line of a poem, or the first few lines, or the poem in its entirety. I do not reject this message. I follow its voice, which, in the end, is my voice. I am not afraid of its formal nor of its informal qualities. No content is taboo. None is preferred. If I seem to circle the same objects, so be it. I can't force it. I can't "sit down to write", even if I have a time when I sit at my desk each day. If nothing happens, nothing happens. That's okay. The world doesn't need me. I need the world.
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