<\/p>\n
It\u2019s a mystery to me how poems come into being. I look at poems I\u2019ve written, especially those that have been published, and I am dumbstruck. \u201cHow did this happen?\u201d I think. \u201cHow can I possibly do this again?\u201d I don\u2019t know.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I do know that poems, for me, have been hard won. I know a poet who once said to me \u201cwriting is the thing I hate the most that I love the best.\u201d I know what she means. For years my writing came in brief spurts, followed by long periods of daily (and dull) writing and patient gathering of material. Then would come urgent composition. Preparation was everything. The poems themselves came only after long intervals.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
During the last year I have written over a hundred poems. They have come quickly and without gathering or scribbling. Not all of these texts are worth anything, but some are poems I\u2019m glad I wrote. There is new satisfaction in watching the pile of drafted poems grow. Since craft is pure pleasure, the task of taming these rough beasts is thrilling and satisfying.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
So now the question –what has made this possible \u2013 beyond my own frustration at the preciousness and scarcity of my production? And am I any closer to understanding the sources of my own work?<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Enter \u201cThe Grind.\u201d Created by one Ross White, \u201cThe Grind\u201d is a group of dedicated writers who, on a monthly basis commit to writing each day. There is no judgment, no commentary; no opinions are ventured. The un-workshop. Grinders are placed into what I call \u201cpods\u201d with a small group of other podsters who are working in a similar genre or in no genre whatever (\u201cManic Mix.\u201d) The writers are from all over the country (foreign lands, too) and of every age and ilk.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The deal is simple: you write each day and before midnight in whatever time zone you happen to fall, you e-mail your work to the pod. End of story. At the end of the month everybody thanks everybody and either you sign on for another month or you take a month off. You can\u2019t join unless you\u2019ve been recommended by a successful grinder and if you\u2019ve completed one successful month you can take a break one night a week. Simple.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
So why does it work? To answer this question I introduce the great psychoanalyst of play, D.W Winnicott, who makes some simple observations about the capacity to be alone. He says that we develop that capacity by \u201cplaying in the presence of others.\u201d The trick about these \u201cothers\u201d is that they must be \u201cnoninterfering.\u201d In human psychological life that \u201cother\u201d is usually the mother. But it doesn\u2019t have to be. So, there it is. Writing is, of course, a form of play (nothing more serious and less solemn than play.) It\u2019s a form of play that demands the capacity to be alone, and a form of play that requires an internalized audience to grant permission. After all since \u201cpoetry makes nothing happen,\u201d we need all the permission we can get. Winnicott also distinguishes between \u201cplay\u201d and \u201cgame.\u201d The latter is done for reward. the former for its own sake. Play is a non-competitive activity. We can leave, thank God, the contests at the door.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The funny thing is that for years I\u2019ve been teaching writing as improvisation using these principles. My students play in my presence. I observe but don\u2019t interfere. I\u2019ve been told that what surprises people are that my classes are so non-competitive. I\u2019ve gotten good at the Winnicottian paradigm. I can create playgrounds for others.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
What I couldn\u2019t do was create the playground for myself. That playground\u2013 Winnicott calls it \u201cpotential space\u201d — is what the grind has given me.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I took September off. Signup will take place in the next two days. I still have no idea where poems come from. But I trust that if I enter the place of play, I will find what I need.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
It\u2019s a mystery to me how poems come into being. I look at poems I\u2019ve written, especially those that have been published, and I am dumbstruck. \u201cHow did this happen?\u201d I think. \u201cHow can I possibly do this again?\u201d I don\u2019t know. I do know that poems, for me, have been hard won. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":7,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-404","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.theurbanrange.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/404","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.theurbanrange.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.theurbanrange.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.theurbanrange.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/7"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.theurbanrange.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=404"}],"version-history":[{"count":10,"href":"http:\/\/www.theurbanrange.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/404\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":415,"href":"http:\/\/www.theurbanrange.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/404\/revisions\/415"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.theurbanrange.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=404"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.theurbanrange.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=404"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.theurbanrange.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=404"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}