A Writer's Notebook, Day Three-Hundred-And-Sixty-Seven

There are times, like tonight, when I find myself staring for long periods at a blank screen.  The poem can seem just out of reach, whatever words I start typing failing to grasp it.  I'll start writing, get a bit in, then erase it all to try again.  None of the words seem right, or maybe it is the idea itself.  It can be frustrating, really.  Especially since it often occurs when I am actually feeling as if I am already on the scent of what I want to be writing.

Of course, if the poem won't come, there is little I can do about it.  I mean, I can't make this poem come out right now.  It may be that the idea isn't yet formed, or that I don't have the language to express the idea, yet.  So, I have to move on, try something else.  I set aside the poem I thought I was about to write and hope for something else to come along.  It is not as if I am willing to give up and not do the work.  I am committed to it, even on days when it is difficult.

Often, when this happens, I just resort to playing language games for am bit, trying to play with words until something strikes me.  It is in returning to the language itself and letting go of any ideas or images, letting the poem I intended slip away (it will come back, they always do).  In giving myself that freedom to play, I loosen myself up.  The language becomes the central thing, everything else emerging out of that, which may be the most fundamental way to think as a poet.  It certainly feels less stressful, relying on an intuitive and playful approach as it does.  

What is more, while I may not always produce a poem of great value in that moment, I often find myself looking at some aspect of language I had not considered before.  It may be that I am playing with some particular aspect of poetic music, repetition for example, or rhyme.  By giving myself the freedom to just let that guide me, I am exposed to new ways of thinking about language, and this can easily lead to discoveries. 

In the end, I may still have a bit of frustration, if I am honest.  Tonight, I have two or three ideas that didn't work yet, and some part of my mind is still asking what it was that didn't work. That is a useful thing, of course, as I am sure that these poems will be written.  Still, in the moment, there is a sense of failure, of not being up to the task in some sense.  Yes, I might say, I did write poems tonight, but I still wasn't able to do what I really wanted, and that feeling remains.  

I wonder if that is a good thing, though, in the end.  That sense of dissatisfaction, of wanting to be better, propels me forward, in a way.  If I were to stop writing when it happened, that would be a different thing, but in this context, where the work is still done, the ultimate result is not the same.  That feeling of frustration is my mind attempting to solve a problem, to learn how to do what I want in the poem I am considering.  In the end, then, though unpleasant to deal with, it is a positive for me, as it means that I am still pushing myself to do work that is difficult, and even more, that I am dedicated to improving, to finding the ways to do those things I could not yesterday.