No, I don’t want to do it this week, any of it. So this morning I linger here, taking in the well-kept secret of you, hiding in plain sight. You worked with what you could not understand. Your work was translation. You threw most of it away, keeping only what continued to kick after the scratching out. You moved a lot. Said later, it was probably preparation. For what others called your tough strangeness. Of Dickinson, you remarked: Happy are those who can choose their refusals and survive. Considering Plath, you wondered over the thin line between the subversively unconventional and despairing state. How close you were to the edge. You feared its pull, that you might leap, but your friend, a nun, understood what you were, reminding you back. Write every day, she told you. That is your prayer, your health, your everything.
***
I have been spending time with Jean Valentine’s Door in the Mountain (New and Collected Poems, 1965-2003), and this morning I read Amy Newman’s 2008 profile of the poet in Ploughshares. Today’s post is assembled with phrases from Newman’s article, which includes quotes by Valentine.
Absolutely thrilled to share my thoughts on this wonderful piece. The advice that “write every day” was something that was ingrained in me by a family friend and childhood mentor, Allen Ginsberg. He always emphasized the importance of persistence in creativity and the act of writing as a fundamental practice. It’s a piece of wisdom that has echoed through my life, shaping my approach to writing and creativity.
Allen also had a unique perspective on rejection letters, viewing them not as a setback but as a milestone. He used to say that rejection letters are a sign that someone received and saw your work. It’s a reminder that your creations are out there, making their way through the world, even if they haven’t found their place yet. This viewpoint has helped me to see rejection as part of the journey, not the end of it. 🙂
Love this, Thomas! Thank you for sharing this gem : )
It;s interesting how writing brings to ground what is being learned and not realized yet as having been integrated into experience. I don’t write everyday anymore, but I write often. Beautiful poem. A
Yes, friend, thank you, it does ground in interesting ways. I never seem to know what’s really going on with me ’til (often long after) I have written it. Love to you, Amaya!