This post should make for a good counterpoint to the previous one of September 20 (Another look: editing a poem again [and again] 9.20.21). Each week, we dive into each others' poems at Wednesdays@One. Each poem is read aloud twice, first by its author, then by someone else in the group so that the author (and the rest of us) gets to hear the poem in a different voice. Sometimes that difference is enough to spark discussion of all kinds of poetry writing topics, from pacing to syntax, persona, line, and other technical matters.
Then we discuss. My practice is to encourage discussion through question-asking, rather than preference-telling. We should want to know how the writer of a poem proceeded through the draft, how many drafts, how each draft may or may not have furthered the poem toward its best self or at least the version we share on any given Wednesday.
Inevitably, someone wants to know "where it came from," a question that I try to discourage for its fruitlessness (too often, the author tries to belabor for us where his or her poem "came from," which usually ruins our experience of the poem). Poems, like all other art, come from our experience--what we've lived through, what we've read, how we've felt, and so on.
Eventually, though, our discussion of a poem turns toward ways it might be improved. I approach every poem shared at W@1 as unfinished, as art that can be better or more realized through more drafting. I insist on this even when I feel the poem we're talking about is near-perfect (for the writer who wrote it).
It occurs to me that this approach might be discouraging to some of our writers. Can't they ever write something good enough to pass muster at W@1? No matter what I write, people in our group tell me I should revise. How do I know when I've written a good enough poem?
So, what do we mean when we tell you to revise this poem? I can't speak for my colleagues, of course, so I'll tell you what I mean and what I hope everyone in the group means. I don't care whether you revise any particular poem shared with W@1 or with anyone. If you're ready to walk away from the poem, then by all means walk away! But you should understand that unless and until you become the Perfect Poet, you will never write the Perfect Poem, no matter how many drafts you write or how good you think the poem is.
To often, W@1 writers show up with a poem that they believe is that perfect poem, or close to it. They are proud (as they should be) of the effort and the product. They enjoy the praise they get when they get it, and suffer the criticism. Not very often do they take another look at the poem. And why should they? Been there, done that. On to the next poem.
And I don't disagree with this walking away from the poem . . . as long as a writer understands that is exactly what he or she is doing, abandoning the effort in this one instance. Who has the time and the patience to keep revising the same poem day in and day out? And in fact, doing do probably won't make you a better writer.
You see, it's not about the poem you just brought to your colleagues at W@1 or whatever workshop you're attending. It's about you, the writer, and how you're progressing along that lifelong curve of improvement, becoming with each new effort a little better as a writer than you were the day before . . . and with the implicit understanding that through effort, sharing and listening, you'll be even better the next day. Read that again: lifelong curve of improvement. That's what you sign up for when you join Wednesdays@One.
So, our critique of your poem, no matter which poem, and no matter how new or old that poem is in your library of compositions, is not really aimed at that poem, but at your ongoing development as a writer of poems. We're just using the poem you share with us as a stalking horse, an illustration. Whether you revise or rethink a particular poem is your business. Our critiques are not aimed at what's done, but at what's yet to be done, and, hopefully, done with greater skill and confidence.
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