Poetic Inspiration (reprint)
This was originally posted at my
old
blog sometime last year. I am transferring most of that
content over to my newer blogs now.
In a discussion that got started over here recently, I mentioned to skouba and bornsandy some things about an interview with Franz Wright that I recently read. That interview, which appeared in the latest issue of Image magazine, has been swimming about in my head ever since I read it. I think it is needing some input from this community, if it is ever to settle down in there.
Wright talks, in the interview, about a “blessed state of consciousness” (p.70) that he all too rarely attains (or perhaps is visited by), and in which he can truly say that he is a poet. He describes in vivid terms the first time he had this experience, when he was a young teenager, and speaks of the rest of his life as an attempt to duplicate that experience. He describes the state he enjoyed (and from time to time does enjoy) in these words:
“I don’t know where it comes from. I never have. It’s almost as if a physiological change comes over me. Then I am articulate and perceptive to a degree that I simply am not most of the time, in my normal state of mind. I try to write every day. To me, ninety-nine percent of the time that means a confrontation with how stupid I am. When this mood comes over me in which I do my best work, I feel a sense of brilliance and ease. I live for these moments, but they are so rare that if I were to only wait for them, I would write two poems a year. I try to work for several hours a day to dredge up and amass material that might be useful when this mood of inspiration comes over me. But I believe it’s a terrible mistake to wait for inspiration. I seek it.” (p. 70)
He says he in his earlier days, like many others, tried to use drugs, sex, and just about anything else as a shortcut to attaining that blessed state. (This reminded me of a discussion we had long, long ago over here.) For Franz Wright, none of the shortcuts quite worked. Instead, those moments of inspiration were given him by grace. He says:
“I don’t know what I’m doing when I write. I never know. Maybe at the last moment I know. But I’m listening. Writing is listening. [....] I have always been able to tell whether something I am writing is genuinely an expression of revelation or if it’s just me exercising my intellect. I can feel the difference, see it and taste it, but I don’t know how I can do that. Writing isn’t something I can try to do. It’s something that happens to me and that I can prepare myself for.” (p. 77)
This seems to be much like what Seth mentioned in that same comment thread where I first brought up this interview with Wright. I loved his thoughts there so much that I have to state them again here. Seth writes:
“I read somewhere that the hand moves at a speed closer to the heart’s, whereas the head is too fast. I guess that’s why writing brings things to our attention that our minds are racing too much to notice.”
I’ve said before that I see writing as part inspiration, part imagination, and part discipline. I may have left out an important element in that. There is a large part, also, that is silent. “Writing is listening.” Indeed.