“She has said that when she writes the first line of a poem, she does not know what the second line will be; each line, image, or segment gives rise to what follows in a subconscious process over which she tries not to exercise control.”
— from the introduction to ‘Walking on a Washing Line: Poems by Kim Seung-Hee’
Sitting around a large table in the Ice House at the University of New Brunswick, a guest poet told us — a group of 12 creative writing students — that writing poetry was hard work. Despite having written poetry since I was 10 years old, I took that advice to heart.
The guest poet didn’t really explain what he meant by ‘hard work’, but as an anxious and eager young woman, what I understood from his comment was that I needed to work harder — I needed to be more rigid in scheduling long bouts of writing time, furrow my brow; twist, hammer, and superglue my poems into a proper position. Make sure that my teachers knew, unequivocally, from looking at my work that hours had been spent crafting each line. I was taking this creative writing business seriously.
But in reality, at home I was approaching every poem with hesitation. I may have scheduled 2 hours to write and edit… but at least half of that time was being spent in avoidance. I would grasp and pull at every thread of inspiration I could find (breaking several), and push my poems forcefully onto the page — always with fear whispering at the back of my mind: you don’t know what you’re doing.
We learned a lot about writing in those years — this is what makes a good poem; these writers were masters of their craft: read their work, study why their poems works so well — but I wasn’t learning how to respect and cultivate my own approach to poetry writing. I wasn’t learning how to build a healthy relationship to my creativity, that was nurturing and supportive.
What I love (what I have always loved) about writing poetry, is that it gives me an opportunity to play with the substance of my thoughts, memories, and imagination. Shape them. Find patterns. Through poetry, I make my inner life visible. I can ask myself questions like ‘what does your breath understand about belonging?’ and I can answer that question, in my own way.
But after graduating (despite having received honours) I turned my back on poetry for 5 years. I was finding the process of trying to write whatever I perceived as a proper poem, stressful. My return to poetry included a return to my own curiosity. I was tired of writing for validation. I wanted to write so that I could better understand myself. And that’s what I’ve been doing from the age of 25-32, and it has been quite the journey (that’s an entirely different story).
Then, two years ago (in 2020), I took a leap and started teaching poetry writing to adults and teens. I started designing workshops that gave students an opportunity to explore their creative process, and to write poetry that was a true reflection of their inner worlds.
I started referring to the 15 minutes when we’d write during class as our ‘poetry writing practice’, and during that time I asked my students to notice when feelings of distraction or inadequacy arrived, and then to simply return to the page. Or to notice when they were having an experience of flow, and to lean into it rather than putting on the breaks. Let writing be joyful, and explorative. Don’t worry about what will come out of it.
Lots of different people started coming to my classes. Many had never written a poem before in their lives! For others, it had been years, and they’d been afraid to start again. And over and over, I’ve had the great pleasure to witness their shock and delight: “I can write poetry!” “This came from me!” Oh, it’s been a pleasure to witness the expression of the rich internal life that exists within each person. It’s been even more wonderful to see the community that is being built through sharing poetry that is grounded so respectfully in the body; poetry that acknowledges the richness of who we each are.
“I witnessed the others bloom as a felt myself blooming. What a gift to share our work with one another, and to know each other through our poems. Thank you, thank you.” – Valerie Galvin (view more testimonials from the last 2 years)
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Interested in exploring poetry writing? I’d love to meet you! View my upcoming classes.
Questions? Email me at christine@9creativelives.com