by Cathryn Shea
The word “write” and its gerund “writing” do not fully embody the physical and mental machinations involved in actually creating a thing conveyed in blocks of letters, punctuation (or no), and white pace that purports to be poesy. I prefer to think of the process as “producing.” I could even use the word “birthing” but that’s a bit much and also too exclusive of half the human race. Why I’m hung up on this idea of producing poetry right now is because I’m feeling like all the attendant aspects of my usual routines and modes of creating are unattainable. At least hampered and cordoned off by social distancing restraints. Even if restrictions are lifted, my world feels cautious and contained within new boundaries. My writing (ok, I’ll use that word for convenience sake) is not flowing well right now. I feel like I can manage bits and pieces, fragments, and scribbles in my notebook. Even on the computer the words do not spill forth as smoothly and profusely as they did before this novel coronavirus hit the planet.
Also, every week my calendar alerts me with a scheduled poetry group, reading, or workshop that of course has been canceled: bi-weekly San Francisco “Monday Night Poets,” monthly “Tuesday’s Child Poets,” monthly mentor group with Tom Centolella at Gaby’s (where we also potluck!), monthly book group, quarterly solstice free-writing group. Then there are the one-offs: submission round-table at Francesca’s house, April workshop with Rusty Morrison, May workshop with Jane Miller, July Napa Valley Writers’ Conference. All cancelled. I’m not trying to show off here. I’m sure every person involved in a poetry community is experiencing the same shock to their social networks and calendars. Although I’m grateful for Zoom and Facetime, and even Cisco Webex, these online tools don’t cut it as a replacement for the real in-person interaction. This period of isolation has dampened my production of new poetry. I am sure that many poets are not experiencing a dearth of new work like I am but I’ve been struck by how many of my friends report that they are not writing right now either.
What about actually putting pen to paper? Or fingers to keyboard?
I’ve been spending a decent amount of time revising and playing around with older stuff, but like I say, not producing fresh new poems. Since I’m having trouble with new work, I’ve come up with an idea based on the cento poem that has helped me put together some interesting pieces.
I take a stack of poetry books and chapbooks and quickly page through them one at a time landing on a random page where I pick a line or a phrase. I furiously write these down in my notebook, not paying any attention to meaning and certainly not editing. Then I take this pile of gibberish and work on it as if it were clay. I change everything so that no line or phrase is the same as the original. I am not going to attribute this “work” unless I find that I have indeed plagiarized. The idea is to make complete changes. The results are somewhat like magical realism. The lines and stanzas are disconnected but lend themselves to being glued together somehow. It’s like a game. I’ve noticed that this has helped me get going again in small ways.
What to do about all the groups and events?
Transition to Zoom, et al. Well, my regular groups have insisted on continuing, sometimes sporadically, taking advantage of Zoom and Google Groups typically. We post our work to our newly created Google Group or email it ahead of time and then have a Zoom meeting to discuss our feedback. This turns out to be fun to see everyone, but somewhat unruly. And exhausting. It helps me to try various methods of responding. Screen sharing your piece isn’t smooth for everyone. Sometimes I print out poems and write on them and then make comments. I definitely print my own poem so I can write notes on it while people are providing feedback. I’ve noticed that I’m sharing old work more and I’ve been revising a lot. I’ve even done some pretty extensive reworking and I think the results are half-way decent. This is good since I’m not producing a lot of brand-new stuff. Certainly, no new poems ready for prime time sharing. Yet.
Take a break. Marin Poetry Center, the area-wide community of poets that I belong to, has a Summer Traveling Show where we read in groups at libraries and a few other venues around the San Francisco Bay Area. This year they have asked members to pick with whom they want to read virtually and then to upload a recording of a few poems. I might just skip this year. I’m feeling overwhelmed. I still have time to decide though. I also bow out of some of the Zoom meetings and sometimes skip posting my poetry to the new Google Groups. I try not to ghost, and let people know if I am skipping. I realize I’m involved in possibly too many “groups.” But I love the community of poets.
For me, making a game out of producing new poetry seems to be the best trick. This is definitely the most fun with the most revealing and surprising results. I also find that formal poetry methods are more appealing right now since to me these are like games too. Otherwise, there is always the possibility of going down the rabbit holes of pandemics and politics.
About The Author
Cathryn Shea's first full-length poetry book "Genealogy Lesson for the Laity," is forthcoming from Unsolicited Press of Portland, Oregon in September 2020. In 2019, Shea’s fourth chapbook, "Backpack Full of Leaves," was published by Cyberwit.net and her third chapbook, "The Secrets Hidden in a Pear Tree" was published dancing girl press. Her second chapbook, "It's Raining Lullabies" is also from dancing girl press. Shea’s poetry has appeared recently in New Orleans Review (web feature), Typishly, After the Pause, burntdistrict, Permafrost, Tar River Poetry, and elsewhere. Follow her on Twitter: @cathy_shea.