what poets want : part 1

I've been loosely following a discussion over at Jeanine's facebook page about goals for our poetry. Or maybe more specifically not the work in and of itself, which is a separate conversation that is going to get a whole lot of wildly different answers, but perhaps maybe more what we want the poems to do once they are out in the world. Or what we want them to make happens in "careers," whatever that means to you, be it readership, validation of prizes, tenure, reviews, or that shifty little beast--income--that us poets only spot through the trees every once in a while like Bigfoot. Ie, it's out there maybe (like Rupi Kaur's massive royalties and touring fees), but most of us will never get a really good photo let alone capture it.

My first thought was merely audience, which feels like a tough enough nut to crack. I've talked about ideal readers and feeling like you're shouting into an abyss you're not even sure has a bottom. I think what I've wanted of this thing called poetry or writing has changed as much as my work has over the past two decades I've been writing seriously. In the beginning, I really needed validation, or some indication that I wasn't kidding myself and that I didn't suck (which admittedly at first, like all young poets, I did somewhat.)  This may vary according to what being a poet, or a writer, or even a creative at all means in your world.  If you grow up in a world where those things are familiar and common, there is less of a leap and less of a need to prove yourself in this strangeness.  I was literally the third person to go to college on both sides of my sprawling extended family.  (I have an uncle, my dad's youngest brother,  who studied biology at a state college and later learned that my paternal grandmother was briefly enrolled in a teacher's college in the late 1930s before she left to marry my grandfather and have like six children.)  My dad worked in payroll until computers took over his job in the mid-80s.  Then he was a janitor at the airport, then a postal worker. My mom was a phone operator/mail clerk at a manufacturing company, a job she left to have me, then returned to when my dad was briefly out of work. In the intervening years, she made some money by babysitting kids in the family and the neighborhood. Both of them only graduated high school (and my mother barely, at that.)  My dad was  a big reader.  My mom, not so much, but she did paint,  mostly bisque figurines for decor purposes, in her spare time for many years. For both of them, these were leisurely and encumbered by jobs and bills and family. It is always amusing that two rather practical not particularly artsy people birthed an eldedst who studied writing and theater and a youngest who studied art and classics. 

I was ambitious from the minute college even seemed like an option but was expected to go on to study something sensible like teaching or science or maybe law in more in my more ambitious moments.  Not writing, and certainly not poetry. To dedicate a life to writing seemed frivolous and ridiculous in the regular world.  My younger cousins followed to colleges and universities, but definitely studied more sensible practical things like elementary teaching and banking and medical trade school programs. So of course, proving that poetry, that a life in pursuit of it, was something that needed to be validated. to be proven like a complicated equation. So how to do that?  Publications. Programs. Awards. And I got them, nothing major, but something. I went after some things rather ferociously, including pursuing an MFA I probably didn't need and publishing that first book. Doing readings and teaching workshops and doing all the things poets do to earn some sense of belonging. This, of course, is ridiculous since already I felt I was becoming part of a writing community, both in Chicago open-mic circles and online, but it didn't seem like it would be enough. 

In some ways, all of it had nothing at all to do with the work itself. And it actually doesn't ever go completely away, or maybe it's just validation's close sibling, imposter syndrome wreaking havoc because some things, some moments, can trigger those needs again. For some people, they're still striving, even several books and awards, and accolades in. Maybe they like that part of the game, though I never really never felt at home there, or that it was getting me where I wanted to go personally. In some ways, these things can be good for developing and growing audiences in a world where it seems in short supply. In many ways, these things make it easier to find audiences and keep them. Add in the extra kicker that these things are often required to get some of the things aligned with making an actual living possible for many writers--prime teaching jobs, grants/residencies/fellowships, and paid speaking/workshop gigs.  But then again, what experience has taught me, is they are not the only way to do this thing called po-biz. 

And of course, the longer I was at it, the more I felt comfortable in the waters. While books certainly don't make you any more a poet than those without, those collections, combined with publications, some tiny awards, some good reviews, a writing degree, readings, etc went a long way at the time toward making me feel like I belonged.  Also, maybe just getting older in general and definitely in seeing some of the cracks in the system.  Also, maybe just knowing that I am a better, stronger writer than I was two decades ago.  But things changed for me when I started to think about what was serving me best in what I actually wanted, mostly sharing work and connecting with audiences. I think the past 5 or 6 years, that's what I've been navigating. Am still navigating all the time and making choices about how I want to publish and promote my work and where time is best spent in the pursuit of those things.