This idea for the blog actually came from my daughter over Christmas break. She was a book the creative personality and how they have an order, process, even rituals they must do in order to work. My daughter is a saxophonist working toward teaching music at high school or college levels. She saw herself in this book.
So- I was got thinking about my own. I do have them. Time of day is not important for me. The criteria there must be that am alone. TV can be on or music – just no people. From almost the beginning, I have loved the yellow legal pad (the big one preferred though any yellow in a pinch) and the old-fashioned wooden pencil. A pencil you must sharpen in a pencil sharpener (preferably standard yellow #2). I sit on the couch. It takes 2-3 drafts on the legal pad with pencil.
Next, to the computer I go. The flow actually gets stronger as I type. Something about seeing my poem as it would look in print stimulates the poet in me at this point. New images begin to surface. I add and take away. When the poem is about 75-80% done I double space the lines, print it out, 3 hole punch it, and put it in the appropriate section in a binder.
The binder combines my tools. In the binder, I use my #2 pencil to cross out and to change poems as ideas for a poem come to mind. Some come to mind soon after going in. I then go to my computer and make the needed changes and reprint the revised poem to put back. They can sit for years in that binder. The original hand written poems are destroyed and as are typed copies once revisions complete. My reason for destroying originals is simple – if I wanted those things read by anyone, I would have left them in.
The flow of my poetry can be overwhelming at times. The step back and distance of putting them away helps me see that. Helps me see that maybe a bit too much of my sarcasm and anger was showing. I may remove it or soften it.
My son thinks my process to complicated. It works for me. My poetry entwines with so many parts of me that for it something complicated to bring a poet to it conclusion.
My poetry has been my therapy over the years. In 1993, an unusual traumatic event occurred with me. Poetry over the years has been my sorting out process. I have always had a strong spiritual nature balanced by strong doubt. During period of tremendous confusion, my poetry (sometimes more like stories my son thinks) helped me remember who I am, how I feel, and what I think and always have from a child. The theme I hope comes through is that we should not have our heads too far into the clouds or too deeply into the dirt. Life lives as balance somewhere in the middle with little visits to both edges. All 56 years of my life I have lived in Michigan. I was born in Kalamazoo September 16, 1958. My parents separated when I was young do to my mother’s mental illness. Dad died in 1965 at 29 from a cerebral hemorrhage. I was 6 when he passed. Grandma Peggy (my dad’s mother) went to court 7 times in a year and a half to fight for my younger sister (Kim who was mentally impaired) and me, because my dad had asked her too. She won custody of us. So, I lived with her in Bangor, Michigan through high school and college. I didn’t begin to write poetry until I went to live with my aunt (my mother’s sister) in Wartervliet, Michigan while attending Lake Michigan College in Benton Harbor. My aunt lived near my mother and her mother (my Grandma Elsie). After 2 years there, I attended Western Michigan University in Kalamazoo. I graduated with a Bachelor of Arts major in English and minor in Elementary Education. Right out of college fall of 1984 I was hired at St. Mary’s in Paw Paw, Michigan as a kindergarten teacher. I taught kindergarten for 1 year half days and was moved into a full-time first grade position for three years. I met my husband Gary during that time. On October 17, 1987, we married and I moved to Fennville, Michigan where I still live. Gary and I have a son age 24 and a daughter age 19.
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