{"id":126254,"date":"2018-06-07T11:09:57","date_gmt":"2018-06-07T15:09:57","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=126254"},"modified":"2018-07-19T12:25:48","modified_gmt":"2018-07-19T16:25:48","slug":"poetry-rx-wont-you-celebrate-with-me","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2018\/06\/07\/poetry-rx-wont-you-celebrate-with-me\/","title":{"rendered":"Poetry Rx: Won\u2019t You Celebrate with Me?"},"content":{"rendered":"

In our column Poetry Rx, readers\u00a0write in<\/a>\u00a0with a specific emotion, and our resident poets\u2014Sarah Kay, Kaveh Akbar, and Claire Schwartz\u2014take turns prescribing the perfect poems to match. This week,\u00a0Claire Schwartz is on the line.<\/i><\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>

Original illustration by Ellis Rosen.<\/p><\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

Dear Poets,<\/em><\/p>\n

There are so many poems that I\u2019ve read about being hurt. But what about hurting those whom you truly love? I need a poem to navigate this feeling of being the bad guy.<\/em><\/p>\n

Sincerely,
\n<\/em>Lost<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Dear Lost,<\/p>\n

When I sit down to answer these letters, I often find myself reflecting on the purpose of my response. What should the poem offer? Challenge? Company? Direction? Language for an old feeling? A way toward new possibility? Your note made me consider the particular challenges of writing about causing harm. Writing about one\u2019s own violence sometimes feels like flaunting one\u2019s complex interiority\u2014a beautiful rendering would be its own kind of absolution. The harm doer\u2019s persuasive telling can draw us willfully into their orbit.<\/p>\n

I want to offer you a poem not of solace or pardon, but one that crucially refuses reconciliation and, in so doing, holds space for the difficult work of reckoning: Sharon Olds\u2019s \u201cI Could Not Tell<\/a>.\u201d<\/p>\n

I could not tell I had jumped off that bus,
\nthat bus in motion, with my child in my arms,
\nbecause I did not know it. I believed my own story:
\nI had fallen, or the bus had started up
\nWhen I had one foot in the air<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

The title marks both the speaker\u2019s shame of leaping off a bus with her child in her arms and the impossibility of assembling a narrative one cannot fully know. The distortions of both shame and memory pose a problem for language. Can one ever really tell the truth about the harm one does, or is the real work in positioning ourselves to listen well, to do better? The anxious repetition of negations that opens each stanza\u2014\u201cI could not tell,\u201d \u201cI would not remember,\u201d \u201cI have never done it\u201d\u2014structures something powerfully irreconcilable in the poem. This is a poem that breaks open the speaker\u2019s own story about herself. It takes seriously the vulnerability of precious connection:<\/p>\n

I have never done it
\nagain, I have been very careful.
\nI have kept an eye on that nice young mother
\nwho lightly leapt
\noff the moving vehicle
\nonto the stopped street, her life
\nin her hands, her life\u2019s life in her hands.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

I hope Olds\u2019s poem keeps you company as you learn how to love better. Continue that guardianship of holding yourself accountable.<\/p>\n

\u2014CS\u00a0<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

Dear Poets,<\/em>\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

I am a poet too. But I am a poet who doesn\u2019t write. I started off well: I wrote without too much effort and with a great deal of pleasure and drive. I won some important awards here in Mexico, where I live. And then it stopped. It\u2019s been thirteen years now. I\u2019ve written a couple poems now and then, perhaps even good poems, or good drafts, but I can\u2019t keep writing steadily enough to finish any of my projects. Every day that passes I feel angrier and more disappointed with myself. Everybody around me seems to be writing and publishing and giving public readings while I just read and read and try not to punish myself too much. I try to enjoy thinking in verse, I try to write a small piece every now and then, but I fail in every attempt. Sometimes I think that it doesn\u2019t really matter, that I should just relax, give up, and keep on reading the rest of my life, without envying those who are on track. But I just can\u2019t. And I don\u2019t want to keep on hurting myself for being a poet who doesn\u2019t write anymore.\u00a0<\/em>Do you think you can point to a poem for this feeling?<\/em><\/p>\n

With my love and admiration for your work here,
\n<\/em>A Poet Who Doesn\u2019t Write<\/em><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

Dear Poet Who Doesn\u2019t Write,<\/p>\n

It strikes me that you\u2019ve identified two distinct issues, the first related to the pen-to-paper act of writing and the second concerning the culture industry. The latter fills you with the illusion that everyone but you is constantly producing. But writing is not publishing, and one of poetry\u2019s teachings I most cherish is the way it refuses the capitalist logic of production value. Awards can offer recognition and amplification of your art, but the worth is in the work, not in its reception.<\/p>\n

Now back to the first issue: writing. The work of writing is large. Live expansively. Notice abundantly. Love deeply. Reckon with the harm you do. Learn the histories that make you. And the work of writing is small. Spend the morning staring at a line\u2014changing a comma to a semicolon and back again. All of that is writing. Anne Boyer\u2019s \u201cNot Writing<\/a>\u201d gloriously sources the expansiveness of not writing:<\/p>\n

When I am not writing I am not writing a novel called 1994<\/em> about a young
\nwoman in an office park in a provincial town who has a job cutting and
\npasting time. I am not writing a novel called Nero <\/em>about the world\u2019s richest
\nart star in space. I am not writing a book called Kansas City Spleen. <\/em>I am
\nnot writing a sequel to Kansas City Spleen <\/em>called Bitch\u2019s Maldoror.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

When you are focused on a particular project, you hone your attention. But when you are not writing, you are not writing everything<\/em>. What bounty! Boyer\u2019s poem is a reminder that even refusal can be a way in. What an archive you\u2019ve amassed in all of your not-writing-writing time. You can draw on it now.<\/p>\n

Of course, even Boyer\u2019s \u201cNot Writing\u201d is written. If you want to have written, you need to make a mark on the page. Then another. There is no substitute for that. But neither is there a timeline that dictates how your work makes its way into the world. You\u2019re right where you should be. Now keep going.<\/p>\n

\u2014CS<\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

Dear Poets,<\/em><\/p>\n

I am a dreamer, in not only the literal sense of the word but also in the governmental sense of the word. I worry about my future. Everything I know is these lands, this country, my America. I know very little of the \u201chome\u201d that is listed on my birth certificate, and the uncertainty of it all crushes me daily. I would love a poem that I can carry with me, each and every day, a mantra, to give me strength, to come back to, to call home.<\/em><\/p>\n

Sincerely,<\/em>
\n A Worried Dreamer<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Dear Worried Dreamer,<\/p>\n

I am so sorry that you are caught in the cross fire of this nation\u2019s immense violence. I wish we could all have true well-being and respite in homes that we know and love, homes that know and love us back. For you, Lucille Clifton\u2019s \u201cwon\u2019t you celebrate with me.<\/a>\u201d It\u2019s a poem small enough to carry inside of you and mighty as words have ever been. Clifton\u2019s poem summons the reader to join the speaker in exulting the unprecedented miracle of her being: \u201cwon\u2019t you celebrate with me \/ what i have shaped into \/ a kind of life? i had no model.\u201d Clifton\u2019s joy takes stock of the structural conditions of her making\u2014\u201cborn in babylon \/ both nonwhite and woman\u201d\u2014not as circumscription but as creative imperative and infinite resource:<\/p>\n

what did i see to be except myself?
\ni made it up.
\nhere on this bridge between
\nstarshine and clay,
\nmy one hand holding tight
\nmy other hand<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

And the glorious final invitation summons all who would affirm the triumph of the speaker\u2019s living, diminishing everything that opposes her thriving:<\/p>\n

come celebrate
\nwith me that everyday
\nsomething has tried to kill me
\nand has failed.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

A poem is no match for white-nationalist violence. But I hope \u201cwon\u2019t you celebrate with me\u201d provides a form of homecoming\u2014it’s a never fully completed call to form a rejoicing and protective circle around the speaker who, in the midst of it all, goes on living.<\/p>\n

\u2014CS<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Want more? Read earlier\u00a0installments of\u00a0Poetry Rx<\/a>.\u00a0Need your own poem?\u00a0Write to us<\/a>!<\/i><\/p>\n

Claire Schwartz is the author of\u00a0<\/em>bound\u00a0(Button Poetry, 2018)<\/em>. Her poetry has appeared in\u00a0<\/em>Apogee,<\/em>\u00a0Bennington Review,<\/em>\u00a0The\u00a0Massachusetts Review, and\u00a0<\/em>Prairie Schooner, and her essays, reviews, and interviews have appeared in\u00a0<\/em>The\u00a0Iowa Review,<\/em>\u00a0Los Angeles Review of Books,<\/em>\u00a0Virginia Quarterly Review,<\/em>\u00a0and elsewhere.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

In our column Poetry Rx, readers\u00a0write in\u00a0with a specific emotion, and our resident poets\u2014Sarah Kay, Kaveh Akbar, and Claire Schwartz\u2014take turns prescribing the perfect poems to match. This week,\u00a0Claire Schwartz is on the line.     Dear Poets, There are so many poems that I\u2019ve read about being hurt. But what about hurting those whom […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1418,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[33114],"tags":[24150,33544,30972,12928,33545,2275,30407,165,33543,34342,3681,1297],"class_list":["post-126254","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poetry-rx","tag-anne-boyer","tag-claire-schwartz","tag-daca","tag-dreamers","tag-ellis-rosen","tag-immigration","tag-lucille-clifton","tag-poetry","tag-poetry-rx","tag-self-doubt","tag-sharon-olds","tag-writers-block"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nPoetry Rx: Won\u2019t You Celebrate with Me?<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"Advice for a poet who can\u2019t write, the bad guy in the love story, and a worried Dreamer searching for home.\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, 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