'We Begin in Gladness' delves into how poets teach themselves to write their best
In聽Dublin recently, an exhibit opened celebrating the work of Seamus Heaney, the Nobel laureate and Irish poet who died聽in聽2013 at 74.
The exhibit features Heaney鈥檚 desk 鈥� a board atop two filing cabinets, as unassuming as a carpenter鈥檚 bench. Among his papers is a manuscript of 鈥淲hen all the others were away at Mass,鈥� a popular Heaney poem about an intimate moment between mother and son while she peels potatoes. It was part of a much larger draft that Heaney gradually refined to distill the poem to its powerful essence. 鈥淚n聽a way, it makes me appreciate how it happened,鈥� Heaney鈥檚 son, Mick, told The New York Times. 鈥淗e worked a lot. He was at that desk many hours.鈥�
It鈥檚 a potent reminder that writing poetry can be a tough slog, requiring some heavy lifting. That reality seems obvious when聽we聽think about novelists or biographers, since the length of their creations makes the effort self-evident. Poets, though, typically write shorter works that can look deceptively simple 鈥� as if they鈥檝e been uttered, not composed. As with any form of genius, the better the poet, the easier it looks.
In聽鈥淲e聽Begin聽in聽Gladness,鈥� Craig Morgan Teicher assigns himself the task of explaining how poets teach themselves to write their best. His title comes from a couple of lines by William Wordsworth: 鈥淲e聽Poets聽in our youth聽begin聽in聽gladness; / But thereof come聽in聽the end despondency and madness.鈥�
Teicher, himself a poet, points to Wordsworth鈥檚 observation as an example of our tendency to think of poets as a bit touched, tuned to mysterious voices they transcribe on the page, their work created by compulsion rather than craft. He laments 鈥渁n old, sad stereotype about poets: that, perhaps, writing poems and looking too long at the trials of the human mind and heart聽in聽a troubled world beckons poets to their undoing.鈥�
While he concedes that poetry has its share of anguished sorts (Robert Lowell, Sylvia Plath, Randall Jarrell and John Berryman come to mind), Teicher points out that 鈥渕any poets聽鈥� Wordsworth was among them 鈥� live and write into ripe old age and have the chance to author what can be remarkable literary product.鈥�
That term, "literary product," perhaps takes Teicher鈥檚 argument further than he intended. Heaney鈥檚 humble work station aside,聽we聽like to think of poetry as something grander than a "product" 鈥� a higher thing than, say, a pair of boots or a smartphone.聽In聽carefully considering its technical concerns, Teicher acknowledges that poetry, though the result of concentrated effort, is also shaped by the ineffable. Reading "We聽Begin聽in聽Gladness" brings to mind E.B. White鈥檚 observation that poetry can鈥檛 be fully explained. 鈥淎 poet," he wrote, 鈥渄ares be just so clear and no clearer; he approaches lucid ground warily, like a mariner who is determined not to scrape his bottom on anything solid."
Teicher鈥檚 best insights,聽in聽fact, are ultimately about poetry鈥檚 connection to the sublime. "A poem," he notes, "is something that can鈥檛 otherwise be said addressed to someone who can鈥檛 otherwise hear it. By this definition, poetry is deeply impractical and deeply necessary."
Here鈥檚 another Teicher gem: 鈥淪o much of life happens inside our heads, where other people can鈥檛 see. Language is the fundamental bridge between inner and outer worlds, between people, even neighbors, who are always road-blocked by their skulls. Poetry is how聽we聽pay attention to that bridge, how聽we聽make sure it doesn鈥檛 fall, how聽we聽maintain it, fix it when it gets rickety. As long as people communicate, there will always be poets.鈥�
If one is moved to sample such bits of brilliance selectively, it鈥檚 perhaps because 鈥淲e聽Begin聽in聽Gladness鈥� can feel somewhat fragmentary. The essays that form each chapter originated聽in聽various literary journals, so the book is less a sustained argument than a series of appreciations. Teicher details the artistry of Heaney鈥檚 鈥淐learances," a sequence of sonnets that includes "When all the others were away at Mass." There are also considerations of Robert Hayden, W.S. Merwin, William Butler Yeats, Delmore Schwartz, and Lucille Clifton, among others.
He mentions that before her death聽in聽2010, Clifton wrote a final poem that rather presciently touched on what might endure when she was gone. Her parting work, 鈥淚n聽the Middle of the Eye,鈥� expressed 鈥渉er lifelong choice to keep her eyes and heart open and her pen moving,鈥� Teicher writes. 鈥淭his is what poets sign up for, though few uphold that contract to the end. The best of them can鈥檛 ever die.鈥� 聽聽聽聽聽
Danny Heitman, a columnist for The Advocate newspaper聽in聽Louisiana, is the author of 鈥淎 Summer of Birds: John James Audubon at Oakley House.鈥�
