http://www.poetryfoundation.org/harriet/2007/08/the-dark-night-of-the-soul/ Thu, 12 Jan 2012 08:40:04 +0000 hourly 1 http://wordpress.org/?v=3.2.1 http://www.poetryfoundation.org/harriet/2007/08/the-dark-night-of-the-soul/#comment-785 Charlene Spearen Tue, 28 Aug 2007 15:59:25 +0000 http://pf/harriet/?p=342#comment-785 At the risk of being accused of using too much verbiage, I will endeavor to get right to the point. Kwame Dawes’s effort to bridge Mother Theresa’s grappling with her feelings of doubt that God and the Devine Trinity really exists (for that is at the crux of one who is experiencing “spiritual dryness”) with the journey of one who continues to write his or her poems because he or she believes that somewhere, in the midst of all the rubble that finds its way to the page, is the possibility that something powerful, something mystical, something wonderfully worthy has been created is brilliant. Just the other day, I had a conversation with a graduate student who was working toward her MFA degree in fiction. The conversation meandered down several avenues, then settled on the question of what exactly compels me to keep writing my poems. I referenced the fact that I had been brought up in the strict doctrine of the Catholic Church and was, today, what is termed a lapsed Catholic. I referenced Mother Theresa in our conversation and how I had always been drawn to this nun’s movements because she seemed to be an ordinary woman who led her life by doing wonderful acts by simply caring for a fellow human being. The way in which Mother Theresa took ownership of her desire to care for the poor of Calcutta was grounded in what she saw as a need that existed here on earth—not as an act that would grant her access to the rewards of an afterlife. Her acts involved no precedence for prescribed manner of worship; they were actions that satisfied her desire to do the right thing for a human being who was in need of a compassionate act. I then explained to this emerging fiction writer that in some small way, I was following the path of Mother Theresa as to the reasons behind why I write poetry, and why over the last five years I have been compelled to work towards creating spaces that introduce the art of writing poetry to such audiences as children, teens, women who are struggling with issues of identity, communities of people who are dealing with addiction, cancer, or abuse. I take on the voices of these communities, then mingle them with my own moments of self doubt, spiritual bareness, my own history, and the history of those I continue to love despite their and my many human imperfections. I see and feel their varied needs, my needs, and feel there is something mystical and wonderfully sacred when the two merge in the act of writing a poem. However, the one issue that I did not address with the young graduate student who sat before me was why it was that I am still so reluctant to seek publication for my own poems. The answer came quite quickly after reading Kwame’s blog. The risky act of sending my work out to this or that literary journal is, without doubt, my “dark night of the soul.” I constantly struggle with the feeling that I have with each newly crafted poem created something that others will view as not being a “good poem.” I guess you could say that I am a “flawed believer” when it comes to my own work. I have yet to accomplish what some would call a leap of faith with regard to my own poetry. Bravo, Kwame Dawes, you have given me much food for thought—keep the words coming. At the risk of being accused of using too much verbiage, I will endeavor to get right to the point. Kwame Dawes’s effort to bridge Mother Theresa’s grappling with her feelings of doubt that God and the Devine Trinity really exists (for that is at the crux of one who is experiencing “spiritual dryness”) with the journey of one who continues to write his or her poems because he or she believes that somewhere, in the midst of all the rubble that finds its way to the page, is the possibility that something powerful, something mystical, something wonderfully worthy has been created is brilliant.
Just the other day, I had a conversation with a graduate student who was working toward her MFA degree in fiction. The conversation meandered down several avenues, then settled on the question of what exactly compels me to keep writing my poems. I referenced the fact that I had been brought up in the strict doctrine of the Catholic Church and was, today, what is termed a lapsed Catholic. I referenced Mother Theresa in our conversation and how I had always been drawn to this nun’s movements because she seemed to be an ordinary woman who led her life by doing wonderful acts by simply caring for a fellow human being. The way in which Mother Theresa took ownership of her desire to care for the poor of Calcutta was grounded in what she saw as a need that existed here on earth—not as an act that would grant her access to the rewards of an afterlife. Her acts involved no precedence for prescribed manner of worship; they were actions that satisfied her desire to do the right thing for a human being who was in need of a compassionate act.
I then explained to this emerging fiction writer that in some small way, I was following the path of Mother Theresa as to the reasons behind why I write poetry, and why over the last five years I have been compelled to work towards creating spaces that introduce the art of writing poetry to such audiences as children, teens, women who are struggling with issues of identity, communities of people who are dealing with addiction, cancer, or abuse. I take on the voices of these communities, then mingle them with my own moments of self doubt, spiritual bareness, my own history, and the history of those I continue to love despite their and my many human imperfections. I see and feel their varied needs, my needs, and feel there is something mystical and wonderfully sacred when the two merge in the act of writing a poem.
However, the one issue that I did not address with the young graduate student who sat before me was why it was that I am still so reluctant to seek publication for my own poems. The answer came quite quickly after reading Kwame’s blog. The risky act of sending my work out to this or that literary journal is, without doubt, my “dark night of the soul.” I constantly struggle with the feeling that I have with each newly crafted poem created something that others will view as not being a “good poem.” I guess you could say that I am a “flawed believer” when it comes to my own work. I have yet to accomplish what some would call a leap of faith with regard to my own poetry. Bravo, Kwame Dawes, you have given me much food for thought—keep the words coming.
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]]> http://www.poetryfoundation.org/harriet/2007/08/the-dark-night-of-the-soul/#comment-784 Cherryl Mon, 27 Aug 2007 19:18:44 +0000 http://pf/harriet/?p=342#comment-784 this act of persisting, of sustaining, of stepping out on nothing and believing that something is there -- is indeed an act of faith. it is true that when you are squarely focused on a thing, the Universe sends you many connections to the thing you are focused on. this week, for me, it's been the *service* of my art ... how affirmation from trusted sources is important but also how applause is not the purpose. and this slip from you: "...something god has come from the process" was worth the whole darned post. (now, was it really a slip?) light! this act of persisting, of sustaining, of stepping out on nothing and believing that something is there — is indeed an act of faith.
it is true that when you are squarely focused on a thing, the Universe sends you many connections to the thing you are focused on. this week, for me, it’s been the *service* of my art … how affirmation from trusted sources is important but also how applause is not the purpose.
and this slip from you:
“…something god has come from the process”
was worth the whole darned post.
(now, was it really a slip?)
light!
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