The Poetry of Silence
A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. ~Robert Frost
The Holy Mountain by Angela Marie / Mara ~earth light~
Poetry begins and ends in silence.
And as Frost suggests, sometimes, like a lump in the throat, that silence can be painful—a kind of sickness and unspeakable yearning for home, for love, for comfort.
However, silence, or not writing, tends to be especially painful for writers, which is why there are so many articles and books on how to deal with writer’s block.
But the painful truth is that when, as writers, we can’t write, we can become neurotic, anxious, depressed, or in extreme cases, even suicidal.
Suffering
How can I be a writer, if I don’t write?
That’s a nail-biter question for any writer. And we’re known to do just about anything either to write or to cope with not writing.
We might berate ourselves and try to force our creativity with a swift kick of self-criticism. We might tell ourselves that what we need is regimen and discipline and then sit down to write, only to find ourselves even more frustrated with our inability to do so.
Or perhaps we lapse into self-pity or self-hatred. Or maybe we stay as busy as possible. We might even numb our pain with alcohol, drugs, sex, food—anything that might alleviate the gnawing emptiness and terrible doubts that come with not writing.
Suffice it to say, as creative people we have hundreds of creative ways to torture ourselves when we’re not writing.
Listening
The poet doesn’t invent. He listens. ~Jean Cocteau
The real kicker to our suffering is that silence, however painful, is absolutely necessary to poetry.
You simply cannot write without silence and stillness, without the inner solitude that demands a deep and intent listening to one’s feelings.
Sometimes, poetry is not words at all, but a silence that can either rip us apart or provide the balm of healing. Ultimately, this difference between suffering and healing is the difference between torturing ourselves for not writing and sitting still in that sometimes awful silence.
So, what happens when we think less about writing and more about listening to the silence and what it’s telling us?
Non-doing
Poetry heals the wounds inflicted by reason. ~Novalis
Often, when I find it difficult to write poetry (or anything else for that matter), I eventually come to realize that a transformation—usually a very painful one—is occurring in my life. And transformation itself is always creative, whether we recognize it or not.
In other words, when I can’t write, something creative is happening, even though it sounds like silence and looks like not-writing.
When I’m not writing, there is a kind of doing, or rather non-doing taking place in my life. And as the days of not writing mount, it becomes more and more pressing for me to listen intently to my gut and my heart and forget for a moment all the logic and reason that tend to rule my thoughts and that provoke excruciating doubts in my creative abilities.
Logic and reason construct the domain of the ego, or an identification with the self, where self-doubt and low self-esteem also reside.
In contrast, poetry is the often-times rocky terrain of deep emotions and of experience so distilled and intense that at times it feels unbearable.
What is hard to accept when I can’t write is that I must sit still, be patient in that silence, and strip myself of all ego.
The Dispossession of Ego
There is poetry as soon as we realize that we possess nothing. ~John Cage
I think what Cage means here is that as soon as we let go of our egos, then words can finally appear.
As long as we hold on to the notion that we can possess writing or harness and control it, then we are acting as if writing poetry is a product of reason, and I believe, in those circumstances, we won’t be able to write.
Because poetry is, after all, quite unreasonable.
Poetry has little use for our logical brains and everything to do with our guts, our hearts, and our souls.
And when we accept that truth, let go of our oh-so-logical egos with their doubts or fears or grandiosities, then finally we’ll stumble upon poetry.
Creative Being
You will find poetry nowhere unless you bring some of it with you. ~Joseph Joubert
Ultimately, isn’t poetry all about living and being able to bear the truth, regardless of how it comes—either as silence or as words?
I think so. I think poetry requires us to accept the silences in which poetry begins and ends and to surrender our pre-conceived notions of what poetry sounds like or looks like on the page.
As Joubert suggests, poetry cannot be found outside ourselves, we must “bring some of it” with us. And perhaps, the greater truth is that we bring all of it with us because poetry resides within the universal creativity of simply being, not individual egos.
Why We Try
Stripped of ego, sitting in stillness, listening intently to the silence in our lives, and delving deeply into the poetry that resides within us doesn’t mean we stop trying to write words. It simply means we give them a meaningful context in which to emerge.
For poetry to appear, we must invoke a certain faith that through silence and the oftentimes rough waters of creative transformation, truth always eventually reveals itself.
Consider this excerpt from Anne Sexton’s poem, “Rowing”:
I am rowing, I am rowing
though the oarlocks stick and are rusty
and the sea blinks and rolls
like a worried eyeball,
but I am rowing, I am rowing,
though the wind pushes me back
and I know that that island will not be perfect,
it will have the flaws of life.
With a little faith, we can keep rowing across that sea of creative silence towards the acceptance of our imperfect humanity. If we listen intently enough, then our poetry will finally speak to us again in a clear and perfect voice.
How do you transform your silences into words?
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Flickr Photo Courtesy of Angela Marie / Mara ~earth light~
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Ami, this is beautifully written. I like how you incorporate the meaning of the wonderful quotes into your article’s points. Yours is an always keen and insightful perspective. I appreciate the opportunity to read your posts.
Maureen´s last [type] ..Thought for the Day
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Thanks, Maureen! It feels great to finally write another blog post. After such a long hiatus, it seemed appropriate to write about silence. As always, I appreciate your loyal support!
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A lot to think about here. I have a few thoughts. To answer your question, How can I be a writer, if I don’t write? I’d need to take you back to the three years between 1991 and 1994 during which time I wrote nothing. Had a stopped being a writer. When an actor is ‘resting’ has he stopped being an actor? Writing is more than putting scribbles on a scrap of paper or clattering away on a keyboard. During those three years I was processing stuff and that takes time; this would be what you’re on about in ‘Non-doing’. When I actually did sit down to try and write it actually came out in two novels written back to back in a few short weeks and since then I’ve written over 300 poems. Sometimes it doesn’t happen. Writing should be natural, not forced. During that three-year lull I tried to force a poem out but I wasn’t ready. Now I don’t fret quite so much.
I guess what I’m doing here is drawing the distinction between poetry and poems. Poetry is all about us. I think this is what you may be on about in the ‘Silence’ section of this post. During those three years I felt I couldn’t connect with that poetry. I don’t really get your silence metaphor though. My head is never silent and I know you don’t mean that literally but the fact is if I’m not writing then I’m thinking about writing. I see being a writer as a process. I used to weight-train in my twenties and there’s a procedure you go through: you eat, digest, exercise, rest and repeat ad infinitum. I see writing like that too: you observe, you think about what you’ve observed, you write and then you think about what you’ve written. Some things take longer to digest than others. Looking at it that way the periods of what you would call silence are actually productive times if not necessarily active.
Doing anything constantly, even excessively, is not good for us. It is also a pretty good way to take something special and spoil it. You need to give yourself some space. You ask though how I cope with periods when I can’t write what I want to. The answer is I write something else. When I got stuck on my third novel I put it aside and spent two years writing nothing but short stories until I was ready to go back to the book. I’ve actually found it refreshing to explore different forms of writing. I stuck with just the poetry for far too long.
Jim Murdoch´s last [type] ..Just what the world needs – another book of poetry
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Ami Mattison Reply:
August 21st, 2010 at 1:55 pm
Wow, Jim! Thanks for sharing your experience and insight. I’ve never had such a long stint of not writing, but yes, my thoughts about non-doing are precisely about how we need time to process. And as you suggest, we certainly can’t force creativity.
As for the silence metaphor, I intend it in the simplest sense of silence as not writing (or not being able to write) what we really want or need to express.
Like you (and I imagine most people), I’m thinking all the time–though not always about writing. But I do have periods in which there is something pressing I need to say that I can’t quite express in the way I want to. For me, these periods of time are like pauses, silences, in what is otherwise a steady stream of writing. And they can, at times, drive me a little nutso until I sit still and really listen to what’s going on within me, emotionally and mentally.
Finally, yes, I think that switching up one’s writing can be very helpful when we feel creatively blocked–a suggestion I’ve made several times in some previous posts.
Thanks again for your comment! I enjoyed reading it!
Good luck with your writing!
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I dunno if it’s that I got a bit of a late start at this writing thing, but I write, every day. If one thing isn’t working, then I move on to another. Or if that doesn’t work. I pick up a book by an author I love and read a few pages. That almost always gets things going.If none of that works, I work-out – do some jumping jacks, some running sprints, throw frisbees for my Golden Retrievers. I wish I could silence my thoughts sometimes. I drove home from LA to San Jose yesterday and my brain churned out question after question about all kinds of things the whole ride home!
I never even turned on the radio! I must be some kind of writer freak! I guess I just know I only have so much time to get all this stuff out into the world. Loved the post. Now get writing!!!
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Ami Mattison Reply:
August 21st, 2010 at 2:10 pm
Ha, Mary! Maybe we’re both writer freaks. I rarely listen to the radio when I’m driving because it distracts me from processing my thoughts and experiences.
I too write every day. It’s an old habit now, just something that I do, like brushing my teeth in the morning. But as I suggested in my previous reply to Jim’s comment, I’m not always writing what I really want to express, and for me those periods are a kind of silence.
Your suggestions for getting the creative juices flowing are great! In several of my articles, I’ve mentioned the notions of “creative procrastination” and “artistic play” as great ways to pump up and flex those creative muscles.
Thanks so much for sharing! And good luck with your writing!
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Ami, this is marvelous! I especially like (and need) “when I can’t write, something creative is happening, even though it sounds like silence and looks like not-writing.”
How easily we forget this important insight. Thank you.
Hugs,
Lisa
Lisa Rivero´s last [type] ..I Miss My Writing Buddy
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Ami Mattison Reply:
August 22nd, 2010 at 7:32 am
Thank you, Lisa! So happy that you found the article useful, and I’m glad it provided a reminder that our creativity never really leaves us. A big hug to you! And sending you good vibes.
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Beautiful insights here Ami. It’s hard to indulge in silence and quiet, even when we starve for it. But the payoff is well worth it.
Ami´s last [type] ..Facing my fear – at last- victory
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Ami Mattison Reply:
August 24th, 2010 at 11:14 am
Thank you, Ami. I agree that silence can sometimes feel like an indulgence. Yet, as you suggest, we really need it in our creative lives. Wishing you a little silence in your life.
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