How does a poem begin?
No single way. Sometimes a poem’s a thing that rattles, a nagging, maybe for months, that suddenly shakes loose. Sometimes it’s an obsession, a repetitive thought or feeling that I have to interrupt and unleash through writing. Sometimes I hear a rhythm late at night while in bed, then a word or two or some lines, and I have to get up and let it unwind. I’m an inspired writer, not a disciplined one. And yes—it’s a crazy thing. I should do more planning, more jotting, and notetaking as future fodder. Fortunately, there is this persistent rattling . . .
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