How does a poem begin?
I hear the inner voice. It’s my voice but at a different vibration—softer, deeper, and more graceful almost. I hear the first line and know I have to grab a pen or open my app because the rest is coming.
How does a poem begin?
I hear the inner voice. It’s my voice but at a different vibration—softer, deeper, and more graceful almost. I hear the first line and know I have to grab a pen or open my app because the rest is coming.
What do you find most difficult about writing poetry?
Creating space to listen. My poetry has always been a process of quieting and hearing the words come through. I need to consistently create the time and space to be in that flow.
What do you feel poetry can accomplish that other forms can’t?
Poetry can seep through our defenses. When I write I’m not concerned about how it will come out or if it “makes sense” so I can allow whatever needs to come through to come to the surface. When folks read poetry, they aren’t entering a debate. It doesn’t explain or tell any opinions, it’s something else entirely. So the reader can rest their defenses and just let it in whatever the poet is presenting. When defenses are lowered, new ideas are readily shared and real shifts can happen.
How do you know when a poem is finished?
I often get chills when a poem ends. When editing, there’s a feeling I get in my chest like a switch flipped, and a deeper knowing that it’s right.
Lauren Theresa (she/her) is a queer divergent writer, plant witch, and archetypal therapist living in a NYC-ish corner of NJ with her husband, daughters, and maybe-dingo. She is a poetry editor for Olney Magazine and the author of LOST THINGS (Bullshit Lit ’22.) Her writing has appeared in HAD, Maudlin House, awkward family gatherings, and more.
What are you working on?
I have a few works in progress at the moment including my chapbook All the Ways I Killed Myself When Killing Myself Didn’t Work and the novels-in-verse/prose essay collections This is Not Medical Advice and the Poetry of Plants. I tend to work on many things at once to give the muses some room to move around.