Sunday, 27 December 2020

Pascale Potvin : part three

How do you know when a poem is finished?

Too often, I’ll put together a little collection of words, feel a stop, then send it off somewhere only to add to it, the next day. I’m learning to wait for the sense that my poem couldn’t possibly sustain any more pressure without breaking. Stop signs and red lights, they’re just temporary; a reader needs a car crash.

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