In regard to writing poetry, I have little formal education. Yet I constantly feel as if I’m on the verge of getting it, though this never actually happens. The better part of what I’ve learned comes from reading countless books both of and on poetry. Many of them multiple times, as I have a terrible memory for the written word. So it’s as if I’m having to learn and unlearn everything over and over. Of course, I’d be lying if I said I have no idea what I’m doing. Still, I have no idea what I’m doing. It’s one of the few things of which I’m not afraid to say I am proud. Nor do I have any real desire to tear it apart and see what makes it tick. I write because of this thing that’s inside of me. And I will continue to do so. I’ve tried to stop. At one point I declared, “All I have to do is quit calling myself a writer and it will be over.” Fortunately, it doesn’t work that way.
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