I keep thinking about what James Tate said, how he never revises. Because whatever I say, write, think, I want to take it back. Spruce it up, give it new clothes.
It’s true. I revise everything. I change my mind constantly. I’m always making mistakes and trying (to no avail) to fix them. I even dreamt about it last night. I dreamt I was in bed with an Asian man who smelled like curry. Then he wasn’t really a man. He was a woman with red fingernails. Or she was in bed with us too. She told me to stop sleeping with her husband. No, no, I said, I would never do such a thing. I have never even met your husband. I began to apologize profusely. But it was too late for apologies. I mean there I was in the bed with them. And in their dreams.
My friend, Z, has a dream coach (no shit) who has taught her how to fix her dreams.
She does this in her sleep (literally). It's kind of like having the pope overseeing her dreams.
I’m not sure I want to sleep or dream with a pope. I have enough poetry popes. If there is such a thing. I’d like to get rid of them all. I’d like to be like James Tate and say, whatever I did, it’s done now. And I will think of title in a matter of minutes. Ten minutes max. And then, the poem is over, like a bad dream. Or a good one. Who knows?
AWP in Minneapolis, and recommended reading
2 weeks ago