Sometimes I have thought that writing poems requires courage, and that
suggests that it makes one afraid. But what is there to be afraid of?
When you talk about "risk" in a poem, what is the risk? Perhaps the
biggest risk, here, that is, where poetry does not attract political
violences, is that you might make a fool of yourself. Or that someone
might not like what you write.
These seem pretty minor fears, even petty.
Borges talks of the Other who writes. I have sometimes written poems
which have made me afraid when I read them, although they would frighten
no one else: perhaps because I cannot recognise the me who wrote them.
When I am writing intensely, I always feel very mortal. Perhaps the act
of writing poems shovels aside the protective illusions which permit me
to navigate my day, and the contingency of my existence becomes very
clear to me. This is all right, up to a point: it can make me feel very
alive; but it can also be a little crippling. I sometimes believe that
the fear that poetry expresses is of death. This feels true and obvious,
without my knowing quite what it means.
Alison
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