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In which the poets voice their individual opinions.
Winnicott in Cyberspace or Why I Love the Grind
September 26, 2012
by Ruth Danon
It’s a mystery to me how poems come into being. I look at poems I’ve written, especially those that have been published, and I am dumbstruck. “How did this happen?” I think. “How can I possibly do this again?” I don’t know.
I do know that poems, for me, have been hard won. I know a poet who once said to me “writing is the thing I hate the most that I love the best.” I know what she means. For years my writing came in brief spurts, followed by long periods of daily (and dull) writing and patient gathering of material. Then would come urgent composition. Preparation was everything. The poems themselves came only after long intervals.
During the last year I have written over a hundred poems. They have come quickly and without gathering or scribbling. Not all of these texts are worth anything, but some are poems I’m glad I wrote. There is new satisfaction in watching the pile of drafted poems grow. Since craft is pure pleasure, the task of taming these rough beasts is thrilling and satisfying.
So now the question –what has made this possible – beyond my own frustration at the preciousness and scarcity of my production? And am I any closer to understanding the sources of my own work?
Enter “The Grind.” Created by one Ross White, “The Grind” is a group of dedicated writers who, on a monthly basis commit to writing each day. There is no judgment, no commentary; no opinions are ventured. The un-workshop. Grinders are placed into what I call “pods” with a small group of other podsters who are working in a similar genre or in no genre whatever (“Manic Mix.”) The writers are from all over the country (foreign lands, too) and of every age and ilk.
The deal is simple: you write each day and before midnight in whatever time zone you happen to fall, you e-mail your work to the pod. End of story. At the end of the month everybody thanks everybody and either you sign on for another month or you take a month off. You can’t join unless you’ve been recommended by a successful grinder and if you’ve completed one successful month you can take a break one night a week. Simple.
So why does it work? To answer this question I introduce the great psychoanalyst of play, D.W Winnicott, who makes some simple observations about the capacity to be alone. He says that we develop that capacity by “playing in the presence of others.” The trick about these “others” is that they must be “noninterfering.” In human psychological life that “other” is usually the mother. But it doesn’t have to be. So, there it is. Writing is, of course, a form of play (nothing more serious and less solemn than play.) It’s a form of play that demands the capacity to be alone, and a form of play that requires an internalized audience to grant permission. After all since “poetry makes nothing happen,” we need all the permission we can get. Winnicott also distinguishes between “play” and “game.” The latter is done for reward. the former for its own sake. Play is a non-competitive activity. We can leave, thank God, the contests at the door.
The funny thing is that for years I’ve been teaching writing as improvisation using these principles. My students play in my presence. I observe but don’t interfere. I’ve been told that what surprises people are that my classes are so non-competitive. I’ve gotten good at the Winnicottian paradigm. I can create playgrounds for others.
What I couldn’t do was create the playground for myself. That playground– Winnicott calls it “potential space” — is what the grind has given me.
I took September off. Signup will take place in the next two days. I still have no idea where poems come from. But I trust that if I enter the place of play, I will find what I need.
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