In January 2013 I discovered that E.E. Cummings wrote poetry daily between the ages of eight and twenty two – a startling and liberating fact. I had been writing for years – believing and accepting that sometimes there were lots of words, like mid-novel for a few days when all is clarity and flow or short stories that so ache to be written that pausing for thought or toast is just not possible. And then sometimes there are not – and certainly not poetry by the bucketful – poetry needed time to distill and crystallize, poetry came fleetingly – it could not be forced.
But I could not unread that biographical detail – and I have always been curious about creativity and ways of stepping into the flow. So here I am two and a half years later, more or less writing a poem a day. (And yes – it is sometimes more than a poem a day. And yes – we have had some holidays in between.) But it turns out it is a most joyful and vital practice that asks nothing more and nothing less than my presence.
Please accept these poems in the spirit that they are given. They are generally freshly written on the day they are posted. Some might be edited or changed or discarded later – but for now they are here in the world to be shared.