I have to go further back to talk about joy. Back to high school. All my sad poems. Heartbreak poems. Persona poems about the worst moments in people’s lives.
Most poets talk about poems like these and why it is that poetry is drawn to sadness. Or so it seems, at first.
The drama. The melodrama. There is a desire for high stakes.
This is natural in us. This is, what we think of as, entertainment. And urgency. And value.
And we want a reader to enjoy their time on the page with us. We want them to return to the page for us again.
But there is a misunderstanding of what creates high stakes. Because poetry does not create high stakes the same way that an episode of television does.
It can, of course, but the beauty of the page is its possibilities—how many more ways there are to tease out the high stakes at moments where it’s less predictable to find them.
It’s hard to accomplish as a teacher—coaxing students through the melodrama and towards something worthwhile.
But, my god, it’s difficult as the student. I remember finding my way through the broken hearts. Through the bad similes of glass shards, of bleeding feet. (If you think I’m subtweeting you, I promise you I am referring to one of my own poems.)