I begin writing poems in my head long before I get anything on paper, gnawing and worrying images, lines, phrases, and sometimes, depending upon the poem’s length, entire “first drafts.”  But for me, the real discoveries come while revising, as I write draft after draft in long hand before typing it out, then edit on the page. Through this method, the true design of a poem arrives—in the process of writing it. My job is to discover where the poem is going and help it on its way.  And then it is finished, or I abandon it. (As the French Symbolist poet Paul Valéry said, “a poem is never finished, only abandoned.”)

 

Revision is, to me, the real work of writing poetry. Someone once said that creativity is one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration. An open mind, receptivity, and just plain paying attention are important at the start, but it’s also important as we’re working on our poems, through our writing and re-writing. Revision is the daily work of moving a poem forward, finding the means to help a poem get where it’s going.

 

In this essay-lecture, which was delivered at the University of Alaska, Anchorage in April 1998, I examine two poems and the process of revision that led the poet to the end result. The first is Donald Hall's "Ox-Cart Man" and the other is one of my own, "Black Angus, Winter," which was part of a group that won The Nebraska Review Award in 1997.