Not Too Rigid, Not Too Loose

Guest blogger, Jessica Lamb

Starting out as a writer, I had all kinds of ambition. I’d been unlucky enough to taste early praise, which filled me with bloated ideas of my potential. I craved success, and forged ahead with no grounding in reality, no real sense of self-love. I didn’t know then what a woefully inadequate fuel ambition makes for a genuinely creative life. But very soon I must have sensed that its inevitable result would be profound discouragement, even in the early years when I exhausted myself striving to conform to my Idea of what it meant to be a Writer (write every day, preferably all day). The real poet in me—an open window in an empty room, to borrow from Charles Simic—recoiled, refusing to be whipped into service. There seemed to be no escaping the essential tension. For years, I swayed in an unsteady orbit between two poles—now too rigid, now too loose. I somehow continued to work, finishing a first collection of poems and launching the long, deeply humbling process of looking for a publisher. During this time, I felt the window closing and the room filling with voices, self-reproachful, disappointed, afraid. At some point, bored to death with my own despair, I began to let go, and as I let go the window began tentatively to open again, and to my enormous relief and gratitude, I discovered I had never stopped being a poet. The truth is, poetry is in me—is in all of us, I believe—as naturally as breathing. All I had to do was listen and receive.

But I also had to show up, and that wasn’t happening. Busy with teaching responsibilities, my writing life had slowed almost to a standstill. I cast about for ideas for projects, wanting some impetus to return to work, but nothing clicked. And then my mother called. She had been asked to step in as Rector of a small Episcopal church in New Hampshire. Since her ordination fifteen years ago at the age of 55, Mom had worked in prisons and hospice programs, but this was her first job with a pulpit; she admitted to feeling a little overwhelmed at the thought of preaching every week. I had never seen any connection with my mother’s path and my own, but all of a sudden it seemed obvious that we were in the same business—preserving time for paying attention. I made a pledge to match her sermon for sermon with new poems. She mailed me a fat pile of lectionaries—the selection of readings from scripture that forms the centerpiece of each week’s sermon—and we began.

Working in step with my mother, in the rhythms of the ancient liturgical calendar, writing poetry has finally become more a practice than a profession for me. Creative, spiritual—the distinction doesn’t matter anymore; either way the important thing is not too rigid, not too loose. I try to tune myself like an instrument, to better receive Reality in all its abundant surprising forms. Reading the lectionary takes away any anxiety about where to start. A word or an image lodges in my mind; I write a poem, usually in one sitting. I don’t require it to be anything other than what it is. Sometimes I write awful stuff, but “not too rigid” means I don’t get in a funk about it and decide I’m the world’s worst poet. Sometimes I don’t want to write, but “not too loose” means I take a crack at it, and if nothing much comes that’s okay too. I have failed, numerous times, to make the week’s deadline, and my mother still loves me. I no longer aspire to be famous and celebrated. What crazy luck to be a human being! How gratifying to arrive at middle age! I aspire only to be awake, and to connect with the world.

Raised in Vermont’s Northeast Kingdom, Jessica Lamb lives in Portland, Oregon with her husband, Will, and their son, Hayden. She has taught writing for many years through the Northwest Writing Institute, Portland Community College, and Literary Arts Writers in the Schools program. Her poems have appeared in numerous journals, including Poetry, The Southern Review, and Willow Springs. Her first book, Last Apples of Late Empires, was published in 2009 by Airlie Press, a poetry publishing collective of which she is a founding member.

Founded in May 2007, Airlie Press is a nonprofit publishing collective dedicated to cultivating and sustaining fine contemporary poetry. Their intent is to produce beautiful and compelling books by exceptional poets; their mission is to offer Willamette Valley writers a local, shared work publishing alternative. Airlie Press currently consists of seven poet members who share in the editorial and book production responsibilities of the press. All profits from the sale of members’ books go toward the production of new volumes of poetry. For more information, see Airlie’s website, at www.airliepress.org.

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