I agree with Nyctom. Revising is the most important part of writing a poem. I'm interested in what Richard Wilbur has to say about this - how he does it; how long it usually takes him to revise a poem; and when he knows he's done.

I'd also be interested in who has influenced his thinking over the years - any particular religious thinkers, their books.

Safe journey down to the Keys, Tim and Alan. And enjoy your visit with the master.

>Revising is the most important part of writing a poem.<

Wouldn't that depend on how good the poem was to start with?

My question for Richard Wilbur concerns how much of his talent and success he attributes to his unique gift and how much to refining that gift through study and dedication to the craft of writing and other factors over which a poet has control.

"Mr. Wilbur, when you published The Beautiful Changes in 1947, it must have been apparent to all that you had a great gift. Did you recognize your extraordinary talent from the beginning, and did you foresee its development over these last fifty-five years? How have you nurtured your gift, who has helped you, and what would you choose to do differently if you were starting out now?"

Carol Taylor

On the revision process - and Richard Wilbur in particular -there's a book most recently edited by Robert Wallace/Michelle Boisseau called Writing Poems that has an excellent section on revision and tightening, and even shows some of the various steps of Wilbur's "Love Calls Us to the Things of the World" as he revised it. Very interesting. Just figured I'd throw that out there, because that's one of the few poetry books I've ever found that actually showed that kind of thing.

Another book that shows evidence of revision by about 100 major English and American poets: Rodney Phillips, The Hand of the Poet: Poems and Papers in Manuscript (Rizzoli 1997). It includes extensive essays by Dana Gioia and two poems by Wilbur, "Zea" and "All These Birds."

Cheers,

This is an amazing treat (and feat), Tim! I will look forward to it, and hope Wilbur will talk about dramatic writing too. Whatever he wants to say!

Smooth sailing, bon voyage!

Terese

First, to Ralph and eaf: a hearty thank you for the suggested reading. The New York Public Library has the Phillips book, and I will try to pick that up later today. Your courteous responses are much appreciated.

Second, for Richard Wilbur via Tim and Alan:


In an interview with Peter Davison of The Atlantic Monthly (September 9, 1999), you stated:

It pleases me always to endanger whatever form I'm working in. I've written very few sonnets, but when I work in the sonnet, I try to threaten the form, expressively, in the way that my hero John Milton always did. Milton's sonnets freely overrun the tidy divisions of the sonnet form for expressive purposes, and therefore if his poems are "perfect," they're not perfect in the sense of being neat. They're perfect in the sense of treating the form in such a way as at all times to put it at the service of the meaning.

In what ways do you believe form is elastic and/or able to be manipulated? How far do think you can endanger or threaten a form before it becomes something else? Could you elaborate on the interplay between form and meaning?


In a related question, what do you think of the American dichotomy and hostility between practioners of formal and/or metrical verse and those who write free verse? How would you suggest these camps be brought together--or should they remain separate?


Thank you.

The one question that comes first to my mind is related to Tom's quote of Wilbur concerning "stretching the form." The poem A Wall in the Woods: Cummington contains the delightful stanzas that follow:

<dir>There is no tracing
The leaps and scurries with which
He braids his long castle, ra-
Cing, by gap, ledge, niche

And Cyclopean
Passages, to reappear
Sentrylike on a rampart
Thirty feet from here.</dir>

I am curious about the audacious line break on "ra- / cing." How does one make such a decision in such a poem as the poem in question? It's positively remarkable, quite effective.

Curtis.



[This message has been edited by Curtis Gale Weeks (edited January 28, 2003).]

Great question, Tom.

Also see S1 of Wilbur's "The Catch."

From the dress-box's plashing tis-
Sue paper she pulls out her prize,
Dangling to one side before my eyes
Like a wierd sort of fish

Alan and I once sent Dick a note on this matter:
Wish you
hadn't
hyphen-
ated
tissue.

To which Gwynn replied:
It
may
be
no
great
is-
sue,
but
Gwynn
likes
that
-
in tis-
sue.