Quote:
Originally Posted by Julie Stoner
I sometimes picture myself as the poetic equivalent of a hoarder, surrounded by broken junk that I can't throw out because it has sentimental value, and because I fully intend to get around to fixing it someday.
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I seem to be at the opposite pole. I fall so thoroughly out of love with many past poems that I have trouble looking back at them. The dangerously unpredictable now is
so much more thrilling.
Is there a middle-ground rule, something like, "Revise in a disciplined manner, not constantly, but when called upon to give the poem a fresh look"?