Like Julie, I have a strong allegiance to what I think is true when I am writing. That doesn't preclude making things up, but if someone points out that the things made up do not conform to truth (and I agree), I cannot be happy with the poem. Sometimes when I try to imagine how someone else sees the world, I get it wrong. And sometimes in trying to show how I see the world, I can get some facts wrong. I'm open to being corrected in some cases, but not in all. If you tell me that I cannot have felt what I know I felt in a particular situation, you will not convince me.
I think one can overintellectualize the creative process by trying to impose any particular way of writing on all writers. So much of what we do is intuitive, inventing the process all over again for each poem according to the needs of that poem and our own skills at the time. Trying out a new form is a process of discovering how techniques we already possess are limited or enhanced by the form, which often pushes us into developing new techniques. I can describe afterward what I did (though I can't always explain what made me make some of the connections I made). But I don't go into a poem with a plan of how it will all fit together. I learn to trust my instincts. I like tackling difficult forms to see where they will take me. But once they take me to a particular place, I can't just take the content of that poem and fit it into a different form. The form was how I got there, intrinsic to the result. For some people, perhaps fitting the content of one poem into the form of a different poem would be a challenge they would relish. My mind doesn't work that way. I'd rather write a new poem than do multiple variations on the same poem.
Susan
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