Cally--
When I hit a bump.... I fret. And then, I go back to the absolute basis of poetry-- delight in language. I read the dictionary. Oh dictionary! I love thee muchly! I just yesterday in fact figured out that thanks to my job, I have online access to an OED subscription. (And yes, the first thing I did was look up dirty words
. )
I keep running lists of ideas, failed poems, stray lines, titles. I read old magazines and look for quirky syntax. I scavenge. I read prose, which, when I'm stuck, I find more useful in the getting-unstuck than poetry. I keep busy. I walk. I listen harder.
I do an exercise-- mostly only in drastic circumstances-- that seems to work. I have a timer that I set for 8 minutes. I write as many 8-minute poems as I can-- with the caveat that they MUST be really really really bad. I make them intentionally bad. I use the whole 8 minutes. It's pretty liberating-- but again, the structure! I can't do it unless I have the imposition of the rules-- in this case, as bad as I can make them, and the all and only of an 8 minute time limit.
Also, I pester my friends to tell me that it will be all ok.
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