The other day on Wom-po Katha Pollitt informed everyone she had been asked to write a piece for some magazine answering the question, who do people write poetry for? After all, who reads it? Hardly anyone (even poets themselves) buy it. She asked for replies, and requested that those who put their reply online, give her permission at the same time to use what we wrote with our names. A couple of funnily respectful replies did appear that first day.
Well after a couple of days of this, I wrote:
I was going to say I don't write poetry any more and only did translations but I do on occasion still do it when I feel the need. Like when I went away in June and then felt compelled, and then better when I wrote a poem. Whether it's any good I don't know. I made a blog of it and my friend told me it plartly came from a memory of Mansfield Park, which I knew already. She was able to quote the exact line I couldn't have myself.
So for me the question is why do I write? Because I need to. I feel better after I write. It answers some deep need in me. I used to say it was like some disease in my veins I needed to get out, but that is such a negative way of putting it. Bloodletting. Yet it remains true to my feelings.
I've been writing a chapter of a book and when I've spent a day at it fully absorbed I have not been unhappy. I have forgotten much about life and my circumstances beyond what I need from it to say what I want to say.
Laying in my bed this morning, I thought to myself why I married Jim, and answered: because he is good and kind. Because I thought I would find safety and peace with him. And I have. And he has become the blood that flows through my heart. Blood imagery. Wilde said something like after he spent a day in front of a blank piece of paper, writing a sentence, then erasing it, little drops of blood came out on his forehead.
When we were young, he was also very sexy in bed. And the best sign of all, the first time we walked and talked together (on the way back to my flat the night we met), he made me laugh. He's witty. He still can make me laugh. So few people can. Laughter is good.
Then they got onto audiences and before you know it we were onto "mentoring," the "in" activity of the year. One woman contributed the kind of thing that has become typical when people talk of this behavior or relationship.
So I wrote again: I read the online essay about mentoring and how men mentor better than women. I mentored a young woman this summer. Or I should say I officially did and will therefore get a small payment. It's no big deal. In fact I did nothing much more for her than I've done for lots of young women in my classes over the years. They come visit me in my office, we talk, sometimes get to exchange emails, maybe go to lunch, and I help them variously (with letters of recommendation, absurd demands for personal statements where what's asked is not what's wanted, in effect career advice, I help them with their papers, and sometimes love life advice too). I've mentored young men this way.
I think we are beginning to see some elaborate mystification going on here which is then used to berate women -- who says they don't go into groups. Mentoring has become an "in" word and the definition is not only vague but so demanding as to be unreal. I am put in mind of Elizabeth Bennett's reply to Darcy and Miss Bingley after she is given their full definition of an accomplished women. She is not surprized at they're knowing only 6 accomplished women. She rather wonders at their knowing any.
Elizabeth looking down at the valley of the Peake. Her hat is made up of the same natural stuff as fields below.