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I Majored In English In College And That Was My Major In Graduate School Before Switching To Creative Writing. I Read A Lot Of [charles] Dickens And [anthony ] Trollope, But There Was Lots Of Stuff I Hadn't Read Like Thackeray's "vanity Fair," Which Is So Well Written And Funny.

-Stephen Dobyns

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I Majored In English

Stephen Dobyns

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I Majored In English In College And That Was My Major In Graduate School Before Switching To Creative Writing. I Read A Lot Of [charles] Dickens And [anthony ] Trollope, But There Was Lots Of Stuff I Hadn't Read Like Thackeray's "vanity Fair," Which Is So Well Written And Funny.

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Other Than Fiction And Poetry I Tend To Read History.

Each Thing I Do, I Rush Through, So I Can Do Something Else.

Can Do Something

I'm Reading A Manuscript By Rodney Jones, "village Prodigies",it's One Of The Best Contemporary Poetry Books I've Ever Read Ever.

I Never Read Ford Madox Ford's "the Good Soldier." I've Been Reading Books That I Should Have Read Years Ago And Did Not. That's One Of Them.

Baudelaire's L'héautontimorouménos Was Long Seen To Be A Sexual Sadomasochistic Poem, It Is Now Generally Accepted That The Poem Is About Writing Poetry.

Writing Is A Job, A Craft, And You Learn It By Trying To Write Every Day And By Facing The Page With Humility And Gall. And You Have To Love To Read Books, All Kinds Of Books, Good Books. You Are Not Looking For Anything In Particular; You Are Just Letting Stuff Seep In.

I Write Poems To Find Out Why I Write Them

I Remember Coming Upon Philip Larkin In My 20s In The Early '60s And When Sylvia Plath's "ariel" Came Out It Knocked Me Off My Feet.

Most Women Are More Into Real Estate Than Sex. They Want To Own You.

There's A Welsh Poet, R.s. Thomas. He Was A Very Crotchety, Strange Man, But His Poems Are Wonderful. He Was Nominated For The Nobel In The 1990s But Never Won.

These People You Used To See Every Day, Friends Or Acquaintances, After A While They Become As Distant As Any Stranger, People You Suddenly Recall Late At Night--you Remember Something They Said Or Something Silly That Someone Once Did. For A Few Moments They Completely Occupy Your Mind; Then You Forget Them Again.

I'm Reading "the Sunset Of A Splendid Century" By W.h. Lewis. He Was C.s. Lewis's Brother. He Wrote Two Books About The French Court Of Louis Xiv That Are Incredibly Detailed. They Are Books That On Every Page You Say, "wow, Think Of That."

A Poem Is A Window That Hangs Between Two Or More Human Beings Who Otherwise Live In Darkened Rooms.

My Wife's Dying Upstairs And I Can't Do Anything About It. I Look In Her Face And I See The Memories There. I See How I Hurt Her And How I Said The Wrong Things And How I Got Angry And How I Wasn't The Man She Hoped I'd Be. I See That In Her Face And I See She's Going To Die With That. You Think I'm Not Preoccupied?

Reading A Good Poem Can Give Me A Far Bigger Kick Than A Novel. But It's Not Something I Can Keep Doing. It Would Be Like Shooting Up 10 Times A Day.

I Like It To Be Quiet, And It Usually Occurs In The Morning. There Are Three Or Four Places In My House Where I Can Write And I Like To Keep Moving Around. The Moment I Find Myself Falling Into A Necessary Routine, I Change It. I'd Rather Not Accumulate Superstitions.

One Writes A Poem When One Is So Taken Up By An Emotional Concept That One Is Unable To Remain Silent.

There Are Many Reasons For Violence. This Is Just Something That Sometimes Happens. We'd See It In Treatment Centers - The Child Who'd Suffered Something Awful. Even In The Best Recovery There'd Be A Fear That Everything Would Fall Apart And They'd Become Victims Again. And Their Final Loyalty Was To Themselves. They Couldn't Be Forced. They Preferred To Wreck Everything, Preferred Self-destruction To Surrender. (175)

Each Thing I Do, I Rush Through So I Can Do Something Else. In Such A Way Do The Days Pass - -a Blend Of Stock Car Racing And The Never Ending Building Of A Gothic Cathedral. Through The Windows Of My Speeding Car I See All That I Love Falling Away: Books Unread, Jokes Untold, Landscapes Unvisited.

Stock Car Racing

I Can't Believe There Is A Poet Who Hasn't Eagerly Put Down A Word One Day, Only To Erase It The Next Day Deciding It Was Sheer Lunacy. It's Part Of The Process Of Selection.

I Think I Made A Mistake With [jane] Austen By Reading All Six In A Row. There Are Similarities To The Plots So By The Time I Got To The Last One I Could Anticipate What Was Happening Too Easily. But Her Characterizations Are Amazing.

My Poems Always Begin With A Metaphor, But My Way Into The Metaphor May Be A Word, An Image, Even A Sound. And I Rarely Know The Nature Of The Metaphor When I Begin To Write, But There Is An Attentiveness That A Writer Develops, A Sudden Alertness That Is Much Like The Feel Of A Fish Brushing Against A Hook.

For The Past Thirty Years Or So, Much American Poetry Has Been Marked By An Earnestness That Rejects The Comic. This Has Nothing To Do With Seriousness. The Comic Can Be Very Serious. The Trouble With The Earnest Is That It Seeks To Be Commended. It Seeks To Be Praised For Its Intention More Than For What It Is Saying.

I Had A Period When I Read Nobel Prize Winners. I Figured They Had To Be Good. I Discovered Some People I Didn't Know About, Like The Icelandic Writer Halldor Laxness, Who Wrote "independent People." .

He Thinks Of That Ocean House And Wishes He Were Back In His Former Life Or That One Could Take One Moment And Remain Inside It Like An Egg Inside Its Shell, Instead Of Constantly Being Hurried Into The Future By Good Luck Or Bad.

Sometimes Someone Will Tell Me About An Author I've Never Heard Of Before And That Will Send Me To That Person. That's How I Discovered Thomas Bernhard, An Austrian Novelist Whose Novels Tend To Be One Long Rant.

I Majored In English In College And That Was My Major In Graduate School Before Switching To Creative Writing. I Read A Lot Of [charles] Dickens And [anthony ] Trollope, But There Was Lots Of Stuff I Hadn't Read Like Thackeray's "vanity Fair," Which Is So Well Written And Funny.

Actions Have Consequences. Ignorance About The Nature Of Those Actions Does Not Free A Person From Responsibility For The Consequences. (28)

Actions Have Consequences

Louise Gluck, C.k. Williams, Thomas Lux. A Lot Of The Poets That I Like Are The Ones That Influenced Me As A Writer.

When A Philosopher, Scientist, Or Psychologist Discusses The Discrepancy Between The Actual And The Ideal, He Or She Attempts To Convince Us With The Tools Of Discursive Thought ... An Artist Does It Differently ... Their Primary Approach Is Different, Even Though Both Groups, If You Will, Are Investigating The Actual, The Ideal, And The Discrepancy In Between.

Discrepancies Between

I Had Not Read George Eliot, So Read A Few. I Felt Ashamed I Hadn't Read "middlemarch" Before.

Love Doesn't Need A Reason. Hate Needs A Reason.

Many Of My Poems Try To Use A Comic Element To Reach A Place That Isn't Comic At All. The Comic Element Works As A Surprise. It Is Unexpected And Energizing.

Let's Say Someone Has Experienced A Violent Trauma Or Betrayal: A Child Has Been Raped By A Parent Or Has Witnessed The Destruction Of Someone He Loves Or Has Been So Traumatized By The Possibility Of Beatings And Punishments That He's Afraid To Act. If The Trauma Is Great Enough, That Person's Life May Become Frozen, Emotionally Frozen Even Though He Still Gets Up In The Morning, Is Busy All Day, And Goes To Bed At Night. But There's This Empty Space That Begins To Fill With Rage, Rage Toward Everyone - The Perpetrator, The People In The World Who Haven't Suffered, Even Toward Himself. (174)

It Was As If Pain Were A Room He Had Entered And The Door Had Been Locked Behind Him.

They Are Asleep. This Is The Condition They Prefer. They Are Afraid Of The World And Sleep Is A Way Of Dealing With Their Fear. Someday They Will Wake. Perhaps Something Frightful Will Happen. Indeed, There Is No Better Invitation To The Frightful Than Ignorance - That Is, Sleep. (29)

Adolescence Is A Dreadful Period. We Tend To Notice Those Youngsters Who Misbehave And Call Attention To Themselves, But There Are Others, Equally Miserable, Who Receive No Help Simply Because They Are Silent. (41)

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