Recently I slipped while hiking and twisted both my ankles. I was able to hobble out, but this incident has considerably slowed my pace these last couple of weeks as I limp through the world.
I know I should probably say “Oh and this has enabled me to notice more of the details around me,” but I was already pretty notice-y, thus write poetry to do something with all those details I see. No, this change of pace has made me think about my editing process.
I tend to do many things quickly: I walk quickly (a friend of mine told me once she had spotted me “marching down the street” and I felt momentarily self-conscious of my purposeful gait). I think quickly (except in emergencies, during which I’m pretty useless). I drive at a fairly sedate rate, and I don’t know if I speak particularly quickly, but I write quickly, and I edit quickly. Limping through the world has required me to curtail some activities (like the other hikes I was planning to do, or really any walking much at all) but mostly to strategize better my movements and consider more closely my priorities.
This came home to me particularly at the grocery store. I was already in aisle 10; did I really need that thing I forgot to get in aisle 3? I had to think through the item, the impact of its absence, the significance of its presence in my post-supermarket life. Yes, I sighed, and shuffled back.
I wonder if this limping pace might benefit my editing process, that slower level of consideration of each word, image, line, stanza, type of rhythm, punctuation. I was thinking about this as I read a fascinating article by Denise Levertov in which she takes us almost step by step through the writing and revision process of two poems. She had kept her notes and so was able to recall the process that took place over days and weeks of two poems that were making use of ideas years in the making. (I was reading the article, “Work and Inspiration: Inviting the Muse,” in A Field Guide to Contemporary Poetry and Poetics, but the article originally appeared in Fieldin 1969.)
I recognized the one step forward, half step to the side to regain balance, a half step forward, the drag of the more-sore foot pace of the process she describes. It sounded like a good process, necessarily slow and halting in order to get at the depth of the work she was trying to bring forth. I’m going to try to consciously slow my editing pace, to limpify my revision process, in a good way, to bring more strategic thinking in terms of viewing each decision against the bigger picture, reviewing each step in light of the where-I’m-trying-to-go.
We’ll see. I make no promises. I’m already pushing my healing process with these ankles, impatient to march forth again.