Poetry Matters: What If All My Words Fall Out?
monthly essay | when you feel like there's nothing left to write about
Welcome to ‘Poetry Matters’ a (hopefully) monthly essay series where I write about writing! I want to use this series to write about poetry and the creative process. I want to blur to boundaries between essay and poem. Let’s begin.
When you lose a tooth, your tongue returns to the empty space left behind. It probes for what is now missing; the glide of enamel, the certainty and symmetry of teeth. Instead, it comes in contact with smooth, fleshy gum. Odd. Vacant. The gummy gap feels more blatant, more glaring than any real tooth ever could. Yet the tongue is desperate in its optimism. It searches relentlessly for what no longer exists. The same way I am searching for a way to describe the feeling of losing words. I turn into a pink muscle. I taste the hollow outline of roots. The metallic tang of loss.
***
Off late I feel like my words are falling out again, molars chipping away in my mouth. Terrible timing! Given that I just committed to a weekly publishing schedule. I return to the site of loss only to be met with debri. A loud gap where there was once poetry. For those of us who write often, we know words like a tongue knows teeth; enclosed within the same habitat. I think poetry is a way of biting into the world, cracking it open like a walnut and finding the life-seed inside. But what if there’s too much to bite into? What if my words twist at the root and fall off? What if [-]? The other day I woke up from a nightmare where all my teeth fell out. Or maybe it was my words.
***
I don’t think the term ‘writer's block’ does justice to this feeling. It’s less of a block, and more like something rotting at the pulp and falling out because it wasn’t tended to. Each time I feel my words falling out, a slow panic sets in: what if this isn’t temporary? What if I’ve spat out a permanent tooth that can’t grow back? Singers lose their voices. Athletes lose their form. I suppose it could happen to a writer too. In any case, I don’t have any useful wisdom about ‘writer's blocks’ or lost, fallen things. I just wanted to tell you about those days, weeks, months, when all my words fall out. When it feels like my teeth have turned to chalk-dust in my mouth.
***
I can tell you this much: my words come and go on their own schedule. All I can do is keep on living. Each time I feel like I’ve written about all there is to write about in the entire world, I go on a walk. Somewhere in between witnessing the world and myself, the words return to me. Now my metaphor falls apart. The teeth grow back. I started writing this on a day where I feel depleted of all my good words. They fell out of my mouth and into the sink with a rude clatter. I strung this together with my bad words, my bad metaphors, the bad teeth. Unlike fallen teeth, I guess poetry does return.
I think poetry is a way of biting into the world, cracking it open like a walnut and finding the life-seed inside. But what if there’s too much to bite into? What if my words twist at the root and fall off?
Before you go…
This is my first attempt at writing an essay for A Poem A Week! Let me know if the comments if you’d like to see more of this type of writing from me. Also, what do all of you do when you experience writer’s block? If you liked this piece then you can support my writing by subscribing, sharing, dropping me a comment or pledging a paid subscription!
Also, for more tooth-y writing, check out these pieces by
Thank you for reading. I’ll be back with new writing next week.
Love,
Anagha
Oh wow, do I relate here! Thanks for expressing this so eloquently and incisively.
I'd say the merging of essay and poetry is off to an excellent start.
Hi Anagha, the other day you kindly wrote to me to say don’t give up. Excellent advice. Now that you are struggling a bit for words, let me add: don’t be too down. You have a gift. The words will come when you, and they, are ready. In the meantime, I am interested in your turn to criticism. It reminded me of a piece I read recently on TS Eliot, who seems to have thought being a critic important to succeeding as a poet. It’s here if you’re interested: https://newcriterion.com/issues/2020/4/t-s-eliots-animus