A classic poem from one of America’s finest living poets about what it means to be a writer.
For the Young Who Want To
Talent is what they say
you have after the novel
is published and favorably
reviewed. Beforehand what
you have is a tedious
delusion, a hobby like knitting.
Work is what you have done
after the play is produced
and the audience claps.
Before that friends keep asking
when you are planning to go
out and get a job.
Genius is what they know you
had after the third volume
of remarkable poems. Earlier
they accuse you of withdrawing,
ask why you don’t have a baby,
call you a bum.
The reason people want M.F.A.’s,
take workshops with fancy names
when all you can really
learn is a few techniques,
typing instructions and some-
body else’s mannerisms
is that every artist lacks
a license to hang on the wall
like your optician, your vet
proving you may be a clumsy sadist
whose fillings fall into the stew
but you’re certified a dentist.
The real writer is one
who really writes. Talent
is an invention like phlogiston
after the fact of fire.
Work is its own cure. You have to
like it better than being loved.
Marge Piercy, a poet, novelist, and social activist, lives on Cape Cod. This poem is from her collection The Moon is Always Female (1980).
Ah…I’ve always loved this one!
I think I just found my new tattoo.
I know I read this once before and over the years, a few lines, and the spirit of the entire poem, had stayed with me, but I could never recall where I’d originally heard/read it. Thanks!
Thank you for posting this. A good reminder for all of us, when we doubt ourselves.
I posted a link for my writing friends on Facebook.
best wishes!
S.P.