Elizabeth Joy Levinson

Last night, when I was trying to fall asleep, a few insistent lines came to me.  I jotted them down & read them over and at first, I was pretty satisfied with myself.  Then I realized that what I had written had more than a little resemblance to Ellen Bass’s poem, Relax (not in ability, but in content).  I had written about the terrible news we’ve all been facing and ended by describing my strawberry crowns, bright green in soil sloppy with snowmelt.

I was disheartened, but finally able to sleep.

In the morning, when I was more capable of thought, I felt better about the poem.  The fact that Ellen’s poem had wormed into my subconscious so deeply that I didn’t even realize I was rewriting it is exactly what makes her work so good and so worth reading.

And those notes on the nightstand aren’t worthless; I simply have to find a way to use them to make a poem that is mine, that is original.  The strawberries might go and the intent might change, but starting with a poor and unintentional imitation is better than starting with a blank page.