Amanda Merpaw

I did read poetry in high school, though mostly the canonical work presented to me through the curriculum: I especially remember Shakespeare's sonnets and Coleridge's "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner" in English and Baudelaire in French. I appreciated this introduction, though I wasn't drawn to these poems the way I was drawn to the poetry of song lyrics at the time—that was probably my first engagement with what felt like poetic language. Eventually, I started to read poetry more widely on my own and I was also introduced to a more diverse range of poets during my undergrad. A particular poem I loved at that time is Gwendolyn MacEwen's "Dark Pines Under Water"—it floored me when I first read it at 19 years old. I still love it, and I think I could (maybe, probably) still recite it (most of it) from memory if I had to. 

I started writing poetry in high school. I wrote constantly, so many poems! I posted them to an online poetry forum and exchanged them with a friend of mine, Sabrina Benaim, who has also gone on to be poet. I didn't think of myself as a poet then. Unfortunately, I had internalized the logic that I had to "earn" that term in some way, as though a certain number of publications or certain kinds of recognition were necessary to think of myself as a poet. Or maybe I thought, and went on to believe for a long time, that that term had to be bestowed upon me by someone who knew more than me about poetry—someone more successful. Even now, I still wrestle with this, but at some point along the way, probably far too late in my relationship to writing poems, I did start calling myself a poet. 

I think there are many ways to think about a poet's work, just as there are many kinds of poets and poems.

For me, I think a lot about Audre Lorde and how she conceives of poetry in her essay, "Poetry Is Not a Luxury." Lorde says that poetry is “a vital necessity of our existence,” something that helps us name what we imagine is possible in the world. I also think about James Baldwin who describes writers as "disturber[s] of the peace"—I think that's true of poets, who do indeed ask "questions that you don't know how to face." 

I also think that poets do the work of history, of archiving, of creating a public record and conversation about the experiences of our times, be they emotional, cultural, relational, political, linguistic, environmental, etc. 

I'd choose "On the Last Day" by Jorie Graham. I love this poem, and Graham's work overall, for how it engages in questions of our human relationship to the climate, to what is beyond-the-human, in this time of deep ecological crisis. What are we doing to and for the world? How do we hold our grief and still act towards the future with hope? These are essential considerations with real, high stakes. For me, this makes the poem feel timely and urgent, urging, and I would choose this poem for that reason—to carry Graham's urgency in me and to share it with others.