Why We’re All Beginners—and that’s Good!
This article is for: Everyone!
When I first prepared my Beginners Series, I got to thinking about what it actually means to be “a beginner” in poetry, versus being “advanced” or “experienced.”
On the one hand, there is clearly a big difference between starting out and being experienced.
When I began, back in 1989, I knew almost nothing about poetry. Now I know a colossal amount more: I know how to use technical things like meter and rhyme, I know oodles of forms like terza rima and haibun, I understand multiple uses of line breaks and layout, and of course I’m more practiced at handling more subtle and fundamental things like tone and ambiguity—not to mention having more sense of what topics I most care about.
And yet, in a funny way, I’ve realized that I’m also still a beginner—and that this isn’t a bad thing!
So in this article, I want to go over:
Why we’re all still beginners, and why the “beginner’s mind” might be good for you.
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Always a beginner
Let’s start with what I mean by this silly statement that “We’re all always beginners.”
For me, it has two aspects.
In part I mean that in poetry, there’s no end point.
If you’re new to the art, you may imagine that one day you will feel with a glow of certainty, “Now I am a POET!”
Maybe that day is when you first get a poem accepted for a magazine, or when someone compliments your work at a workshop. And then, maybe when you get a book published, there’s another day when you know, “Now I am an EXPERT poet!”
Well, this may happen for you, but in my experience it doesn’t quite work like that.
No matter how far you get in the poetry world—winning contests, getting published, being asked to give readings—you will probably always feel that really, you don’t know a whole lot. The more you know about poetry, the more you realize you don’t know yet—important poets you haven’t read, styles you don’t know how to use, forms or techniques you’ve never gotten to work, and so on.
So this is one reason why I think everyone feels like a beginner sometimes:
Learning the craft goes on forever.
Then there’s the other aspect:
With every new poem, you’re right back to square one.
If you’re starting out, I’m sure you’re very familiar with looking at a poem draft, and thinking, “I don’t know what I’m doing—I have no idea how to make this work.”
And no doubt you fondly look forward to the days when, with a vastly increased poetic knowledge, you never feel that way again.
Well, I have some news for you. I’m afraid that we all feel that way every time we start a poem.
Yes, that’s right—even published poets, even prizewinners, even poets laureate. In fact I first heard this idea from British Poet Laureate Carol Ann Duffy, who said at a reading that at the start of every poem, she felt as though she had never written a poem before.
Why does this happen? Simply put, each poem is unique, and requires unique approaches and steps to be the best it can be. Therefore, in order to make the poem work, you have to learn from scratch what each particular poem needs.
You have to become a beginner, because on this particular poem, that’s what you are.
Even if the poem is superficially similar to the last one you wrote, and the one before, and the one before that, it will still have nuances that are purely its own—a shift of tone, a different kind of imagery, a turn you didn’t expect.
So on every poem, you will still have that initial feeling of “I don’t know what I’m doing,” no matter how many other poems you’ve got under your belt, because every poem gives you challenges and questions that you’ve never met before.
Doesn’t it ever get better?
At this point, it’s possible that you’re groaning in dismay, and thinking, “You mean I always have to feel this doubt and struggle every time? Surely it gets easier?”
Well, good news! There are positives.
First of all, there is a real benefit that comes with more experience:
You can get used to feeling like a beginner, and be more OK with it.
Having been through the process of crafting a poem many times, and having seen yourself come out the other side of doubts and problems with (some) good poems, you begin to feel more confident that you can get through that initial feeling of “I don’t know anything!” and come out the other side with a poem that works.
And the same goes for feeling as though you don’t know enough yet in general: you learn to live with it (and it can even be helpful—more on that in a minute).
So actually, experience does make things easier, though not by making you feel confident all the way through. I wish it did!
That means that:
If you are a beginner, and you feel worried about how little you know when you’re working on a poem, it’s not a sign of weakness or lack of skill: it’s just normal.
Don’t beat yourself up for it! And in fact, you might as well treat it as an opportunity to begin get used to it!
Beginners are best
And I want to finish with some really cheerful news!
I think that we don’t have to settle for getting used to feeling like a beginner. I think we can learn to embrace it, and be glad of it.
Yes, the Poetry Gods will never organize a parade for you and hang out the banners saying, “WELL DONE ON FINALLY KNOWING EVERYTHING THERE IS ABOUT POETRY!”—but that just means that:
You can keep being excited about discovering new poetry skills forever!
If you ever get the sinking feeling that there are still things you don’t know or aren’t good at, try turning it around, and see it as a signal of opportunity, telling where you could go next.
For example, you may be pretty satisfied that you’ve finally gotten good at iambic pentameter and rhymed sonnets, but then you remember that your free verse still sounds weak and unformed. No problem! It’s a chance to start a new journey: read some free verse poets, try out some new approaches, and see what happens.
And on each individual poem, I think that “beginner” feeling is actually vital.
Feeling that you don’t know means that you’ll search harder for exactly the ways to make this poem work. You’ll be more alert to the demands and possibilities of this individual poem, which means you’ve got a great chance of discovering the steps and approaches that will make it take flight.
If you ignore that beginner’s mind and think that you know best, and use by rote tools that you’ve used before, you’re not listening to the poem, and you’re likely to miss some opportunities.
In fact, if you’ve ever tried using a cookie-cutter approach, repeating exactly the same methods from one successful poem to another draft, you’ve probably been surprised and disappointed by how much weaker the second poem turned out.
You thought you knew best—that you were now the expert—instead of accepting your position as, forever and always, the humble beginner!
I would be remiss if I didn’t also add that of course it does also help to learn more skills—they do help you make better crafted and more effective work in the end.
But it’s still true that:
Being a beginner isn’t always easy, but maybe we should be thankful for feeling like one sometimes.
If you're starting out, I hope that helps! And if you've been writing for a while, I hope it reminds you to be glad to go back to the beginning occasionally.
Next Steps
This little exercise is designed to help you turn the '“Beginner’s Mind” into a positive—no matter how experienced you are.
Start a new poem draft.
If you need a prompt, try writing a poem in the form of a letter.
Address it EITHER to your worst fear, OR someone you once saw, but never spoke to.As you write, listen out for times when you are telling yourself Beginner fears, such as:.
—“I don’t know how to do this!”
—”This is too hard for me.”
—”I don’t know how this will work in the end. I don’t think it will.”Write down all those thoughts, and accept what’s true in them right now.
Perhaps you don’t know how to do this—yet!
Perhaps there is an important thing you haven’t learned—yet!Then turn the fears the other way around, by asking,: What does my doubt tell me I have an opportunity to learn here?
For example:
—I might discover one way a letter poem can work—or perhaps, some things to avoid!
—I might learn how to make the voice of a poem sound as natural as a letter
—I might learn how to make metaphors and similes sound as natural as everyday writing.Resume writing, trying to keep in mind what you want to learn here, instead of what you don’t know.
In this way, you can use the Beginner’s Mind worries to guide you toward goals you want, instead of making you fretful and anxious!
