The Poet’s Process

Allen Ginsberg once said, “Poetry is the one place where people can speak their original human mind. It is the outlet for people to say in public what is known in private.” Jesse Graves speaks his original mind and shares the intimate through his poetry. And while many writers might spend hours trying to find the perfect rhyme, meter, or intellectually satisfying structure, Graves spends his time writing organically from his quotidian life. To some, his lyrical poetry might spark conflicting emotions, particularly for those married to the structures employed by the Bard of Avon. What is conflict, though, if not a call to introspection and learning?

Graves’ work shines with a simplicity fit for a Quaker and he shows his intellect and character in his choice to take moments of potentially endless complexity and share them in a way that even a child could understand and enjoy. He distills the essence of the moments that stir the heart, and that doesn’t require any great convolution. What it does require is the ability to slow down and really see, hear, and internalize the simple moments in our day-to-day lives. Capturing those moments is a simple magic which the unassuming man never claims for himself, yet the arcane fingerprints show through in that special grasp of simple communication.

Graves doesn’t relegate that value of simplicity strictly to his words. He approaches the art of writing with the same appreciation for, and preservation of, the simple or even classical. He carries a fountain pen and small notebook, bringing together both the Appalachian pride in the rudimental and the meditative ritual of a monk. This is his process. Pen, paper, typewriter, and then sharing with the world. “Write wherever you are,” says the bright-eyed poet, in a statement exemplary of his philosophy of real-life poetry. His passion shines through that mantra with more power than volume, which subtly encourages the audience to listen all the more fervently.

Graves’ authority as a writer flows through from his Appalachian roots, among other things. Those shine through in his conflicted views toward the TVA, his deliberate reverence for the forebears and predecessors, and even the imagery that he uses to express himself. Beyond the philosophy, those values shine through in the imagery present in his writing. The verbal imagery is so powerful that the little boy running barefoot in the hills of eastern Tennessee is virtually impossible to miss. How does he choose the themes for his writing, though? As with anyone, he has mentors, friends, and the silver tongue of a writer, but what actually drives the man to write? What inspires him? Getting back to that process of his, he explains that he writes what is important to him at any given moment, setting aside his trepidatious streak for the sake of the genuine emotions from within. He admits that the same very intimate emotional content that he once avoided is exactly what makes for good writing, and to avoid it would be to abandon the very core of why we write: to touch other minds, hearts, and if we’re fortunate, other souls. Around the same time as he learned that lesson, he admits that he feared repeating the same material in his writing. When he asked his mentor, however, the man replied, “I dare you to write the same poem twice. Every time you write, it will be different.”

So what is it about Graves’ writing that stirs the emotions so? He isn’t just sharing images of beauty, as lovely as that would be. His writing shares those echoes of nostalgia, simple childhood happiness, young adult frustrations, remembrance of ancestors and the land they knew, acknowledging the losses over time, and some snippets of philosophies. Somehow, he manages to weave all of those into one poem, “Tennessee Landscape With Blighted Pine,” in a way that wills an inner peace to fall over all of the conflicting emotions he’s stirred. Whereas a lot of his poetry sparks laughter at the foolish moments of a young man coming of age and lucky enough to survive to more wisdom, this one just feels like it needs to be read several times, and it’s never quite enough. Where did we come from? What brought our ancestors here? Why am I here? Do we leave our mark in the eons of eternity? Those questions echo unspoken through this poem, and yet there is a satisfaction in the almost nihilistic yet respectful approach of Graves’ (or Graff’s, if you read his book) writing (Graves, 9).

In Graves’ writing, the thing that strikes me the most after having read portions of his first book, is that he really is laying his soul bare to those of us willing to listen. What boldness possessed the young man to share so much intimate detail with the world? “His Confession” (Graves, 30) seems to be chock full of the types of things one might not want the world to know, yet there it is in ink, black and white for the world to see. That seems to hint at the whole point of his writing, and the motivation of many writers. The young man wanted to be seen, heard, and remembered. Like so many others before him and those still likely to come, he wanted to have a voice. But while many stumble through their attempts to find or establish their own voice, Graves appears to have established a coherent and masterful voice on his first go ‘round, even if it isn’t the same voice he now writes with. To be fair, though, these poems appear to span many years, from young college student on to young father, and the changes are too beautiful not to take notice of. Tears may have traced their individual tracks down my cheeks as I read “Water Washing Away” (Graves, 57), or maybe those were just some onions. I’ll never tell.

Another element to Graves’ process that contributes to the phenomenal success of his writing is that he wrote for an audience that was just waiting for his writing. While poets such as Frost, Whitman, Poe, Neruda, and others have written for broad audiences, most did not do so with insight into the lives of the Appalachian people. The closest poet, to my knowledge, is Sara Teasdale, though her tone is an older one than Graves’. At any rate, Graves’ writing takes locations, experiences, and culture from a region oft overlooked in poetry, and turns it into some of the most beautiful and accessible poetry I’ve read in some time. This isn’t a mere stroke of luck, despite how perfectly and easily it flows. The very fact that he’s writing authentically from a set of experiences that others can identify with is the reason that he’s found such a willing audience. Isn’t that one of the core magics of writing? To put to word what another might feel, such that they might feel another echo of the emotions and sensations when they read your words is a magic of immense power.

Jesse Graves weaves common experiences into a magic that appears to flow naturally through him. From his preternatural grasp of and manipulation of time and memory, to his connection to the day-to-day life of common folk, to the uncanny way in which he is able to master simplicity amidst the chaos of life, it all screams of a magician’s touch. Even the way his rituals for writing emanate a strangely classical yet mystical quality can best be described as the magical. The man wields that magic in another powerful and altruistic way: He sets the minds of his audience to the journey to that place in their minds where the imagination, memories, and the heart, all coalesce into an experience that can change the very world we live in for the better.

It appears as though I’ve pointed in about five different directions and stated that each is the point of writing, but that’s because they’re all true. Writing is life. Writing is the voice we crave. Writing gives voice to those who don’t have one. Writing gives young minds someone to look to and shapes their imaginations and language. Language shapes how we think and perceive the world around us (Caldwell-Harris, 2012). Knowing that writing affects our logic, our perspective, the way in which we interact with the world around us, and how we think in the privacy within, it becomes all the more astounding the way that Graves quietly shares all of his treasures with the world at large. The same might be said for many writers, but his magic has left its mark on my mind and in reading his writing, the similarities between his voice and the voice I used for a poem I wrote about him were surprising.

So what can we learn from Professor Graves about the process of writing? Well, for starters, slow down and notice the world around you every day. Next, start putting words to paper, and don’t stop. Focus more on getting it out rather than getting it all right. Don’t worry about having your laptop, your typewriter, or your favorite fountain pen: Just write! And once you’ve written, realize that your writing is alive and has a life of its own. Once you breathe life into an idea by putting it to words, that life can never truly be separated from it, and thus you can alter it to reflect the truth you see in it as you reread it later, or change your mind on what it meant to begin with. Graves continues to edit even his published work because every single one of his writings is as much alive as any other idea to spring forth into the ether of existence. To ignore a living creation once it’s made would be a cruel and careless stewardship. And when you feel like you’ve run out of words to write, realize that you might just be getting to where the truly valuable writing begins to flow. Keep writing!

Back to Professor Graves, though, as he has a couple more lessons for us. On September 15, 2022, he spoke for In Process at MTSU and the experience was deeply inspiring. Much the way that the soft-spoken sage of the smokey mountains might tell a young one to slow down, take a breath, and heed the world around them, he tells us that “Poetry rewards us for slowing down.” This single phrase feels like such a lovely summation of his philosophy, his roots, and yes, his very personality. Every time the man shares a bit of his writing, he wields a sort of simple magic, slowing down time that we might share an instant from his memories or his heart; the heart of the Appalachian Poet. It’s an uncommon honor to be allowed into that intimate space without first earning a degree of trust. Thank you, Maestro.

While it does not do the Poet sufficient justice, I wrote a poem following his visit, hoping that my own professor might accept it in lieu of the essay I was supposed to be writing, and she did. Here is my tribute:

The Appalachian Poet

Where oft a doctor might wax eloquent in celebrations of his own acumen,

The Appalachian Poet shares, in quiet words, glimpses of real life as seen through the eyes of a human,

With a reverence for the forerunners, the hills, the very nature flowing through his veins,

He wields uncommon magic in the most human of ways, that one could almost miss the mystic grains,

But the magic is there, in the slowing of time, that we might witness a moment in all its humanity,

The spells he weaves are of deliberate simplicity, that any passerby might partake in this ancient magic most candidly,

With a simplicity that might turn a Quaker green with ever righteous envy,

He smooths out tangled moments for the mind, his touch like nepenthe,

He does not write of galaxies far away nor taunt us with his skill in pedagogy,

He shares such supremely human moments that they grow to the extraordinary,

A young boy running barefoot in the hills of eastern Tennessee with the wind-swept hair,

Relishing in the pleasures no urban sprawl could match, no matter how fair,

One week setting foot in the “Scruffy City” for a taste of the urban wild,

The next few lost to the world of technology, but safe in the Poet’s magic styled,

The Poet does not speak as to an audience nor in lecturing tones,

He speaks as to a friend, describing one more of life’s touchstones,

A fountain pen, a blank booklet, and a moment in time, might seem mundane,

Yet simple rituals turn these from ordinary to something more arcane,

“Write wherever you are,” whispers the Poet, with such quiet passion one might almost miss it,

“Write with whatever you have,” shares he again, adding a typewriter to his toolkit,

The secret of his magic, is as simple as it is sound,

The spell he now intones, “Poetry rewards you for slowing down.”