Why workshop?

[abu nuwas]

Yet, if I paint some red in the centre of a canvas, and then listen to various passers-by, and other fellows with berets, and before long I have wiped off the red, and it has been replaced--yes, by me -- with a picture of a Spitfire and Golden Retriever both flying over Brisbane, is it not just a testament to my weakness of mind, that I have been so easily influenced? Is it not true that, the more ideas, perspectives etc, which a person adopts, and the more their own effort changes, the less it is their own? If I write 40 lines, and you and others suggest a new 39 lines, surely that is not mine, but yours --- even though it be the finest poem ever written?

That would indeed be a testament to your weakness of mind, dear sir! I dispute that it's ever the intention of a workshop environment to produce poetry-by-committee, the very idea of which is anathema to me and although I see the distinction quite clearly, I am sure that my explanation will meet -- in the mind of someone who stolidly objects to workshopping -- with pedantry and the insistence that he/she is the one true originator of his/her genius. However, I shall give it a shot.

A committee, one presumes, would reach its result by consensus or some sort of discussion and acceptance process. In Japanese renga societies, arguments could rage for weeks or even years over the use of a single image -- though that is more a collaborative society than a committee. In a workshop, however, the poet remains in the position of supreme dictator. It is expected that in the early days of writing, he/she will be uncertain of his/her abilities, limited by experience and more reliant on advisors; however, as confidence grows and the knowledge base increases (thanks to those advisors, who in a good workshop environment will seek no recognition or power of their own), the decisions the poet makes will be more assured, more defined and individual. It is this autonomy that a workshop hopes to develop in a poet -- although autonomy doesn't mean you've learned everything there is to know about everything, and a smart writer will always listen to the opinions of his/her audience. Not be swayed by them, necessarily, but at least be open. And further, in a workshop it's expected that once you know something, you'll pass it on to the next person who might not know, so that the pool of knowledge is continually expanding.

To learn and then refuse to teach others is selfish and vile.

I have just seen this, and perhaps should let Leanne's silvery tongue to do its job. I am,after all, sufficiently weak-minded that I felt a need afterwards to do a water-colour of Baron Thingummy and his handsome red tri-plance, with a Bleriot passing near, but no Retriever.

Novices/students are (or should be) open to ideas; but so are intellectuals -- you know, the type who live in France or Germany. They believe something firmly, until someone gives them reasons for thinking something different. I know that, because the Fuhrer said so.

Although Leanne holds the door open to the knowledgeable, experienced poet still taking advice, there is a strong suggestion that even he will have reached that awful 'stolid state physics'. I find a certain irony in that.

In truth, I do not think there is any contradiction. It is plainly true that if someone else suggests most of your poem, then it is largely theirs; but it is equally true that good critique is invaluable, and gives insights we might never have had otherwise, regarding technique, and, I have noticed, perfectly reasonable understandings which I simply had not realised -- in other words, if I do not wish for ambiguity, I must alter.