This morning I started reading Emily Dickinson. Her story intrigues me, but her poetry has invited me into a space I have not been in very often. That space is the world of another poet. Reading some of her work this morning compelled me to find out about this famous poet. One thing I discovered was that much of her published work was edited. She wasn't published until after she died, and her work was left to the scrutiny of others who decided her artwork needed tweeking.
I immediately felt compassion for Miss Dickinson. For years she had accumulated hundreds of precious children, and those children were offspring of her creativity, emotion, experience, passion and love. When she died, some one else figured those children needed to undergo some 'plastic surgery' of sorts. The cases needed modification, the punctuation needed fixing, the poems needed... editing.
I feel violated for Emily Dickinson. As a poet, I am especially endeared to my 'children'. They are the creation from my soul. They are beautiful on their own, without surgery, without makeup...without external editing. As I write, I edit. It is the process of being pregnant. As an author and writer, I often submit to my own changes in my poetic work. It is improving my art. Finding the correct words, appropriate phrases, and maybe even some punctuation.
BUT...
I draw the limit when my poem is complete. I let NO ONE edit my poetry. If I made a spelling mistake, I may allow the suggestion of an edit to correct something like that, but I am the one who makes the final decision.
I understand that after I am dead, I will have no say in anything... even my poetry. So I am not demanding anything... I am asking nicely that what I have written remains as is. Please let my children live without makeup, without surgery... without external editing. Let my children even live with the mistakes I have made. Maybe that is okay too. What parent can erase the mistakes that have made their children who they are. Maybe we are who we are because of the humanity of our parents. Just a thought.
