Why we write, by Junot Diaz: not because we are so awesome but because we have to in order to save our lives

As noted in our last Poetry Corner segment, I’ve been inspired — in part by writing this blog, and by the surprising number of people besides my immediate family who read and respond to it — to get back into writing poetry.

Last spring two actual writer friends spurred me into doing some things I wasn’t sure would ever happen again: write seriously for an audience, and say something about how I and my family have experienced the loss of my brother Aaron. The first effect of the piece that came out in The Awl was to make me realize that this blog was an important channel and prompt for my writing, which has also turned  out to be a way to connect my life to friends and family in unexpected ways.

The second opening that happened after that piece came out was to start writing poetry again, even taking on the subject of Aaron’s death. I did manage to start that around the time of the tenth anniversary of September 11th and it felt like a breakthrough. But it has taken me until now to start another poem on the topic–more attributable to the darn kids and job etc., not writer’s block–to which I sat down this week with some eagerness and a feeling of potential ideas to build upon, much like I had when I was writing all the time, half a life ago.

But a funny thing happened on the way to the confessional: sitting down to write squarely about Aaron, I found myself grounding the poem in lines about the girls instead, a topic that like all the others has been sorely underrepresented this past decade (though I don’t feel too bad, having devoted countless family blog/FB hours to their every boingy curl). And I also find myself, perhaps inspired by admiring Dan Chiasson’s work, being drawn towards a tone that is a bit more flippant and given to wordplay than probably suits the theme. Though surely Aaron would just say, go for it, you big fuddy-duddy. I feel like I have a big backlog of potential themes, styles, and inspirations to deal with, which is a great problem to have.

So for all the actual writers (and readers) out there, some questions:

• When awakening from an extended period of not writing (or not writing in the serious way one once did)–during which time one nonetheless has had an active life of the mind, personality growth, rich life experiences, blah blah–is it normal to find that one’s old and previously productive habits of writing no longer seem adequate?
• I’ve tried diving into Tennyson’s In Memoriam and while it does kick more ass than I realized as a young punk (codifying a new stanzaic form, just to name one quality) I would love a recommendation for contemporary poetry that incorporates memorial while not being given over to it entirely.
• What is the typical review time for the poetry associate editor at a place you might send your stuff to, perhaps via some helping hand?