The tortured poet
The trope of the “tortured poet” is intriguing—it conveys the idea that meaningful art requires or is enhanced by anguish, torment, or emotional turmoil; and these same characteristics that produce great art ultimately destroy the artist. While it’s easy to attribute works of genius to madness, angst, or vice, this couldn’t be further from their true origins.
But why do we tend to romanticize tortured artists like Sylvia Plath, Ernest Hemingway, Edgar Allen Poe, or Vincent Van Gogh? One reason is that pain and meaning are linked.
The link between pain and meaning
Viktor Frankl (1905 – 1997) was an Austrian neurologist and psychiatrist who survived years of immense suffering in Nazi concentration camps. During that time, he perfected his theory on human motivation and concluded that our primary motivating force in life is to find meaning, which comes from three sources:
1. Purposeful work
2. Experiencing a higher value (like love, beauty, or truth)
3. Our response to suffering
Frankl posits that we can find these sources of meaning in any situation, but when purposeful work and experiencing a higher value aren’t available to us, we can find meaning in our attitude towards suffering.
Frankl says, “The way in which a man accepts his fate and all the suffering it entails, the way in which he takes up his cross, gives him ample opportunity—even under the most difficult circumstances—to add a deeper meaning to his life.”
Meaning isn’t found in the experience of pain, but in how we respond to pain.
Similarly, with the tortured poet, the greatness of an artist’s work doesn’t lie in the painful experience they endured, but it lies in their transformation of pain—or any feeling, idea, or experience—into something insightful.
Everyone experiences hardships, but few possess the dedication and skill to create something of value from them. Focusing on an artist’s suffering detracts from the true source of their masterpiece: their dedication to their craft.
Principle #1: Meaning isn’t found in pain, but in our response to pain; good art comes from transforming a variety of experiences, including pain.
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The ultimate tortured poet: Sylvia Plath
Sylvia Plath (1932 – 1963) was an American author and poet who was forever altered after her father died when she was nine years old. She suffered from depression, anxiety, and insomnia until she committed suicide at age 30.
But Plath’s suffering isn’t what made her writing brilliant. Her writing was brilliant because of her unwavering study, discipline, and daily practice. Her husband and fellow poet, Ted Hughes, describes how Plath turned everything she worked on into something usable:
“To my knowledge, she never scrapped any of her poetic efforts. With one or two exceptions, she brought every piece she worked on to some final form acceptable to her, rejecting at most the odd verse, or a false head or a false tail.”
Hughes also describes Plath’s approach to writing as a result of tireless effort and persistence:
“Her attitude to her verse was artisan-like: if she couldn’t get a table out of the material, she was quite happy to get a chair, or even a toy. The end product for her was not so much a successful poem, as something that had temporarily exhausted her ingenuity.”
Just look at the level of detail and effort she expended on her journal entries, which she wrote in from age 11 until her death and which at times read more like scenes in a novel than a diary entry:
“Auden tossing his big head back with a twist of wide ugly grinning lips, his sandy hair, his coarse tweedy brown jacket, his burlap-textured voice and the mackling brilliant utterances—the naughty mischievous boy genius, and the inconsistent white hairless skin of his legs, and the short puffy subbed fingers—and the carpet slippers.”
The “tortured” aspect of the tortured poet shouldn’t refer to the poet’s tragedies and painful life experiences but the torture of meticulously adhering to the demands of their craft.
Principle #2: Great work comes from unwavering study, practice, and persistence.
The art of discipline
We also idealize the tortured poet because it’s easier to attribute their success to situations outside of their control (like madness) than to 10,000+ hours of work—because then success seems unattainable so we don’t have to bother working hard to get it.
Success requires an intention, setting goals, practice, and follow through. Plath wrote every day without fail and often for four to six hours each day. In a letter to her mother, she describes her and her husband’s daily writing schedule:
“Ted and I write, he at the big oak table, me at the typewriter table by the window in the dining room (our writing room) from about 8:30 till 12. Then I make lunch and we go to the beach for two hours for a siesta and swim when the crowds are all gone home and have it completely to ourselves. Then two more hours of writing from 4 to 6, when I make supper. From 8 to 10 we study languages.”
Plath’s routine also shows the value of simplicity. Her routine didn’t have any bells or whistles, but was simply four to six hours of writing each day, and can be distilled into three core steps:
1. Decide what you want to accomplish
2. Figure out how you’re going to accomplish it
3. Do what you say you will
The third step of following through is the most important because each time you tell yourself you’re going to do something (like write for four hours each day) and you don’t, your commands to yourself start losing power and become ineffective.
Plath’s routine also shows that it’s also easier to accomplish your goals when you surround yourself with like-minded individuals.
Principle #3: Success requires a schedule and discipline, which is weakened each time you don’t follow through and strengthened in the presence of like-minded individuals.
Who are your favorite “tortured” poets or artists and which of their works do you like? Let me know your thoughts in the comments below!
