interviewed by Dara Syrkin

His colleagues call him a free spirit. Generous and caring. A mature, solid, well-rounded person. Someone who puts everything he’s got into what he’s doing. And certainly no one can accuse James Bettendorf of retiring in his retirement. A math teacher to kids and an educator of educators, Jim is educating himself about poems and their impact.

Jim taught mathematics and worked in education for more than 30 years. “Math and poetry are similar,” he says. “Math is an art, a creative thing. And being able to approach math in different ways in the teaching process, to reach all kids, feeds that creativity. Teachers have to be like swallows.”

Teachers also have to bend with change. “Kids themselves haven’t changed that much,” says Jim, “but they’re exposed to so much. Today’s children have a much bigger frame of reference than children in decades past.

“And society has changed. When I first started teaching, teachers were respected, held up in society. Now we more often run into the us/them, teachers-versus-parents scenario. Kids are generally hardworking, good kids. The bottom line is that whatever they’re learning doesn’t matter till it matters. And teachers are responsible for making it matter. But that’s hard to do for the kids who are hungry or worried about where they’re sleeping that night.”

Jim’s writing reflects his teaching. “How do I make it matter? I have to know my audience. I write to describe events, scenes, or try to get someone to think about injustice that I see. Mostly I touch on the universal experiences everyone can identify.

“I was on campus at St. John’s chanting ‘Hell no, we won’t go’ and attending ROTC courses. I had to be part of ROTC to receive a federal student loan. My opinion about war might be different if I’d been a teenager during World War II. But I was in my twenties at the height of Vietnam and lost several friends to the war. I’ve had a hard time reconciling war ever since.

“Writing poetry is a way to express my feelings about what is happening politically. Sometimes I rant in protest of war and other injustices. I join a lot of artists I know—writers, painters, sculptors, et cetera—who have the feeling that there is injustice in the world and that they have to speak to that and be a voice for people who have no voice or are unable to find it.”

Jim’s work carries many themes. “When my mom died a few years ago, every poem ended up being about her death. When I wrote about my dad’s death, it turned into a poem about childhood. I love writing poems about nature and tying natural images to the human universal. When I’m particularly angry about injustice, I write through it.

“Writing through,” Jim says, “often yields some nice stuff. Sometimes the first draft of a poem can be considered the same as freewriting, like clearing your throat. I put on some good music and just write. Whatever comes out is there for a reason.”

The rewriting and editing process is critical to incorporating the nice stuff. “I’ve learned that my intentions have to be fluid. What I thought was a completed poem took on a different direction entirely as I edited it. I think we have to trust our intuition.

“And we shouldn’t piss off the Muse. The gods are mad enough at humans for attempting to make art. Some cultures intentionally insert a mistake in their artwork as an acknowledgment that humans are fallible. I should be so lucky to have to insert one intentionally.”

Jim started writing in high school in the late 1950s, early ’60s. He cites Jack Kerouac as an influence. Jim was not encouraged by his parents to write. He was, however, encouraged to teach. His love of literature and poetry never waned, but “a teaching career doesn’t leave you with energy to be creative.”

Decades later, after a divorce, Jim joined a writing group. “Writing was therapy at that point, but then expanded so I could write simply for the love of writing. I was on ‘simmer’ until about five years ago, when I took my first class at the Loft. I wanted to write my mother’s memoir but gravitated to poetry. I asked myself, ‘What do I need to write poetry?’ ”

The answer came with a little help from a friend. Jim’s partner, Pat, served Jim dinner accompanied by a brochure about the Loft’s Master Track program.

Now Jim’s work has been published and he’s nearing completion of a poetry manuscript. “I’m in a writers group with Master Track colleagues, including Jude Nutter, and another group, too. We’re all struggling with the same things. And we all trust and respect each other. I remember the first time I did a student reading. The butterflies . . . But I knew I fit in here.”

Trust is a large element of assembling his manuscript. “Working with Thomas R. Smith, sitting down and physically putting together the manuscript, realizing I have enough poems of quality to do that, has been very rewarding,” says Jim. “It has also been very challenging. It takes a lot of time and energy. You have to trust your own instincts and the few people with whom you share your work. And embrace the vulnerability that comes with that.

“The rewards of writing far outweigh the price,” says Jim. “I’ve learned some great lessons along the way. Develop a thick skin. Be gentle with yourself. (We can be so hard on ourselves.) Be open to everything; as William Stafford says, honor even the ideas you don’t value. The journey counts; the path is the most important part. Have goals and move toward them; don’t wait for something to happen. Keep going. It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. When you’re in a pile of crap, it’s not forever. The light at the end of the tunnel is not (usually) an oncoming freight train.

“And I know I have a lot of reading to do. If I have one regret, it’s that until now I haven’t had time to read all the wonderful poets out there. But my belief is that I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be today. Rilke says you have to ask yourself if you would die if you couldn’t write. Surely, something is missing if I’m not writing. Maybe not in the sense that I have to eat, but close.”