![]() Misapplication of a word might tip this threshold of synthesis out of Intellectual solitude toward other arrangements, arrangers, of poems. Populating the visual field, drawing me out of Texts, research, family documents, photographs from a thumb drive of family Depending on the poem’s subject matter, there will be requisite historical I’ll revisit poems of mine, reacquaint with their Sometimes newer things, books written by poets I know, the phase of Language’s potentials: most often it will be Susan Howe, Lorine Niedecker, C.D. Necessary supplemental books to begin reviewing and reminding myself of Of material neutrality-pouring a cup of coffee, taking up sometimes sevenĬritical minutes of my writing threshold-I go to the desk. The bed is my tether to the material world. My dog, Tilly, sighing nearby or huddled furtively on Times has the need to write a poem arisen while we’ve been under the same roof,Īnd I have managed-but it must be said that I must feel like I am operating in Is important that there might be a few commonalities: first, I must be alone.Įasy enough as my partner lives, for the time being, in England. Poem might have been formless forming for perhaps months. And then I enter a kind of space of meditative agitation. I wait for night, or if not night, thenĮarliest morning. Sometimes in deep sleep, working the feeling, finding the point of convergence, I might begin winnowing obligations away, get extra groceries,Ĭoffee, wine, take my dog on longer walks. I’ll become aware of the next day I have a day of no, or very few, outside So: no typical writing day for me,īut there is yet a process requiring a number of calibrations, and patience. It is a kind of internalization,īut one already derived from interiority. I have intention, spun fromĪn idea or sense of window into language, and I must wait until my feelingĬatches up, matches it, so that the two might begin a conversation or fusionįrom that point of critical context, contact. Or periods of time made regular in my life habits. ![]() I am forgetting myīody and the trails of thought that net it together so that I might focus, orĭo the work of condensation, for the poem. Process of receding from the order of the physical world. The time I have set myself to begin writing, I am hours or days into the ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |