Sunday, March 27, 2005

I keep going back

Sometimes, when you have read a poem for the 47th time, it becomes transfigured, and all previous meaning that you saw is lost, and a whole other meaning is raised up and offered. I wonder if it is just me seeing that, my eyes alone, or if it was an interior gift that is born of the words?

Probably a little of both, but it is still amazing. This amazement, the real meaning of the word, not just the shock value aspect, but more the wonder aspect, is what makes me reread poetry.

I also have been thinking about what others see in my poetry. I have had comments about it from friends that is very different from my own interpretation. That is beautiful. I want what I write to be a conduit of sorts, to what they see, from what I offer. I want to know about the connections that my poetry makes for them. I think I am greedy in that. I know what other’s poetry does to me and for me so I can only be grateful if a cord is struck for them from what I write.

I keep going back to what a gift this sharing is. I can’t help that interpretation. I keep going back to it…

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