Monday, August 22, 2005

Never effable. But isn't that the point of this?

If wishes were horses, then I would definitely have a whole stable full.

Some where over… one day over the… if I ever have a chapbook published it will be entitled “Lessons”.

This should give me something to sing about. Multiple metaphors, vault the meaning home. Dribble and dank. All of this little bits that are stirring and steeping, how I wish they all were tied together somehow. I am in the center watching them pop and rage, and I am stockpiling them. I have a desktop filled with bits and pieces of what will be something soon one day. I have these fragments that I think are pretty good or will be, potential in all things I insist, and I have been carving them like a crazed aproned housewife at thanksgiving and the carving isn’t resulting in anything other than more pieces.

The more poetry I read, the more the parts fall away. I don’t know what this means. I am having trouble distinguishing. Well maybe not, but so much of what I read now doesn’t suit me or fill me, my ante has been upped and I don’t know what to do with it now.

I have been thinking about expectations recently too. I think this is tied in with the bits. My expectations have changed for what I read, so consequently they have changed about what I write. I referred to this before as the road only getting longer, it is, but when you can’t see the end, or some days even the sides, and you can only see your footsteps in the path, it is frightening. Talk about isolation. I feel like I am grasping, always the poem I see just out of reach. And I have long arms too. The sensation of it is never effable, haha, and always exhausting.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge got it right with:

His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.

He knew this because he had written a poem. I am certain now this poem is about writing poetry. Beware.

Thanks for reading.

Sunday, August 14, 2005

Tête á Tête

I was going to write elsewhere but I am in a mood so I will write for those that want to read what I have to say.

Funny that a public readership is more private than locked posts elsewhere. Anyway, the story is moving slowly. I recently typed up what I had written on vacation. I have included some manipulation of real life events into the story. I think of them as cute additions, moments that develop character and since I was there I hope I am capturing something real rather than just relating imaginary moments. I was not participating in those invented moments, just watching and recording.

Once again I am at the place where I need to reread all of it. I still am happy enough with the plot and characterizations I have done. I think the characters are pretty fleshed out, but I want my actual prose to be better. I want my prose to reveal character even more, I want it full and dense and lively and sonically gorgeous. I want the verbs to be so active they scream and the characters to step off the page. I want you to see where they live, how they feel and get in their mind. I don’t think I have accomplished all of that yet. The other day someone mentioned ambition as to writing. I have heaps of that but whether I am successful in that is the rub. I am not yet. I know that. Never been a problem for me to admit my failings, heh, that is one of my failings.

It has been almost a year that I have worked on this story. October I think I started. Very intermittently I admit, and certainly with losses (hard drive Thanksgiving day disaster) but I am hoping it will add to the texture of the story. I have become one of those people who mine their life for their story. In fact though, I have realized that my life has ended up in the story without any aid from me. I don’t think that can be helped. I am not going to worry about that or else I won’t be able to write a thing. Not a single thing. Revelation you know! And so I am blogging about it. That is amusing to me.

Go and have a great day. Thanks for reading.

Tuesday, August 02, 2005

Finally

Finally, a clear and polite, yet still supportive, rejection letter for two poems I sent out. I prefer these to the unclear, not sure if you really have been turned down type notice I received recently.