Wednesday, May 03, 2006

While I still remember

Annotations of my April poems. What I still remember, while it is fresh and warm.

April 1: Price of a Muse. Shakespeare’s folio was up for action. I was concerned that it would just go to high bidder rather than someone who would respect it for what it was, for what it is, and all it means to the world. What they have come to mean to me. I tried to use the words he chose in this, to describe what was happening to the folio. Winds of heaven is his, I can’t remember which play. The folio is so frail, like the tentative muse. The one he constructed in his sonnets beguiles me, so part of the reference is to that. So much is unknown about Shakespeare and this folio was a peek. Not even a firm grasp of a peek. Like a poem. So much is unknown. The use of Will has always cracked me up. I contend that if you taught teenagers about Shakespeare via the use of his “Will”, every entendre implied, they would love Shakespeare all the more.

April 2: Place. I was dusting my shelves a week or so, more or less, I don’t remember now exactly, before Napowrimo, contemplating Napowrimo. As I was adjusting the books, edging them as it is called in the trade, I noticed that Lolita had fallen up against Little Birds. Little Birds I bought in college, all of the women I knew bought Anais Nin. LOL. There were many little girl issues in the 1930-50’s for writers it seems. Not sure why that would be, the war maybe, power issues, I haven’t the faintest, an a resurgence of interest in Nin the 80’s. Anyway, I was surprised by their similarity and proximity in tone. One edged gently against the other. They seemed to be friending one another. Then I saw Proust between Plath and Rushdie. Then I started wondering about how they would have thought about each other. Their style, their content. Rand fallen on Roth. She wouldn’t have like that at all. I laughed. James Joyce has the largest stack. Ya think? LOL So they were in front on the top shelf with the A’s. Next to those are the how to write books. I have several, as I hold no assumptions about any of this. I will take any and all advice. Some of these books have been useful, some less so. Then when I dusted my way down that shelf, all in order alphabetically by author (Virgo and former librarian here) I saw Evanovich pressed up to Fforde. Now I was on a roll and ran to get a piece of paper to scrawl these findings. I sat on the carpet next to my Swiffer and wrote it, almost completely as is. I had to play with the sentences some, because I wrote them very hodgepodgy.

April 3: Pissed. Yes, this story is true. Exactly as happened. This cute dog I have watched grow from a puppy. Every morning the owner would be outside watching her dog do its morning business. Winter, rain, snow, and ickiest weather she would be out there watching her dog. Not how I would want to start my day. Getting the coffee made is tough enough. There are no fences dividing the yards so until the dog learned the boundary lines, she would be out there. I was standing at my kitchen sink rinsing my coffee pot, about to fill it with water, and I watched, once again, this dog piss the day into being. Just as he did this, the sun broke between the houses and shone. Sometimes the day just hands you the image to use. Reading through this entry I completely forgot I lost the first version of this poem. Wow.

April 4: Hustle. I had no idea what to write that day. None. I sat at my computer for quite a while, trying to think of something. So I just started writing images. That is why the form of the poem is the way it is, with ellipsis points. I wanted to show no beginning or end. Yes I know I was cheating, but since they were dancing, it worked I thought. The music has no beginning or end. Disco did though, thank goodness. Ugly clothes, but I do remember the ones I referenced. Just remember the sails reference came from a Kooser poem I read. When he was in the hospital (I think, I has been a month) he described his nurses' caps as sails.

hair / layered like a cake left out / in the rain

I nearly caused my car to run off the road with this realization. I was trying to think of an image for the layered hair of the time. Then MacArthur Park came on the radio while I was driving. Sometimes ah ha moments can be dangerous. Luckily no writers were hurt in the writing of this poem. I will stop here for now. I am certain I will think of more to add. My memory works like that.

Thanks for reading, and I miss April too.

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