Thursday, February 22, 2007

you are multitudes

untitled

ah the tedious / shaved it off
a two and a half and a brazilian beneath

the year / the precipice
empty rooms

the echo edge liberating

"don't cage the winged"

loss under skin stills
blood rivers hope / an oily slick

more or less your heart

...

days gathered break the month
it rains everything lush
(wish it rained me that) wait by the gate
rosemary / jasmine (outside) wait
listening for the latch

...

ask me again if beauty is truth
no disciples left to watch and i always forget
that fondness for turning cheeks
a passing tolerance for the whip

...

what flash works memory?

seven times the first time

...

letters on billboards say it

no need to add tears / touch
the way the blind read lips

Monday, February 12, 2007

you are multitudes

stay in the light

(with a fondness for heights)
look out from the window seat at a thousand feet
sandbars are clearly visible under the aqua coast
as clear above as beneath "how beautiful is that"
you lean closer to me, to look for yourself

Thursday, February 08, 2007

you are multitudes

stay in the light

you map planets, count satellites overhead
you take photos of craters on the moon
in half light shots, black space up there
a space so large, you said everything
should last
you said it was infinite
and space was inside us
everything should last, everything is part
we hurtle along
you take photos as we pass
and I keep the minutes

...

you hear the after ring in stars
you are present, see the crystalline
you can see their brightness
(music outlasts the image)
each night, when the weather is clear
you gaze up
at the clattering stars

Tuesday, February 06, 2007

wildflowers

I was reading the week-end papers and found a comment attributed to Mike Ladd (from ABC Radio National's fab poetica programme) where he says 'poets are born'. I'm guessing he means that a poet can be taught the craft,(endless creative writing courses) but won't really be a poet unless...born to be one, to be a poet in every fiber of their being. I'm thinking about this now, since reading a comment on the Silliman blog which is sorta related. The original post was linked to an article about how a 'real writer has to write all the time', and the comment was teasing out that statement. In fact, several comments were teasing out that fact or not.

I'd like to agree with Mike Ladd, I'd like to be a poet who was born to do it, better that for me than, say, me being born to be an accountant, a glass blower, or boat builder and not because these would not be honorable professions, but because I have no interest in them and I would not enjoy doing that as much as I enjoy writing. I guess being born with talent for, or interest in a particular thing, (in my case poetry) is as far as I'm willing to push the envelope on this. For me, all the elements of creative language have been a craving, an itch (I do get cravings for sweets but have learned to curb them) and can curb the craving for poetry, but not the itch. I have an intense feeling for theatre and the visual arts also. When I hear or see something wonderful, I am intoxicated. It is the same for me with poetry. Writing it and reading it. I've been lucky in the jobs I've had, many in the creative arts field, but just as many in the dreary real world of everything not creative.

And on the notion that a writer is compelled to write and does so all the time, well, no actually.
Can't quite go there. Life is large enough to get in the way of writing, if the paid job or the home job is not a 'creative field' , if time permits writing happens, but if it can't be followed on with and can't be got at on a regular basis because the creative person has to earn some bucks, then does that mean that they are not really a writer, not really a poet?

I think the writing waits for me, many times since my pre-teens I have not written or published, but I have collected fragments of writing, I have remembered things, I have read things, and some of the experiences connected with my dull and ordinary life have been extraordinary enough to stick. My intellectual capacity has not been diminished by not writing and publishing my work all the time. My thoughts are still a process I can tap into at any time I want. Time being the thing here. Now I have ideas and too little time, but sometimes I have a lot of time and the ideas can be used. I also have a capacity to observe, observation being an essential tool for any writer, and I do have my imagination, another creative tool. So, I guess, that I can expect to be writing poetry until I cease breathing, even if I'm not a 'born poet' who is writing every day because I need to, as though writing poetry were some form of delusion or illness or some quaint body function that everyone has to do, but would rather not discuss.

Now I'm getting the itch back, I'll find a quiet spot and give it a real good scratch, as long as I don't go getting any fancy notions about being some kind of seer or visionary...and how good is it? My writing that is. And how good is your writing? How do poets know? Does an award matter? Do several awards matter? Does the number of books sold make it good? The number of pleasant mentions on a web page, the number of fans, the number of pals in networking positions, the number of ( )?
Anyone know or want to guess?

Thursday, February 01, 2007

untitled

this is the sun
the man talking to the woman
she said yes the sun
and the child between looked out
when he slept the moon came
the woman and the man
slept in the glow
the child between worried
that he might sleep too long
it was warm in the bed
he worried he might be late
to open his eyes
if the day should stop
the woman and the man would sleep
for a thousand years
only the child could be the sun
when he opened his eyes