For the record, I have been writing. Poem after broken poem. Do you remember when all I did was write? When you were forced to stare at my badly typed xeroxed pages of poems and short stories every time you accidently ran into me on the street? How you hid?
I don't know what it is. The journals get carried everywhere, and mostly written in. Am I more critical about the free write and refuse to even try to turn that crap into finished work? Am I too lazy? Have I written everything I'm going to write that has a decent helping of artistic merit? And everything else will just fill small black journal after small black journal. The lexicon is stale, and my form can be pegged from 1,000 paces. I stopped caring about that a long time ago.
Fuck it, I don't care anymore about any of it. There are two prose poems that I'm going to finish even if I hate them and three more experimental ones-- somehow a combination of L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E and Confessional Poetry. I don't know how that is really possible either, but I keep looking at them and I don't know what else they could really be. Sometimes the words get to the finished page the same way they get out of my pen to the draft, as if they were put through a blender.
Have fun when I make you read them!
3 comments:
I remember going to the movies with you and you wrote in your journal before & during the movie. Maybe moderation!
trisha
Seeing as how the confessional school was about getting at the most authentic voice of the self, and L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E prioritizes structure and metapoetics, yeah, that does sound hard to blend!
You might be sitting on the achievement of the century!
I go through periods when I feel everything I've ever written is utter crap. We have to write in a vacuum too often, and it takes its toll.
It's easy to get down on yourself, but that dedication to writing has already paid off, and will continue to do so.
I, for one, am looking forward to seeing these "broken" poems.
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