What is the quality that makes writing poetry? I think it comes from a complete lack of premeditation. Hovering on the edge of the next word and being surprised/amused/uncertain when the next word appears. But still, it's not that easy. It takes a lot of concentration. Maybe the effort of not premeditating? Of stifling expectation?
In any case, I can remember the feeling of writing poetry: the intense effort, the excitement, knowing physically this is poetry.
But I can't seem to do it anymore. I'm thinking while I'm writing. And it's not poetry, it's just stale.
Did learning law do this to me? I'm not convinced it didn't.
15 hours ago
4 comments:
What I have liked about your poetry is that it shapes the mouth and sews the brain.
Have you tried putting cookie cutters in your mouth and then lying, convincingly, to people about unimportant things?
I think there might be poetry in that.
I find it helps to do something creative that's not writing. Like drawing. Or dancing. Or singing. It doesn't matter if you don't think you're "good" at it or not, you just have to do it. Gets you into the creative brain. Let's the juices flow without the interruption of the critical part of the brain.
chris, that's a lovely description: "shapes the mouth and sews the brain". thanks!
nikki, good advice! i'm getting tired of my critical brain...
Law attempts to make sense of nonsense, poetry attempts to make nonsense of sense. A lawyer-poet flies along the surface of nonsense and sense. This is my explanation of my neutrality: I am superficially functioning as a lawyer and a poet, allied to neither with desire. And along the non surface of sensesense (where I am no longer a poet and not truly a lawyer) I do not grieve the former; I celebrate the latter.
"i am desolate like the desert—have become desolate like the desert—i am the becoming-desert, the eternal flight-away, continually: absence without end"
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