Friday, December 20, 2013

365 Poems: What kind of fool?

Day 354
And being a Keats groupie I can't help but think of his Negative Capability, "that is when man [and I'm sure he meant women, too, right, John?] is capable of being in uncertainties, Mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact & reason." Oh, John! If you could see me with earphones plugged into my smartphone listening to most mashed-up playlist ever, typing on the laptop, with my Kindle nearby for a quick reading (or Facebook) break, what would you think? Frankenstein's monster, I suppose, and I have been irritable, not because I care about 'fact and reason' as I tried to find that one true sentence to hang this stupid poem on, but because of too many 'uncertainties, Mysteries, doubts' of my own capabilities, which seem very negative.

Sometimes it's just one word at a time. This is a bad word, that is a good word, these words don't go together, this word doesn't need to be here, maybe this word needs added here. And poems are so focused, or should be (sorry, Walt Whitman) and every word can be like a fulcrum -- the next word goes this way or that, or maybe it's like a domino game -- every word should lean into the next one, should need the word before it, and the word after -- and you, dear reader, are drawn inevitably toward the end, which should fall into itself and combust, maybe blind you a little with a flash of understanding.

Combustion happens.

Well, we got nothin' to be guilty of, which is better than havin' nothin'.

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