Monday, July 21, 2014

I've told you now

In which we justify the means by indulging our inner Elvis

So about this refrigerator magnet poem kit. Buying one may have been a bad idea, given the number of times a day I open the frig -- or pass by it. And there are those words, always ready, waiting for some new arrangement.

And hey, as you longtime readers reader know, I don’t consider myself much of a writer and no poet at all -- that’s been proven! -- but there’s enough writer in me that if I create something, by God, if there’s a chance somebody else might read it, it’s getting published somewhere.

Which is why I’m dangerous on the Internet. I mean, HELLO, HI. Blog. And Instagram -- why not take a picture of this nebulous poem baby and share it on Instagram? Because apparently there are other Instagram-poem-sharers out there. And unfortunately Instagram is too easily connected to Facebook -- AND Twitter. And good morning, my graphically inclined friend, Tumblr. At last I see your utility.

What the poetry kit has me thinking about is poetic form, and how it can fuel creativity rather than kill it. I’m sure someone has written a thesis about that, although I didn’t find much when I googled it. I don’t need to go that large, though. What I think happens when limits are imposed is the original poetic thought undergoes a metamorphosis -- and what a strange, strange word that is to use in a post about refrigerator poetry: I know I’m laughing.

Someday soon I’m going to figure out a way to put my camera in a steady position and take pictures as I work on a frig poem -- it’s really interesting, I think. I could make a little video. Anyway, I’ve made up a scheme where I only use a word or two from a previous day’s poem, so I’m not writing the same bad poem (You. Are. Welcome.) over and over.

I start picking words out of the mess of them on the frig front and fitting them together. Like a free-form puzzle, maybe. I might pick something up that I like, but then (of course) what or need a word that isn’t in the kit; so the line either becomes something else, or dies a magnetic death. In full confession, I have, will, and do cheat -- I had the word ‘poetry’ but wanted the word ‘poem’ so I made it up. And I’ve cut a word or two apart for artistic reasons. Hey, it’s my poem and my kit.

Mostly: It’s just fun. Which is the whole point of a word game that goes on your refrigerator. Excuse me for a sec. I gotta go magnetize me a poem.

Elvis was too obvious, but maybe this is too

Watching everybody else meet theirs, on that cornerOr losing in an argument / Although you're right, can't get your thoughts in order

No comments:

Post a Comment