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Thursday, September 18, 2014

Open season

In which we blame everything on the randomness of the words



Seriously. I just pull a word off the frig and let stuff happen, complete nonsense, of course. But here's the funny thing -- the bad poem that is in my head is different from what ends up on the frig; the frig poem is bounded by the magnet words, and I search and reject and shuffle to get something close to what my head is writing. I wanted angrier words, although I liked the 'present quiet' part -- the quiet between words of a poem, the caesura, is actually what I was thinking of. I wanted to contrast that with some words about a noisy day or a noisome day or a cacophonous day, something along those lines, but I had to settle on 'broken work,' which is a little different, but does lean to the idea of the disjointedness of a modern day. Anyway, here's what else I was thinking of: that I had ordered a volume of William Carlos Williams poetry, and thought it would come today, and it didn't, but how nice it would have been to read tonight, to let his 'present quiet' take over the broken day; and then I guess things got a little meta: After drinking deep of  somebody's good poetry (and actually, I've got plenty to read, always Ray, of course, and stacks more, so I'm good, until WCW makes it), meanwhile I depend upon the stupid frig to help me follow 'their dark and liquid vision.' Read it, write it, let the present quiet fall. Then, maybe, you too will find the open.

I sure don't have it, but I love to read others'


I felt tongue tied, I don't even know my lines / Tongue tied, I don't even see the signs

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