I chuckled at Mark Strand's poem Two Horses in the July 3, 2006 edition of The New Yorker. The horses must have sensed I was holding back. / They moved slightly away. Then I thought they might have known me / in another life - the one in which I was a poet. /
Yes, back in the day. Strand's words take me back to six or seven years ago. No, last month, hell maybe it was yesterday. He captures in the next few lines that feeling we all have in the beginning of eagerness. Then the style changes. Trying to find ourselves.
They might have even read my poems back then, / in that shadowy time when our energies new no bounds, / we changes styles almost as often as there were days of the year. //
This poem was a fun read and it did something interesting. It took me back to the beginning and plugged me into where I was with all that excitement. Then the experimentation with forms and subject matter. With looking everywhere, including under the kitchen sink for a voice. My Voice! The funny thing is the more I think about it, I find myself returning to that mode again and again. Reliving the past I guess.