A few lines from recent journal entries:
My wife was visiting my daughters in Arizona this past week and I got this test from her and as I read it come across my phone I was nodding my head… “yes, yes!” I acknowledged her message and she said what she sent me she was a quote on a poster at ASU. She said she knew I would appreciate it. She knows me well.
What she sent me was a quote from Alberto Alvaro Rios – poet and professor of English at ASU [pictured here left] and it’s a poignant expressing of the task of writing. What she texted me follows:
“The public job of a writer is to write. But the private and secret job of the writer is to listen. Writing itself is finally clerical but listening is a life’s work. By listening we must include the sweetwork of the eye the skin the tongue the nose. This then is the true language of writers. The language of listening.” ~Alberto Alvaro Rios.
A life’s work… This is so very much related to what my conception of being a poet is about. Listening, observing, seeing things that you might otherwise miss. Seeing things in a variety of perspectives. Searching the natural world, your own soul and the history of the human experience. Putting this all together and recording it. This is to me what being a poet is all about. Listening and letting what you hear inform what you write.
We all have heard the mantra, Read, write, re-write.. I believe listen needs to be a part of that cycle of process.
Why am I writing about this? Good question. I don’t really have an answer. Sometimes I just like to look at something and turn it into something else. Looking at things differently is a great way to enrich one’s creative process. Hopefully my receptors are firing on all cylinders and racing around sparking new ideas, pulling from other data in my mind and creating new data. One can hope.
This morning I’m really messed up. I already am messed up this time of year but the clock change last night simply has jerked me around more. As a result I’m this swirl wind rolling about and not sure where I’ll be when I land or more importantly what time it will be.
Settling to watch the World Series game tonight. Looking for a good game tonight with the series tied 1 game apiece and the series moves to Philadelphia. Pulling for the Phillies!
Today was busy. Brought some work home from the office for the weekend. Did some of it today and saved some for tomorrow.
Send of poetry submissions. Printed out hard copies of some of my work to sift through looking for manuscript material that I already have to assess what I still need to work on. Lots of stuff I intentionally didn’t print out. I messed around on some rewrites as well.
Made the dogs happy – taking them for a walk.
Chatted with one of my daughters for a good half-hour today. She’s away at school and I’m missing her, so it was a real treat.
Made dinner tonight for my wife who spent day at the office.
If the game isn’t too late ending, I’ll probably read a bit before turning in. Not counting on a quick game though.
I think the most un-American thing you can say is, 'You can't say that.' ~ Garrison Keillor
Actually, I think this is a splendid quote.
The cooler weather, the fall leaves, I don’t know it was just calling me. Besides I bought some Honey Crisp Apples yesterday at Target… it just seemed the right thing to do. I got no complaints.
It has been dark here all day. We had thunder earlier that sounded like war planes had hit the field by us. Was very unnerving to the dogs.
I was thinking yesterday and this morning both about what seems to be a difference of late on how distraction affects me when writing. For the longest time I never seemed bothered by conversation in the same room. Television, or any excessive movement around me, I just took in stride and kept on writing. This has however become increasingly annoying to me and I’m not sure why.
It could be that I am trying to be more attentive to what people around me are saying. However this would not explain why the TV was not annoying to me before when I wrote but can be not at times. There definitely seems something has changed; but what? Before this mysterious development, I always prided myself in the fact that I could pull out my journal and pen and write anywhere, anytime. I just know some smartass out there is thinking I’m going through the writers change in life.
Is the weekend coming to an end? Where did it go. I’m not rejuvenated yet. As my wife would say, if I go to sleep morning will come and another day (workday)… sigh!
I did get a new rough draft of a poem together today. Read some Sexton… it (she) was speaking to me.
Submission - yes I forced myself to get one out tonight.
Squeezed in an Open Mic. I didn’t read tonight, just wanted to be a listener. A critical ear.
My daughter texted me yesterday to tell me she saw Where the Wild Things Are. I was so jealous. Loved this book! The movie looks really good.
Do you ever wonder what the worst writing of the best writers looks like? Those poems and scratching that never make it. Aborted poems.
A year ago or so there was a book published with some of Elizabeth Bishops unpublished work. "Edgar Allan Poe & the Juke-Box: Uncollected Poems, Drafts and Fragments," by Elizabeth Bishop a collection of her material which drew a lot of criticism because it is presumed she would not have wanted to see it in print. Anyway, when I’m having a bad day or string of them with writing, I wonder what a string of bad day writing might look like to a W.S. Merwin or Sharon Olds or maybe Mary Oliver.
