Quarter of 11 and I'm just now getting my poem for day six posted over on Poetry Asides.
I'm excited that the baseball season is under way, I'm going to catch up on scores from some games today and then head to bed. My Giants play tomorrow opening at home against the Brewers in an afternoon game. Go Giants!
It's not like I'm about to crack or anything, but when you are in a funk and writing bad stuff it's a downer. Through several efforts today I concluded with another piece that I am unhappy with. The problem is they were not getting much better as the day went along.
I could of course claim this all sucks and chuck it. That would be one way of dealing with it. But anytime one's writing turns south, as hard as it is, the best thing one can do is write through it. Walking away from it is usually not a formulary for success. So after day five, I have four that washes and one that could grow into something. I suppose I should not complain- just keep writing.
I've completed my poem for day four - the prompt was to write about an animal. For some reason I was not enamored with this prompt, but I charged ahead. It is not a poem that will appear here, but I did post it on the Poetic Asides blog as required as part of the daily challenge. I'm hopeful the Sunday prompt is more agreeable with me.
This morning I attended an Undergraduate English Symposium that was held at the Diastole in Kansas City. A poet friend Amy Davis was one of the presenters and I attended both to support her work and to learn what I could from the presentation. The Diastole is a magnificent facility both inside and out. It has a tremendous collection of artwork in various media and the tranquility that exudes from this place is beyond belief.
The name itself is quite interesting. Diastole, pronounced (dy-AS-tuh-lee), is a medical term for the interim between heartbeats, when the heart muscle relaxes. Systole is when the heart beats and delivers life's blood downstream. The heart rests following each systole, and fills with the blood of the next pulse. This period, the heart at rest, is Diastole.
Amy's work is consistently fresh and very tight. She is somewhat of a master of reduction to the lowest necessary denominator when it comes to words. I especially enjoyed hearing the changed directions that some of these poems took in rewrites. It was well worth the time, besides being enjoyable.
The prompt was: The Problem with (fill in blank)
The Problem with Poetry
It wants to be.
Just be—
that’s all. To exist
apart from the shivering
cold of rainy spring afternoons
and melancholy silence
that hangs thick as molasses
in the air.
Poetry wants to be held tight
and listened to. To be seen
not just heard.
To lie spread-eagle
on the page; bare,
and hear only the gasp
at its raw form.
Do not argue with poetry.
Not out loud.
Any disagreement should come
as a sweet discourse
within the mind.
Judge not what is said
in those lines before you.
They are for their own part
playing out what latitude
you have allowed them—
and in the end, it is the mind
that is at fault, not the poem.
Just about a half hour ago I completed my day two poem based upon a prompt of outsider. And now that I'm done, I'm thinking about all the "outsiders" that are not getting anything out of national poetry month.
Of course, we poets and poetry enthusiasts may well be in the minority. I suppose who constitutes an outsider here is open to debate, but I really think that it has more to do with groups drawn by a common likeness. There is probably more likeness among those who cling to the love of poetry than those who don't. Among those who don't there may be a wide range in the level of disinterest. For example those with little or no exposure to poetry may comprise a portion of the whole. Then those who were exposed to it and had a strong distaste for it. Then more casually disinterested people and so on.
It seems each year I ask myself what is the big deal that sends some people running from poetry? I am again processing that question in my mind tonight.
I must confess, it rhymed. I believe my penitence will be be 2 Our Fathers and 5 Hail Marys. Oh yeah, and go forth and rhyme no more.
For a bit of a treat, here Stephen Dunn reads Talk to God from his book, What Goes On—Selected and New Poems 1995-2009. Check it out.
