Monday, February 17, 2020

 

When poetry enters in



I'll be honest: I'm not always feeling the poetry. And then, all of a sudden, I feel a poem coming on... it may not be any good, but it kind of grows in my head.

I was driving in rural Mississippi late at night (between 1 and 2 am) last Thursday, and that happened. I turned off the radio and listened to my own voice as it put ideas together. Yes, I was tired and a little woozy from disrupted plane travel, but to be honest that inner voice comes to me most often when there has been a disruption and isolation.

During much of my life, I have watched my dad paint. I really admire that he can control and summon inspiration, instead of having it land on him occasionally like a ladybug. Yes, sometimes he looks at the blank canvas for a long time. He squints and scratches his head. But then something moves, and he begins.

You all do a good job with inspiration. For example, Jill Scoggins gave us this poem last week:

Couple on campus
engaged in PDA. AH!
I recall those days!

Meanwhile, it looks like the Medievalist only had two lines of inspiration in him:

Love stinks like roses,
Chocolate, balm for the soul,
Refrigerator.

Comments:
That is some good poetry advice, Mark.
 
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