|February 3, 2015
||[Feb. 3rd, 2015|11:55 pm]
Up mid-morning, and almost immediately began fiddling about with bits of poetry. I'm still working on the sequence that began with "Meeting the Makers," and I think I may actually be able to finish it this year. I took a break for lunch, but in the afternoon I finally finished what will be part four of the poem:
Met in books alone. The hardest teachers
ones that never say a word direct.
Watching the scalpel cut, hearing the preacher
shepherd the tones, the syllables, the breath --
these are secrets of the trade. For every
maker there are those who made them thus.
Is it possible to trace the web
back to some ur-poet, Orpheus,
Apollo, Homer? And that just for the west.
So easy now to read the great and think
they never had their doubts. As for the rest,
well, tacet. Stare at the past and blink,
and all such certainty is gone. I make,
but in their shadows. What they give, I take.
Anyways, after that I wrote a few lines of the second part of the poem, reconsidered them, deleted most of them, and decided that I was done with poetry for the day. I don't want to push the creative process too far, after all.
Later one, after wasting some time online, I decided to be domestic. I boiled up a bunch of eggs for later in the week (need more protein in my diet), and had a bell pepper for a snack (healthy eating). Then I hauled myself upstairs for a well-deserved nap.
And now it's evening, and I'm thinking of going to bed for the night. I have tomorrow off again, and I have even less scheduled than I did for today. Dare I think that I'll be able to write another poem? Or at least read some poetry? I really hope so.