Sunday, September 26, 2010

Poetry Night is in Order

I was procrastinating in bits and pieces all day today, although there aren’t many goals for this week of vacation, I’m told a trip to the “zoo” may be in order and I wanted to take a look at this pile of poems over flowing from the clip board. They’re just a brainstorm; the first writing of ideas that have come into my head. Maybe the second time around if they were hand written in a journal. I put on some Mozart Violin Concertos and loved the piano so much I changed to Chopin after a few rounds. Not that it’s a big jump to find piano music playing in my apartment.

I anxiously looked at the pile and reassured myself I only had to pick one. I circled what I felt was good imagery and pointed out what was telling and I brought it up on the computer and started randomly changing lines. No aim, no goals, no central theme to base it on. That failed. I actually got tired, I curled up in a little ball on the couch and said, this is the same unsuccessful way I’ve been writing for years, but my brain has changed, especially over the past year.

So I played the piano, started with scales up and down repeating a pattern I start with every time I sit down. It puts me in the zone, and someday my ears will understand it. What are the patterns and repetitions I want to see in my own poetry; what do I see in other people’s work that I can use in my own?

I also went for a run this morning, and as I ran up the same street I try to run every second day, there were a mound of mushrooms. I expected to come back from my run, take a shower, step back into my around the house cloths, march up the block, take 5 pictures of mushrooms get board and come back. (Note to self, probably not a great idea to go outside in September with wet hair when you have a sore throat.) I came back with over a hundred pictures. There were more fungi in people’s front yard than I ever imagined, there are still beautiful flowers, and now the leaves are changing as well.

But there are patters in the colours of the mushrooms, in the lines all over them, the spots on them. There was the constraint of five pictures in the beginning and when I let go and explore there were 100’s.

The poem I have in front of me is constrained by the initial idea that I had written down, it is lacking the patterns that would make it part of nature, and the willingness of the writer to approach it over and over again like she would a simple grade 2 piano piece. Mmm, maybe there’s some inspiration and direction in there somewhere.

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