Sunday, February 9, 2014
Muses of Fire
There is nothing in my life quite like writing. It's one aspect of my life that never changes. Regardless of where I am, what language I'm speaking, what job... I write. I write all kinds of things, but always it comes back to the Poem. Sometimes many poems but often it's one Poem, long and persistent and wordy. I can strive towards brevity in other aspects of my life, but the Poem has none of that. It's thousands of words, huge floods of words, ignoring all sense and structure.
The Poem is commencing. I know I'm hurtling towards a madness like my friend Ezra here, but I can't resist the poetry!
I've completed one 200 page epic, and I love it.
I had hoped it would cure the poetry... But it didn't. It ignited more poetry. I'm beginning to suspect cold turkey is the only way to salvage sanity, but I'm too weak to stop the Poem.
And it's worse than that. Because two competing poems are being written even now! I'm definitely careening towards squinty shirtlessness like Mr. Pound. Thankfully Ezra's poor political choices are not my curse... I'm too goofy and sentimental for fascism.
One of the poems is progressing nicely. It's a long poem based on the Gilbert schema of Ulysses. The Irish one. Not the Greek one. I love how it's moving along. Enjoy the first few pages!
Stately it begins,
ending when years do,
at odds with bright energies and fortune.
think on it as journey to discover
old dirt roads carved through temporary
with temporary needs considered.
All this a methodology of civilizing
under bridges, tired vestiges of old ways
for the lost dead.
history of you
framed devicesscreened reality
trains pull against
old world had
horses cattle aquaducts
(what else but)
organized civilization. Order and/Chaos
levels and pulleys machines and muscles
powerful plays go on
Stones push up against nitrogen and oxygen
proscribed Arrow of time ---------------->
to this, a conclusive statement
I am unsure of the surety
confident of sincerity.