Even if I am working full-time, have kids, a dog, a cat, too busy, too tired, etc etc, I'm considering beginning a "found poem" of my days. Crazy, packed writing. Allowing impressions to form words that form thoughts and images. Keeping a tiny notebook, smacking keys at lunch on my netbook, buying a new Nano iPod with a voice recorder to record impressions; however I can do it, doing it. Letting it grow in its own unpruned ways. Snippets. Definitely snippets. Trusting the heartmind. Trusting the instinct to poetry. Snippets of what the intellect is grappling with. What the senses are detecting. The poetries of living. Awkward sometimes. Knowing other times. Ambiguities. Allowing the heartmind its impressions, the way we feelthink. Not superseding the raw data of living with a determination to present a nice face with nice smiling theories (though some days are like that), and certainly with no "lesson" to teach (never, it's make your own), no agenda. Not trying to show it's a good world, or a bad one. Or that there is an answer at all. And then again, some days there is, and it seems to click and work. Allowing.
Perhaps this is the first paragraph.
Perhaps I've already begun.
Letting it stream.
Sheath of feeling. Words groping to touch air.
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A Pulsing Imagination - Ray Clews' Paintings
A video of some of my late brother Ray's paintings and poems I wrote for them. Direct link: https://youtu.be/V8iZyORoU9E ___
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oh, i like. interesting discovery ahead.
ReplyDeleteIt sort of poofed like a souffle, Sky, and collapsed I think. No response but yours and it fizzled.
ReplyDeleteIt's a good idea, though. But would be treading that difficult line between my private life and what seems appropriate to share.
Can be done in images, of course, which clothe and hide as they reveal shape and form, but a lot of work, as you know.
Thanks for dropping by, I always love your comments.