Best. Halloween. Ever. (And some poetry ramble.)
I fucking love poetry.
Wrote “Expiration” just now, which I’d feared would cover again territory recently covered in an untitled poem – all about the shelf life and transience of physical objects (cheap umbrellas for one, skin I think for two) – but it explores images I’ve been fascinated with for a while now but haven’t yet had the chance to use: Verizon workers here in the city may be seen bent to these gun-green metal boxes that contain what look like the complicated CPU brains of Sentinels (i.e. the giant robots from the X-Men universe). I can’t pretend to understand these wires and nodes completely, but as visual grist for the mill, it is hearty material indeed. Also it, the poem, uses a line substantially shorter than the one I typically use. This aspect of the poem works well, worked well in its composition. It reminds me of the momentum I think I was able to work up in the best sections of “The McDonald’s Poem.”
Which needs some work, come to think. I haven’t touched that in a while. Busy working on Food Bed Gospel, in addition to new poetry all the time too. I think it, FBG, is in pretty good shape now. I’ve cut the weakest poems and made plans to overhaul the weaker poems, of which I think there are really only two. Possibly one. Contest readers, here it comes, my MS.
Can I just say how fucking excellent yesterday was? I
o wrote a multi-section poem;
o way overshot my novel’s daily word quota;
o cooked up a steak dinner at around lunchtime for consumption later;
o sent off a job application;
o reworked, with Brian, a store’s worth of monthly and weekly changeouts (a four-man job at least);
o engaged in winning conversation after winning conversation with perfect strangers, getting that thrilled feeling in the chest each time—you know, that feeling of profound and genuine contact with a person with whom you’ve exchanged something honest of yourself and received in turn something honest, and honestly given, of them;
o split a pitcher of McSorley’s w/ Brian at Rudy’s, a dive on 44th and 9th I think, with a truly eclectic cast of characters, esp. on Halloween;
I mean, man, God, would that every day be so productive and full. One of the better days in recent memory. Nothing spectacular happened. But everything that did happen happened as though the base level of enjoyment and good-timery had been substantially raised.
Wrote “Expiration” just now, which I’d feared would cover again territory recently covered in an untitled poem – all about the shelf life and transience of physical objects (cheap umbrellas for one, skin I think for two) – but it explores images I’ve been fascinated with for a while now but haven’t yet had the chance to use: Verizon workers here in the city may be seen bent to these gun-green metal boxes that contain what look like the complicated CPU brains of Sentinels (i.e. the giant robots from the X-Men universe). I can’t pretend to understand these wires and nodes completely, but as visual grist for the mill, it is hearty material indeed. Also it, the poem, uses a line substantially shorter than the one I typically use. This aspect of the poem works well, worked well in its composition. It reminds me of the momentum I think I was able to work up in the best sections of “The McDonald’s Poem.”
Which needs some work, come to think. I haven’t touched that in a while. Busy working on Food Bed Gospel, in addition to new poetry all the time too. I think it, FBG, is in pretty good shape now. I’ve cut the weakest poems and made plans to overhaul the weaker poems, of which I think there are really only two. Possibly one. Contest readers, here it comes, my MS.
Can I just say how fucking excellent yesterday was? I
o wrote a multi-section poem;
o way overshot my novel’s daily word quota;
o cooked up a steak dinner at around lunchtime for consumption later;
o sent off a job application;
o reworked, with Brian, a store’s worth of monthly and weekly changeouts (a four-man job at least);
o engaged in winning conversation after winning conversation with perfect strangers, getting that thrilled feeling in the chest each time—you know, that feeling of profound and genuine contact with a person with whom you’ve exchanged something honest of yourself and received in turn something honest, and honestly given, of them;
o split a pitcher of McSorley’s w/ Brian at Rudy’s, a dive on 44th and 9th I think, with a truly eclectic cast of characters, esp. on Halloween;
I mean, man, God, would that every day be so productive and full. One of the better days in recent memory. Nothing spectacular happened. But everything that did happen happened as though the base level of enjoyment and good-timery had been substantially raised.
posted by Wil at
10:36 AM
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