![]() ![]() Intellectual solitude toward other arrangements, arrangers, of poems. Populating the visual field, drawing me out of Texts, research, family documents, photographs from a thumb drive of family Depending on the poem’s subject matter, there will be requisite historical I’ll revisit poems of mine, reacquaint with their Sometimes newer things, books written by poets I know, the phase of Language’s potentials: most often it will be Susan Howe, Lorine Niedecker, C.D. Necessary supplemental books to begin reviewing and reminding myself of Of material neutrality-pouring a cup of coffee, taking up sometimes sevenĬritical minutes of my writing threshold-I go to the desk. The bed is my tether to the material world. My dog, Tilly, sighing nearby or huddled furtively on Times has the need to write a poem arisen while we’ve been under the same roof,Īnd I have managed-but it must be said that I must feel like I am operating in ![]() Is important that there might be a few commonalities: first, I must be alone.Įasy enough as my partner lives, for the time being, in England. Poem might have been formless forming for perhaps months. And then I enter a kind of space of meditative agitation. I wait for night, or if not night, thenĮarliest morning. Sometimes in deep sleep, working the feeling, finding the point of convergence, I might begin winnowing obligations away, get extra groceries,Ĭoffee, wine, take my dog on longer walks. I’ll become aware of the next day I have a day of no, or very few, outside So: no typical writing day for me,īut there is yet a process requiring a number of calibrations, and patience. It is a kind of internalization,īut one already derived from interiority. I have intention, spun fromĪn idea or sense of window into language, and I must wait until my feelingĬatches up, matches it, so that the two might begin a conversation or fusionįrom that point of critical context, contact. Or periods of time made regular in my life habits. I am forgetting myīody and the trails of thought that net it together so that I might focus, orĭo the work of condensation, for the poem. Process of receding from the order of the physical world. The time I have set myself to begin writing, I am hours or days into the ![]()
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