23 January 2008

Lately, my poems are like an old picture of me at age 12, when I was homesick and hadn't eaten much of anything for about 10 days . . .

I'm wondering about my non-prose writing lately. It's become quite skinny and broken, hunching along, jerky and painful. When I was young and feeling a similar inclination to write, my lines were Whitmanesque; my poems usually tripartite. Oy. Nevertheless, I'm embracing this strange ride for a while. Perhaps what is on my mind deserves to be presented in skinny, broken, hunching, jerky, painful lines.

2 comments:

Geof Huth said...

That beautiful half-crippled sequence of adjectives is your voice, the voice of your poems. I haven't heard it in so long.

Geof

Nora said...

Of course, I didn't know you when you were 12, homesick and anorexic.
I know you now - or I think I do - and not much has changed, has it?