I hope that the guards at the gates to my rational self doze off before I do. It feels like there is potential circling around and even through me. Will it manifest in keystrokes?
Perhaps.
I've spent a lot of time with my poems so far this weekend, and the general sense that I get is that I need some breakthrough. Perhaps exhaustion can be the catalyst.
I think it's evident (even to me) that I am not blessed with innate genius. The poems I've written seem to have no merit by any objective standards (e.g., editors or readers who find them worth reading). Over all the years, I've grown to accept this verdict with varying degrees of aplomb.
Still, I wish to write poems that are good poems.
I have some that I personally like. And that seems worth something.
It seems likely that I will continue to be my only audience . . . and I seem lately to be a more discriminating and cantankerous audience, which is hard on the poet (me).
It appears fatigue has got me chasing my tail now . . . when my artistic show appears destined to feature me as writer, reader, and critic, it's time to draw the curtain.
I'll be back at it again, after some sleep. That's the one certainty when it comes to my poetry.
No comments:
Post a Comment