Window Shopper
On the magic/chaos of free writing.
My first book of poetry, Kestrel and other songs, is available now! You can order it at the button below. Thank you for reading poetry.
Window shopper,
the sound of applause.
10,000 Derridas in a dentist office question
the absence left after a pulled tooth. Unencumbered
and teetotaling Mr. Magpie running down the halfpipe
with a cumber bun on backwards, but
who could tell.
The whole of this hallway is in ruin or worse.
The whole of this
shameful chemistry! Fearful noise. By some stroke of luck
I remember 11 names for sword and, with a flourish,
faked brilliance in the presence of company.
I know. Bear with me. Most mornings when I sit down to write, it’s labored and unapologetically a stack of nothing. Somehow, when I read it back it’s a whole page of almost no verbs and the nouns are all right out of a first grade chapter book (no shade). But then if I keep going through that first slurry of filler and just let the pen keep going, sometimes I can summon some fun stuff. Sometimes it’s even good. At the very least, images play off of each other like a chemical reaction creating something that was not there before… in the poem or maybe even the world. This excerpt above is an unedited section from a free write this morning. I added some line breaks and punctuation because I was just writing it as a block of text, but otherwise it’s the same as it was and I just made the first “line” the title.
I’ve always thought that the thumbprint of a poet lies in the gaps between images. For example, only Mason would jump from 10,000 Derridas in a dentist office to a reversible cumber bun (which, aren’t they all? I’ve never worn one) … but what does that say about me? Do I want to know?
Anyway, this is either a sign that editors are necessary and good or that more people should trust their subconscious more of the time. Personally, I think it’s interesting how music emerges even without composing it, connoting a feeling but not naming it.
Things I’m enjoying:
D and I are actually reading Pale Fire together now, partially because of the reference here.
I’m also reading Álvaro Enrigue’s Sudden Death after really enjoying his book You Dreamed of Empires last year.
Just finished Why Fish Don’t Exist by Lulu Miller which is one of those books about a bafflingly interesting person where every chapter is somehow a notable (or notorious) part of a life.
I recently found out about Perotin, an oldie but a goodie. He was the first composer for Notre Dame in about 1200. Very cool to hear compelling compositions from over 800 years ago. I’m especially fond of his Alleluias.
In that vein, D and I saw The Testament of Ann Lee last week which was so fantastically singular as a movie that I left baffled that it ever got made and grateful to have seen it.
With Gratitude,