The cost of caring about something you know you will most likely fail at is that you will look a little ridiculous in the eyes of the people you love. So you dissemble. You tell people at a dinner party that you’re a teacher, a lawyer ....
Poems that make me uneasy. If a poem doesn’t make me increasingly uneasy as I work on it, I toss it, as the absence of unease and conflicted feelings usually means there is too little at stake in the poem. (Idra Novey)
From Kenneth Baker's most recent column, a painting that "outruns conscious intention":
"Le Voeu Secret" (2011) by Edwidge Fouvry (Dolby Chadwick Gallery)
The French word "vœu" means vow or wish. A death-wish? Pride & Prejudice & Zombies? A face wiped clean of skin? "She seems to want to reawaken a lost or dimmed sense of bodily immediacy that may have belonged to her medium in less image-riddled times."
When does the poem come to you in the midst of your event? At what moment do you let it steal or scrape off the words you were using for your personal moment to suddenly appear in your artistic moment?