that i still don't know the answers to the larger (even the smaller) issues that confront me is of little comfort, but i'm relatively at peace with it for now. i'm just trying to unbox my mind so the poetry i see on the outskirts will find its way in.
and then, onto the page.
i'm considering revising something, as much as i revise anything, but i have two words that trouble me and since i cannot ignore them, or explain them away (sometimes these things come with their own explanations and when i get that, i'm fine with it), but these two points seem to me to be in need of addressing.
when i tried to do it, on the fly, at the open i hosted, i didn't feel i did the poem justice. time to spend a bit more time actually focusing on the poem and making it right.
while this week promises to be no less in terms of demands, it will be a decidedly slower pace. it has to be. the blossoms are raining down from the trees right now and i can't miss it. i have to take walks and get out there to experience it.
spring has finally and fully sprung here.
and the sight of giant velvety bees makes me smile.
i'm on the downward slope out of my semester, which pleases me. my last packet was a success, i'm not entirely sure how, but the prof said it was strong, though i did not think so.
he has even suggested my taking the horsemanship angle further, which i consider a particular triumph, because he was not making the connection of why it matters to poetry, to me, to have that element. so this is good news. but there are not enough days in a semester for all i care to explore.
my master's work, i had thought, would be something involving psych, but now, i'm not sure. i'll have to wait and see what happens.
i do get to read bly this packet, and start delving into an asian component. which i'm looking forward too. sadly, form is too narrowly represented by the europeans. so, i asked for a divergence into asian form (mostly, to keep my sanity. how much do i care to read about the traditional stuffy stuff. i want to contemplate, and i think asian poets a fine option. as usual, my prof took this in stride and made some excellent suggestions).
my semester culminates in a weekend poetry intensive, which is a fertile rejuvenating experience even if i don't make any real connections with any particular poet. i get to know a bunch over meal time and hearing them read. it's an incredible group that i've stumbled into, and i'm just grateful to be there.
mostly, i spend the time doing whatever i want. tai chi in the garden before everyone is awake. long walks through the grounds, which are fine. sitting and reading or talking with other poets whom i've met previously (and unfortunately, neglected to keep in touch with). last time, there was this poet who wrote a line about the faces of tribal people, my husband's people in particular, that i remember even now. crisp as the first moment those words cross my ears. and i think that is what gets some of these people, that i welcome them and recite their lines to them after a year or six months of being apart.
it has come, i think, from learning to listen, to hone into the timeless moments of a poetry read. i remember the one we just had and i can tell you, perhaps not all the poets--but just the ones i care about or who impressed me--i can tell you a line that was significant to me. chronical all those lines in my brain, from all the poets i've heard read, all the poets i've met and it's no wonder i'm working on overload here.
perhaps this is why i enjoy my job so much, because it is utterly apart from my life. it has absolutely zero to do with the business of poetry. (i don't like that phrase, but there it is). it's as if, my brain functions in a totally different capacity there, and i come up with shit that blows people away, but lately, i've been so fried, i am zoned out. the lights are on kind of zoning. and the kid i work with most said to me,
you don't notice anything.
because i've been so tired. unable to focus or remember even the simplest thing. but that is because it does not matter to me, to remember the jot and tiddles of the coffee world.
i had my first tasting with a coffee master. it was something to behold. he spoke of coffee, and the subtle hues, the way and places it hits the palate, to astound me. something about the mastery of one's work, the doing what you love, and doing it well. perhaps here i do my job the greatest disservice. that i am there, essentially, not caring. but it's a different kind of functioning for me. and i'm learning a lot. in different ways.
after that intensive weekend, my semester requires of me another, final, packet. wherein all my hairbrained ideas will come together in one glorious conclusion.
i try not to think of this now, because that is not my process. i just let the information sit. attend to what i am reading now and leave the pressure off. time is pressure enough. and this packet, i must do some scansion. begin the actual work of attempting to take a poem apart, hack it into bloody bits, and write critically about the dismembered poem. (i should write it like a horror scene. i'd love that!)
perhaps thats the rejuvenating thrill for me, that i could actually bomb than succeed in pulling off an academic paper that way. but, to cover my bases, i'd submit a plain jane version. i'm no fool.
i must away, spent more time rambling on than i intended to and the day is getting away from me, almost time to punch in for my mid-shift.
peace.
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