I’ll ineptly paraphrase a poet who once said that the urge to write a poem first comes as a notion like the wind rippling along a field of wheat until it breaks over the door and I have to put pen to paper. This is exactly how they come to me, first a notion, image, word then, an overwhelm urge and waking or non-waking hours, I have to write it down until appeased, or the urge wanes. That’s why my poetry is often short. And why I have a thousand unfinished poems lying about.
Here comes the but, and I know I’m going to be kicked in the ass for this, but I’m not a huge fan of reading poetry.
A singular statement I feel uncomfortable with for the obvious reasons. I’m quite sure it’s a cardinal sin and I’m quite sure the poetry gods are considerably perturbed. It really has to inspire me for me to crack open a book of poetry.
Mind you I have I have read a lot, long and short. Even slogged through the entire Divine Comedy, but struggled with (and never finished) The Odyssey, Paradise Lost and a variety of classics whether western or even of eastern origin. They are epics and I’m more likely to read a short poem over a long one really.
But I’ll crack a book of prose long before a book of poetry. I love stories, old, new, and a wide range, Dostoevsky, Hemingway to Dan Brown. If a story grabs me, I’m not gong to put it down.
How irony must be raising its brazen flag over my head. I love to write it, but why the hell is it so hard to read?
© 2012 by DC Lessoway