Words and Words

I am in a poetry mood. No, mood isn't the right word, I'm in a poetry stage. This has probably been encouraged greatly by my enrollment in an actual poetry writing class, but right now I am reading and writing more poetry than anything else. This is not entirely unheard of; I've always been a fan of verse and have even tried my hand at it several times (some of those products are posted earlier in this blog, but I can only view those now with a sad little shake of my head, if at all). But then my interest would drift in another direction, and I would plunge back into fiction (or more recently, nonfiction). Most avid readers/writers I know go through this type of genre cycle. But for me, each time the pendulum swings, it goes higher. I go further into the art. (This, by the way, is terribly exciting--it goes quite a ways towards assuaging my doubts about my motives/attitude towards writing in general.)

And so I have immersed myself in poetry. This, I've learned, often involves a lot of nonsensical grumbling to myself and to other people (usually authors) who aren't really there, and occasionally throwing things. Also, I'm constantly turning up in my purse/backpack/pockets bizarre little image descriptions written on the back of grocery receipts, crumpled flyers, my Italian homework, etc. (Often I don't remember writing these but am delighted by them; it's like finding a $20 bill in the pocket of your washed jeans.) It's a marvelous and frustrating thing I've gotten myself into, and quite messy work if you want to do it right. It intensifies the focus almost painfully on the basic unit of words. Words, these crazy little conflations of sound and symbol and meaning that I've fallen hopelessly in love with, become simultaneously mushy and electrified. And in the end, they are inevitably imperfect. Destined to fail. But hell, that's half the fun. If there were a perfect way to transmit inspiration, I'd probably have a psychotic break trying to deal with it. So I figure I will show my love for words (and their relationship with each other and with us) in the best way I know how--by respecting them and using them to their fullest advantage, furthering their "ends", as Kant would have it. Because for me, words are not just a means from point A to point B, they are things to be worked with and reveled in for themselves. Which might seem a bit odd, considering they're an arbitrary construct, albeit a monstrously important one.

But I'll cease my sentimental gush. Soon I will start posting work I've done this semester. Hopefully it will be revised, but as I'd like to start posting (much) more regularly, I'll probably throw some of the rawer stuff too. But now I must switch gears and work on Serious Critical Analysis, which of course has its merits, but often depresses me a bit.

On a lighter, unnecessary note: Sleeping kitties are the cutest thing in the world. Period.