new old kid on the blog,
with an occasional
old or new poem written off
the old writer's block
To me Stevie Smith's notion is a good one and yours, Vassilis, suggests we work away at it till we're dead. Perhaps.
If you hear a night bird whistling in the dark along the way, Vassilis, then that might make two of us, out on this anxious midnight walk among the crack'd headstones.And that small hard bit of light poet-laughter breaking into the hush from behind that old gnarled, twisted tree -- Stevie's.
That night bird song Tom mentions, Vassilis—"so thin a splinter of singing"—is what we're all trying to work out with the tweezers of our art. Not as funny as it sounds....
This was strangely energizing, today especially. What an idea: getting yanked out of life still scribbling away, no whimper, no whine, just still being who you are. (That “walking past gravestones, whistling in the dark” thing reminded me of Aditya’s comment on TC’s blog yesterday: "Sometimes one simply does not care for the whys".) Thanks, Vasillis.
“Work away at it till you’re dead” If any of you songbirds have other alternatives befitting a poet’s headstone, let us hear from you; in the meantime, thank you for keeping your eyes and ears open. Yours truly, The Squint-eyed Kid