Friday, August 10, 2012

Inspiration


Though its exact trajectory remains 
Difficult to pin down, we do know 

Before the poem could enter spirited, full 
Blown onto the paper, it had to leave 

A curious black and white flowering 
Pattern at its exit point. 


5 comments:

  1. This looks back as from a charmless, joyless, soul-less and wonderfully immaculate (i.e. inhuman) future to a prior primitive epoch when the making of poems involved (heavens forbid!) the actual touch of the hand to physical substances -- paper, ink. How very inconvenient all that must have been. Before we "advanced"... that is, moved ahead to... erm. I forget what.

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  2. Beautiful! So much energy in that word "curious." Poems not hammered together like boilers but a network of tracks made while on some instinctual quest. Keep your nose to the ground, amigo!

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  3. I like that idea of leaving 'tracks'. Didn't Stevens call the poem the pheasant disappearing in the bush?

    I say, Let readers find their own way inside.

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  4. nothing sings/zings more than
    that now ancient clickity-clackity DING!
    that has moved across white pages
    then over-the-edge

    of the piece of paper and then
    willy-nilly
    into Big Mind-Imagination.

    I sure miss my Underwood #5
    & the 5 extra spaces given af
    ter that bell sounded.

    two pieces issued via my "touching-playing" the
    typewriter's keys
    that y'all jus might get a 'giggle' from:

    POINTS / COUNTERPOINTS (1971)
    MY TYPEWRITER IS EROTIC (2010)

    nice piece ... again and again
    you produce solid/original "stuff"

    - a 'breath of fresh air'

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  5. As Tom points out, I think most of us—at least most of the people I’ve met through the Internet via this blog—like to “look back to a prior primitive epoch when the making of poems involved the actual touch of the hand to physical substances” i.e., Ed’s typewriter and which leave tracks we can actually pursue; on the other hand, there is no going back, is there? Once again, a pleasure reading such generous comments from friends I did not have back in those fondly remembered typewriter days.

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