Rushed uphill to my office after an engaging talk by Michael Waters (on sound and form in poetry) in the June Seminar, which enters its final week. Scarfing down peanut butter and crackers, my usual non-lunch, before heading out to teach. My throat and sinuses are raw; I wonder if that has anything to do with the woman at Zelda's yesterday morning who coughed horribly while taking everyone's orders? Extra zinc, extra C, extra Reiki: unleashing my arsenal against a summer cold. Extra sleep will be nice, too; so glad it's Friday.
Michael read new poems last night in Bucknell Hall (I think he said they are newer than the ones in his forthcoming book): sensual, edgy, smart, they seemed to barely be contained: I got the sense, over and over, of the language muscling its way through each line, testing the limits. He does this so well with sounds, images, ideas. I think he's such an interesting poet.
Ah, I want to write. Something in my head today about the tundra swans--or were they snow geese?--on the river last year. Something about them descending en masse through the line of trees to land on the water. An almost molecular form.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment