Toosday

I said that I’d write pretty much every day. This feels like it’ll be about poetry.

I said that I’d write pretty much every day. This feels like it’ll be about poetry. With a small p, thank you. I’m reading Ruth Stone’s poems and they are terrific. She got famous late in her life. (On a smaller scale that happened to Virginia Hamilton Adair. I’ll remember to write about her; she was blind and for a few months I was her Reader.)

I’ve been going back to Ruth Stone’s poems off and on for days. She said a couple of things about writing that I liked — 1. that poems came to her and she had to catch them fast by the tail or they were gone. 2. There was a kind of stream of poetry running alongside her everyday life and when she had time she could dip into it. I think I’m hoping that I can step ankle deep into that stream.

I’m working on a poem (another poem!) about Dracula. Can there be too many? Not for me, apparently.) “For a Postcard of My Mother at the Beach” That’s a Ruth Stone title, and I loved how kind of off-kilter it was. “She Rises and Turns the Face of Jesus Toward the Wall” is the title of my Dracula poem. Mine isn’t as nicely disorderly as RS’s but it is long and I like long titles.

Apparently I want to write often and briefly. Not weekly and protracted.

Bye for now.