In this upcoming book-object that I’m placing the final touches on (draft of cover pictured) Sleep Walking Under The Moon Soul Of Lake Michigan, there is some poetry in the first section of the book (still part of the overall story).
Usually I write prose, and back when I hung around with the poets I never understood them, and I got into many fights of the drunken late night theoretical variety . Now that I’m away and isolated and have the time to come up with my own thoughts there’s some aspects of their art I’ve discovered:
Writing poetry will make you a better writer, editor, reader.
I’ve only now started to respect the poet for their simplicity and words. The writer of prose often battles with the poetic clan, because really at times they’re as different as a painter is to a sculptor. Poets are always waiting for that word. Writers only wait to write everything, the story, all words, all life, down. Poetry can be much more difficult than writing a story, a narrative, as prose as they call them, and half a page could take as long as it takes to type ten pages full of paragraphs.
Sometimes located in American cities poets are often under-read assholes by their own conception, and this is based on modern poetic socialization, but of course this can also go for writers who don’t really write, but really just enjoy labels of a tired and domesticated culture.
Still, with that said, I’ve only now started to understand the micro-managing ethic of the poet, and the lack of nutrition that they never seem be concerned with. Poetry can often be a form of pseudo-intellectual ritual, a bird-song to attract mates, and that word… always waiting are the poets, for that word, and most of the time they never find it. Thus, they fall into politics, and usually stop reading prose entirely.
Poets write prose sometimes, but I’m not talking about those poets. I’m talking about these poets. You know what I mean. If you don’t, never mind.
Some poets, like writers, often do nothing other than talk about writing, as if writing is a fashion, but the good ones, the real poets, well I never really took the time to analyze their writing behavior.
The past year I’ve taken many hours to slowly learn how to write poetry, and now I get it, even though during this stage of my life I don’t have all that time for that much editing of a single word, because something new always inspires me to write about, it.
This waiting for a word that glosses over the rest is slow-moving and often never hops. You just get lost. You lose track of time. You forget about the blank page, and sometimes, you even forget about the poem, unfinished, because you’re fishing for that word to hook. And I get it. Sure do. Good luck poets. And I respect you, thank you, but back to my prose. I’ve never enjoyed the guts of fishing. It always just made me hungry.