Oddments

In search of story


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June 26.20: Coping

Well, dear reader, here it is again: writer’s block/slump/wasteland — call it what you will. I’ve been a big blank for over a week now. Yesterday I spent hours on a thought, trying to transfer it to words. I think I wore out the delete key.

What a mystery writing is. Not that I’m telling you anything you don’t know. Why do the words come and why do they not come? Where do they go, for heaven’s sakes?

I’ve not caught a glimpse of my muse, except perhaps in a particularly muscular buzzard, a.k.a. turkey vulture, hauling roadkill into the woods. Usually she’s a hawk, but she could have morphed. Right now I’d happily call her a buzzard. Now there’s a word. Don’t you love words that mean something just by the way they sound? Have you ever seen the book “Sound and Sense” by Laurence Perrine? My tattered, moldy copy dates back to my college days in the 60s. It says it’s about poetry but I don’t think so; it’s about the way the sound of a word makes it the perfect choice. Meaning isn’t the whole of it. The word must sound with the meaning. That’s prose, too. Just ask Sam Clemens.

I hope you are well, dear reader, and can still cling to sanity.

 


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March 7.19

 

When words die

and lie

lightly in brown piles,

and slatted benches

hold no one

in their arms,

will the stones remember

warmth

of blood and bone,

do they

hearth-like

hold the meaning?

Or does meaning lie too

in the dry brown

awaiting its ride on the scattering wind

leaving the stones to their empty cold?

 

 

Thanks more to photographer S.W. Berg.

 


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Connections: May 11.18

Some ancient mythic language

ebbing, swelling, weightless

like liquid air

many-voiced

chorus of Sophocles

bade me stop.

I turned toward the sound

the fullness of new leaves

spring petals

soft as babies

supple in newness

stroked by wind

sibilant and sure

wanting me to know

something.

Still as the dead

I listened

taut

to pluck a word

but there was none.

 

Connections


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Connections: October 13.17

Economy of words

is not my strongest suit

I’m Irish, blather-minded,

an English major to boot.

But occasionally I’ll do it

say it all in just one word

here’s syllable to prove it

in a box of the absurd.

Packing up my years

forces me to see

in wording and in living

downsizing is the key.

 

 

Connections

 

 


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Connections: June 14

SANYO DIGITAL CAMERAWhat does it mean

move on?

What does it mean

resilience?

What does it mean

good out of evil?

Does it mean

don’t feel

?

Does it mean

we fear our own complicities?

we grope toward atonement?

toward private satisfaction

that

we

are not

them

?

Or is there anguish

that seeks a word

 any

useless

flailing

word

because

it’s all we have

?

Connections