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Writing is a SIN
so shall burn the men.
While the women sit idly by
peeling their apple with a grin.
Oh! What madness grips my pen.
Now my story shall begin.
can kiss my tush,
I see figures in the wall.
Wood grain stain
I never did like this place. I never did like this place!
The rainbow ends in coins of sin.
Sin Sin Sin Sin
Teach our boys how to shoot.
Let me shine your boots.
Quicker, quicker, pig sticker.
Steal from the poor!
Todd, NC at Sydian band practice 2002 Rate this Poem
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My 2 Cents
|bfaulkner's recent Blog entry. ||A Chat with Ginsberg ( 2224 reads) ||Thursday, September 02, 2010 (14:30:47)|
|"Original exploration of the craft alone expresses a poet's individual soul and conscience" (p. 178, from Ginsberg's Journals: Mid-Fifties 1954-1958).|
I agree, Ginsberg! I've spent all of my time until recently exploring poetry alone and have stumbled into my "style" without realizing my cosmic influences, or who it was that paved the way for my eccentricities. However, I feel that because I chose to leave my official English studies after my B.S. that I know nothing of styles, movements, criticisms, all the nuances the literary types pride themselves on (see, here I go, ending sentences with preopositions). But I have always read like reading was a drug, and I learn well on my own. The problem is making the time.
I've loved you, A.G., since my college boyfriend allowed that I could have your book of collected poems after the breakup because I loved it more. And from you--stylistically--I stole the & and your habit of time, date, and place stamping your writing. It was amazing to trace your inner and outer journey, seeing what you wrote and where you wrote.
Recently, I read Plath's unabridged journals and was envious of her black bleakness and poetic prose. I read a biography of E.E. Cummings, though I would have preferred to have read his journals (all poets keep them, right?) You can really get to knowa poet better through his own words. I am so thankful to E.E. for liberating the left margin and for making it okay NOT to capitalize the first letter of every line (why postmodern poets STILL do so is beyond me). Emily Dickinson makes me feel better because she wasn't surrounded by fellow writers and artists like you and Plath and Cummings and Moore and Kerouac and so forth. And who knew Williams was a physician and a writer on the side?
How much better a poet would I be if I had unlimited time to write and explore my psyche? To study all that has ever been said of writing, all that has been writ? My goal is to read biographies, journals, and some poems--of as many as I can stomach--some not being my type at all. I am ashamed to admit that until recently, I have avoided reading poetry, though I profess to love it. From your journals I have now stolen the idea of keeping a continual list of books I have read. That will certainly clear up the question of "What the hell HAVEN'T I read, anyway?" I am also eager to buy your Mexico journals & read ours together. It will be like having a conversation with you, seeing what we wrote while in the same setting--though years & miles apart.
I still like Cummings, even if you did think he was "artificial."
Your mother died on my birthday when you were 30. Now I am 30. Are you with your Naomi now?
Ginsberg, you mad rebel poet, thank you for bringing asshole & fuck & drugs into poetry--for fighting with the censors--though sense in your "cunts" that you disliked women for how they challenged you for your men. Where does that leave me?
My mind burns
does yours burn like this
with words like these?
Until next time, A.G.
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Lenoir, NC 2002 Rate this Poem
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|"B Faulkner" | Login/Create an Account | 3 comments.|
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Love your avatar, Excellent job in your web page... Maya
Deeply personal and alive with emotion. Nice work.
Love your profile pic and your writing style. Looking forward to more of your work.