Poet is a Verb: Prioritize

Lately, I haven't been writing as much poetry as I would like. I understand that this is a temporary situation. Since I've been paying closer attention to my writing habits, I've noticed that my writing output seems to ebb and flow. There are times when I'm "on" and I write up a storm, 2-3 poems a week. And then there are times when I stumble along, writing little to nothing. I can't predict when these happen, other than to say that one tends to follow the other.

I've learned that I just need to relax into the writing slump, and trust that the writing will return. So, instead of writing, I've been doing other things, including reading, writing articles, and volunteering my time. (Besides working my job, naturally.) One of the many books I'm reading now is CrazyBusy by Ned Hallowell. Dr. Hallowell is a leading researcher on Attention Deficit Disorder and this book follows the trend of multitasking and spreading yourself too thin as the new social norm. It's very enjoyable and easy to read and I find myself in some of his descriptions. Okay, lots of his descriptions.

Here's one that particularly hit home for me:

"If being busier than I'd like to be is the price I have to pay, most of us seem to say, then so be it. After all, modern life is worth it. Life's never been this exciting.

But if we're not careful, we'll get so busy that we forget to take the time to think and feel. We won't have the extended periods of time required to complete a thought, develop a conversation, or reflect upon a complex set of emotions."

This passage reminded me of W.S. Merwin's quote about poetry that I posted last week. Perhaps, rather than filling my time with other activities when I'm not writing, I should be slowing down. Perhaps my slightly addictive multitasking is drawing energy away from writing.

Hallowell suggests prioritizing as a way to slow down. His argument is that you can only give your energy and attention to so many spheres of your life. After a certain threshold (and everyone's threshold is different), you become less effective. He says that you should know where your energy is going, rather than rushing around and spending it without thinking.

When I think about my priorities, I know that my energy tends to go to my lower, yet more insistent, priorities while my true priorities get ignored. I'm getting much better at this, but it is challenging to realign my actions with my intentions. If I had to prioritize my life right now, I would say that my top priorities are:

1) Marriage
2) Writing Pursuits (includes poetry, blogging, articles,in that order)
3) Work
4) Friendships
5) Volunteering
6) Other Creative Pursuits (includes reading, photography, and art making, in that order)

I am happy to say that my work is no longer #1 and I don't behave like it is. (Whew! Hooray for less stressful jobs.) Listing my priorities in this way, I'm not exactly sure what takes up my time. I watch a little too much TV, I spend a lot of time online, not blogging, but Facebook-ing and such. But I'm honestly not sure where it all goes. (Bad sign.) Notice TV isn't even on there!

This week, I'd like to spend my time closer to how my priorities are listed. While I believe I do a better job than I did a year ago, I certainly think I can do better. I am going to commit myself to a week of slowing down, and realigning my energies. I'm declaring this week, for me, Slow Down Week. I will try to spend my time working on my top priorities, rather than on the "other stuff" that seems to be rushing in.

Soon to Be Walking and Talking

It's a funny kind of blessing that my blog birthday is occurring during NaBloPoMo. One year ago today, I began my blog with this post. I started thinking about my blog back then, with this Hemingway quote in mind: "As long as you start, you are all right. The juice will come." I was feeling uninspired, unremarkable, and generally more 9 to 5 than Poet in my daily life. Rereading this post, I can see how much writing this blog has changed me and my writing practice, and for that I'm grateful.

If it weren't for this blog and the communities like Writers Island, Poetry Thursday, Fertile Ground, Totally Optional Prompts, and the new read. write. poem., I don't think I would be writing as much as I am nor feeling as secure in my writing as I do. I also wouldn't have "met" alot of really amazing writers who are trying to devote time to their own creative practice. I also think I'd probably still be at my last job, feeling miserable and unfulfilled. So writing this blog has definitely been a boon in my life.

Some random stats:
* 267 posts (not including this one, nor including the ones where I link back to places like Technorati)
* 49 labels (not including the above mentioned link back labels)
* "famous writers" and "Inspiration" most populated labels, with 39 posts each
* 3 different templates used (dark dots, rounders, and the current altered minima lefty stretch)
* approximately 89 hours spent navel gazing (assuming 20 minutes per post, without any other navel gazing occuring outside the blog)

Thanks for reading & I hope I can make it through another year! By then, the blog will be potty trained.

Poet is a Verb: Read

I came to writing as a reader. I know this about myself. While other little kids were doing sports and playing outside, I was reading. I loved (and love) being able to immerse myself in language, another person's perspective, and an invented narrative. Writing, for me, is an extension of reading, a mirroring of what I love.

That being said, there is some business reading I normally don't enjoy. For instance, I subscribe to Poetry magazine, because it is *the* magazine to be published in. When I went to the Minneapolis Public Library a few months ago, I looked at the archive of Poetry magazine and found that for each year, they truly published the poets that endured in literature. So, I subscribe to it, knowing I am reading the Important Poets.

When I actually get down to reading it, though, I feel like it's a chore. It's not the magazine's fault - I am always pleasantly surprised when I read the issue. I actually enjoy the poetry, most of the time. But it just feels like work -- the poems can be too intellectualized or too well crafted or just too tidy. It's not a poetry I can normally aspire to writing, nor the poetry that I find myself recalling later.

This morning, I had nothing to read while I walked on the treadmill, so I grabbed this month's issue. (I know there's a metaphor in there, for what if feels like to read the magazine.) But this issue was really well done. I found myself highlighting almost every poem that appeared, because I liked it so much. Some favorites from this issue:

All of Heather McHugh's poetry, but these two are good.

The translations of Elfriede Jelinek's poetry are fabulous, although the translator's note is a little high-falutin'.

Peter Campion's "Just Now" and Robin Robertson's "Cat, Failing," are both pretty astonishing as well.

I guess the moral of the story (if I need to have one right now) is that I need to return to reading, even the good-for-me, broccoli-type reading, because it all feeds the writing.

Poet is a Verb: Focus

This is not a Poet is a Verb entry about something I did today; it is about something I need to do. I need to be able to focus on one task at a time.

I won't tell the embarrassing story about the things I forgot to do at home this morning, because I was too busy doing them all at once. But I will say, that as I sat on the bus realizing all the things that I forgot to do and worrying about the things I probably forgot to do that I forgot about, I was thinking also about this week's Writers Island prompt: Unforgettable. I don't know if I can write about that prompt this week with a straight face.

The irony is that the art I like to do, poetry and photography and my renewed obsession with collage, requires focus. Most poets describe poetry as the act of focusing on details and relaying them with accuracy. At least, that's the beginning of poetry. Photography literally requires focus, for the selection and the clarity of the image. While I don't espouse to be a collage expert by any means, my experience on Sunday allowed me to achieve an almost Zen-like meditative focus as I combed through the heaps of materials to find my images. I love that experience when I am writing when I achieve that kind of focus that is both utterly calm and utterly specifically intense. It is then that I know that I am creating something. In fact, it is through these artistic activities that I become what I want to become: someone who recognizes and reacts to the little details.

At work, of course, I can focus on activities. I am the detail-queen. I can recall data and keep my desk and schedule well-organized. But at home, in my everyday life, this focus falls apart. It's like I can achieve focus in little bursts, when I have to, but when I relax, my brain goes wobbly and I forget where my keys are or how to put on clothes correctly. These are not the things I forgot today, unfortunately...I think.

I don't know if this is something that I can change about myself. If it is, I can only try to do better. If it isn't, then I think I'll need to create a checklist for myself before I leave for work in the morning.

Poet is a Verb: Renew

The more I write, the more I understand my inspiration to be cyclical. By that, I mean that there are high times and there are low times. Even looking back at my Weekly Word Counts, I can see that there have been fertile writing times and fallow writing times this year. These times have little rhyme or reason; some days I am inspired, and some days I'm not.

On rare days, I feel a physical itchy rush of energy which translates to getting a lot of work done. This week has been like this. I've sat at my computer or in front of my journal for hours and when I'm not writing, I want to be writing. Or reading. Or posting on my blog. I simultaneously love and loathe these high creative times. I love it because I feel productive and on top of the world, and I loathe them because I know the crash that follows.

So this weekend, I've been focusing on renewing my energies. Filling the well, as some of my grad teachers called it. Part of this is reading and writing, the two most important verbs that a poet can do, and part of this has been taking care of myself. I can be miserable at this last part -- I'd rather do do do than paint my nails or take a walk or meditate, or any of the other typical well filling activities.

However, yesterday, my husband and I went to Minnehaha Falls with the camera and a couple of bottles of water, and we walked. Many of the fall leaves had already fallen to the ground, and that's when I really realized that November happens this week. (Already.) Sometimes we talked, and other times we were silent, just listening to the rush of the falls and the crunch of the dry brush underfoot.

When we left, I felt both calm and overjoyed, as if I was spilling over inside. I think that's what serenity and true creativity feels like, not the panicky compulsion to complete more and more tasks.

Grand Opening: Asphalt Sky Literary Journal

I am thrilled to announce the opening of submissions for a new online literary journal, Asphalt Sky. Asphalt Sky's motto:

...Plant Your Feet...

...Arch Your Back...

...Reach Towards the Sky...

Asphalt Sky will publish poetry, prose, and artwork on a biannual basis, perhaps more often, depending on submissions. This journal will be dedicated to the publication of emerging artists and writers who present engaging and thoughtful work.

For more information...

...read Asphalt Sky's manifesto.

...read Asphalt Sky's submission guidelines for art, poetry, and prose.

...email me at asphaltsky at gmail dot com.

Why start an online literary journal?

I'm coming up on the year anniversary of this blog and I've been astounded by the quality of poetry and prose that I've found here amongst my blogging community. I hope to help formally publicize and publish a small fraction of the work that's inspired and motivated me to work harder.

How can you get involved?

The easiest way would be to submit your work. Submissions are open until December 31, 2007 and I'm looking for a good sturdy issue's worth of work before I publish.

I would also appreciate it, if you like the manifesto and what I'm trying to do, to tell others about it. I know that while I've carved out a little space online for Asphalt Sky, that space only becomes bigger through word of mouth.

Last, if you have a little free time to spare, I am looking for an editorial board. If you're interested, please email me at asphaltsky at gmail dot com. Later tonight, I'll post an editorial board announcement on the Asphalt Sky website for more info.

Thanks for taking the time to check it out!

Poet is a Verb: Using My Voice

I originally was going to title this post "Finding My Voice." That wasn't quite right, though, because I found my voice years ago. However, just because I know where my voice is, doesn't mean I use it all the time nor in all of the ways it could/should be used.

When I woke up this morning, I read this opinion piece in the New York Times, which talks about young writers at Gustavus Adolphus College in western Minnesota, trying to find their own voices as writers. The author states that there is a certain amount of authority that comes with being a writer. I liked this piece, especially this morning, on a day when I choose to honor my writing practice, because you can read authority for arrogance, truly, because you do have to believe in the importance of your voice in order to be a writer.

If writing is this arrogant act, this belief in the significance in what I say and think, what are the things that I do to honor writing, in spite (or because) of this? Today, I will be honoring my writing in the most simple and obvious ways. I will be actually writing. And doing a lot of it, considering my major procrastination this past week. The biggest way that I can honor my writing practice is by actually writing. Putting pen to paper, fingers to keyboard is the one true way that I honor and engage in my writing.

But once writing becomes a product, it needs to be put out there. Once my voice has been found and used, it needs to be heard. Because, why else would I write, except for other people to read it? The type of work that a writer has to accomplish in order to be heard can be a stark contrast to the act of writing, in some ways. Writing can be solitary and make you vulnerable -- publicizing your own writing can seem crass and may open yourself up to criticism. But, I think it's incredibly important to go that extra step, to further honor the work that I've done in creating a piece of writing.

One of the ways I may be helping to publicize my writing is to create business card. The image for today's post is the card that I designed at the Office Max website. For about 40 bucks, or 30 if it's all black and white, I can have 1000 calling cards that publicize my writing and help me to connect with other writers. When I went to the book fair this weekend, I realized how incredibly helpful it would have been to have business cards. I was meeting editors and more successful writers, and they had business cards to distribute. So why not me? By the way, I would love opinions on the look of the cards. I've blocked out my personal info, for safety reasons. The logo didn't translate perfectly, so there are actually lines all the way around the word "to", as if it were encased in a box.

Another way I can be engaging in this practice of using my voice, is to help other writers find and use their own. I've been struggling with whether or not to engage in a pretty big new project, and after a lot of thought and traveling to the book fair, I again thought why not me? So today, I will be also working on this project, in between playing with business cards and meeting my deadlines.

As I look at this list of actions that I will be doing today, I realize that writing is a lot of action and a lot of work, more than just sitting at my desk and pounding my thoughts into my computer.

Poet is a Verb: Re-Structure

After leaving my old job on Friday, I felt like I needed to reorganize. I was feeling cluttered and disorganized, both physically and mentally. One place it was showing was my writing desk. So, as a way to honor my writing practice, I restructured my writing space.

What does this have to do with writing? I was feeling that my writing desk was a good metaphor for my writing life lately.

When I would come home from work, I would pile random crap on top of my desk. Junk mail and work files mingled with drafts of poems and my journals. Papers were precariously balanced on top of each other, until I couldn't find anything.

This was how I approached my writing. I would think of poems to write, then set them aside. I would bury them beneath thoughts of work and the responsibilities from my job that carried over to my home life. I would lose the impetus and the inspiration to write, because it was drowning beneath all of my other responsibilities.

As I was cleaning today, I was throwing away everything that had to do with that old life. All of my old lesson plans, notes from students, and graded papers got shoveled into a bag and dumped into the recycling bin. Then, I found filing systems for the non-writing things that I needed: condo association board documents, loose recipes I wanted to try, tax forms, and of course a lot of random crap. (You never know when you may need post-it notes, for instance, which is why I have 6 pads in various shapes and colors.) I segregated all of these things to the right side of my desk.

Then, I organized my art supplies and writing tools. I found several copies of my manuscript that have my editing notes written upon it, drafts of poems that I had been meaning to revise, and several half started journals. These things got segregated to the left side of my desk. Lastly, I got a nifty tiered filing system, so that I can organize my book reviewing notes and the drafts of poems in need of revision. These remain on my desk, where I can see them every day.

Now, my writing space is free and uncluttered and I feel a little bit lighter. All of my writing tools, at least the physical ones, are easy to locate and accessible. Plus, I've given myself a little peace of my mind and a clean space of my own.



* * *

My new job gives me every other Monday off, which allows me to have a day entirely to myself. I plan to devote a part of each of these Mondays to my writing practice, so that I can put in some time towards creation. I will be cataloguing my efforts here, as a renewed attempt at my Poet=Verb feature.

Unpoetic

Did Emily Dickinson or Edna St. Vincent Millay ever have days (weeks) where they didn't feel poetic? Where they just were bone tired and didn't have the energy to see things with the lyric eye? I suppose, this could be why one was a recluse and the other was a drug addict, but I have a feeling it's not.

This week is the week where I have two jobs. I still have one week of teaching left at the old job, and I've begun working at the new job. So I work for two hours in the morning at the new job, leave at 11:30, commute for half an hour, teach for two hours, commute for another half an hour, then work for three hours at the new job. Gulp.

So all this driving, sitting at computers, last minute grading, completing of human resources paper work, and meeting new coworkers, has left me drooling on the couch, watching all the new must see shows for the fall. (Chuck and Reaper weren't half bad, even if I was in a drooling state. Or perhaps because I was in a drooling state.)

I want to write poems. I have the desire, somewhere deep in my body. I had inspiration -- both Writers Island and the Traveling Poetry Show are giving me prompts galore. But, mostly, I just want to relax and drool.

So, I think tonight, I'm going to try this exercise out of Julia Cameron's The Right to Write. (I've been reading it for a week. It's kind of her "Just Do It" mantra book, so far.) I'm paraphrasing her directions: In order to get in touch with the writerly side, find a quiet place to sit, and number a list from 1 to 100. Then, fill the list with things that you love. Then, post the list at your writing desk.

I think I'll try it before falling into bed. If it doesn't work, I should snap out of this by Friday, my last day at the old job.

SuperFantastic Weekend

I am in the middle of the world's greatest weekend, right now.

On Thursday night, my staff and I went to a dive bar near our home, drank big fruity drinks and reminisced about the good times. It was a nice relaxing time and I got to have a Wondrous (spelled Wonderous on the menu) Punch.

However, last night was the highlight. A friend of mine and I went to an Ani DiFranco concert at the Historic State Theater, downtown.

First of all, the theater is beautiful. It was built in the '20's, and they restored it in the early '90's, after years of disuse. All of the seats are swathed in velvet, and the walls have plaster reliefs. There were guilded statues protruding from the balcony railings, too. It's as if William Randolph Hearst, in a subtle mood, decided to design a theater in the Midwest. Oh, and we had seats in the 20th row on the main floor, spitting distance from the stage. :)

Then, Ani had an excellent opening act, a one woman folk show. The singer's name was Melissa Ferrick and this was my first introduction to her. She was an intense and funny performer, and I am totally going to buy some of her music now.

Once Ani came on, she was fantastic! I have such respect for her as a musician and writer. For those of you unfamiliar with her, she has been recording and touring independently since the early '90's. She writes poetic feminist folk/punk/jazz sort of fusion. It's hard to explain, so you should just trust me and buy a CD. She played a lot of my favorite songs, some new songs, and a cover of Woody Guthrie's "Do Re Mi" that I love. And during her 2 song encore, she brought Melissa Ferrick out to sing back up.

She is an excellent example of a working artist, in every sense of the word. About three songs in, as she was fiddling with some equipment, she mutters, "Same thing every night." Then she says to the audience, with a laugh, "You know, I've been to every fucking Ani DiFranco concert there has ever been? But I keep comin' back." That helped me to shift my perspective on her and what it means to be an artist, just a bit. She's totally a hero of mine. I always assumed that her life is super-inspiration all the time, since she's able to write and record her own work, then publicize it herself. But to her, it's her job. And sometimes the job is awesome, and sometimes its mundane and mediocre. A working artist is a worker, primarily, not some superhero. So, I guess this means I should get to work.

But not this weekend -- I still have a Twins game this afternoon and a friend's birthday party at two different clubs this evening.

Recovery on Sunday, for sure.

Poetic Verb of the Week: Revision

Please note: I have revamped my "poetic verbs" theme. Instead of listing the verbs that I accomplish for the week as I have in the past, I will pick one verb a week and reflect on its effect on my creative and personal life. Enjoy!

I think poetry is really the search for the perfect word, the word that encapsulates all of the meanings, nuances, and innuendos and distills it into a set of phonemes and letters. In reality, language isn’t nearly that perfect. It is awkward and imperfect, a collection of “almosts,” “maybes,” and “kindas.” It never does what I want it to do and can never stretch wide or deep enough to fit all the experience and memory that I want to fit into it.

Because language is like this, when I write my first draft, I know I will need to revise it. While I love the rush and inspiration of the first draft, it is ultimately chaotic, uneven, and messy. I know that I will need to hone and craft. I will need to puzzle over each word, and wonder, “Is this what I really meant?” Revision is both contemplative and conflicting.

Even though I know that I have to revise my writing, I dread revision. I dread it like a trip to the dentist, like a job interview. I dread it because it is so careful, painstaking, and frustrating. I dread it because I know that I can make the language work better, but I can never make the poem work like I want it to work. The poem will always be a close approximation of life, but never life itself.

I think revision is what separates poets from the rest of the world. Most of us stumble through life, through all of our first drafts, and think, “I could have done that better, but oh well. It’s too late now.” But poets believe that experience can be tinkered with and tweaked. We may not be able to go back and redo one moment in life, but we can recreate our lives and our new daily experiences. We can try to cross out what we don’t want in our lives, excise the unnecessary, and expand what works. My friends who are writers are often reinventing their lives every couple of years, trying a new draft that works better than the last one. But, since they are writers, they also know that it can never be perfect, only closer to the clear vision we had when we started.

Sometimes I feel doomed to constantly revise my writing and my life. I am never satisfied with what I’ve created and I have to crumple it up and start over. Other days, I feel blessed that I can do this. I can see, beneath the wreckage of misused words and misunderstood choices, the beauty that is burning just below the surface.

Instead of Verb, I Decorate

I made a couple of changes to my blog, mostly in the layout. I feel like I need to change the look every couple of months to keep myself engaged. It took me forever to decide on the colors, and I spent two days asking my husband which blue he likes the best. "Do you like periwinkle, honey? Do you like cobalt better, sweetie? Yes, they're both blue, but ones blue-er. Honey?"

I am most proud of the banner, which I designed myself from some digital pics I took with my old camera and my new camera.



The first picture is an inverse of the poet=verb snapshot I took back in April. (Wow, time flies.) Speaking of poet=verb, I didn't post my poetic verbs this week. I'm rethinking the concept of just posting my verbs. I think I'm still going to keep track of them, but I think I'd like to transform those posts into more weekly or biweekly ruminations on poetry as an action and how it affects my writing life. Those will resume after my vacation.



The second picture is an inverse of a closeup I took of my journal. I'm hoping to make a cover for a new journal before I leave on my trip, because this one is getting old and full. Which is a good thing.



The third picture is an inverse closeup of the fluorescent lights above my cube in my office. It haunts me, with its sickly white glare.

Please let me know what you think of the redesign, so I don't have to bother my husband anymore. He thanks you in advance.

Poetic Verbs, June 11-June 17

I have been finished with my class for about a week, and I don't have to take the next one until the end of July, so I've been luxuriating in procrastination and guilty TV pleasures. Despite the overwhelming instinct to melt into my couch, I have been pretty productive.

Here are the things I've done this week to honor my writing practice:

* put together my packet of poems for my writer's group
* attended writer's group
* went through all of my old writer's group poems (about 30 in all), read through all the comments, and determined what actions need to be taken on each poem.
* created a spreadsheet to track these writer's group poems(I love spreadsheets)
* purchased a new digital camera (in preparation for my vacation, but also to help take better pictures for this blog, among other things)
* took 2 separate inspiration walks around my neighborhood to take pictures and notice images

I didn't get to actual writing, but I think most of these actions will help with the composition and revision processes.

Poetic Verbs, June 5-June 11

To honor my writing practice, I did the following verbs...

* researched places to submit individual poems and my manuscript for publication
* submitted to one journal for publication
* wrote a poem modeled after Natasha Trethewey's "Myth"
* bought Horse Latitudes by Paul Muldoon
* received a rejection for a contest (oh, well)
* visited the local modern art museum with my father

All in all, it was a good week for poetic actions.

Poetic Verbs, May 19-June 4

I'm not feeling very poetic today. Today was one of those rough days at work, when it sucks to be a manager and a worker. I had to convey bad news to my staff, when all I wanted to do was run to the mall. Right now, I'm mostly interested in curling up on my couch and watching trashy TV. (Hello, Hell's Kitchen.) At any rate, as my students would say, would I like some cheese with my whine?

Before this afternoon, I did get a lot of poetic actions this week, including:

* writing a haiku
* reading other participant's Poetry Thursday posts
* reading most of Becoming a Villainness (review forthcoming)
* posting my online resume
* finishing my final (finally), so that I can have time to write and read again
* opening up June's Poetry Book Club selection for voting

This week, my dad's coming into to town, so I'll try to squeeze in poetry, in between the fun.

My Online Résumé is Up & Available

After working on this dang thing for a month, I am finally finished with my online résumé. Of course, I will continue to develop it as time goes on, but for now it is ready for public consumption.

Feel free to take a gander at http://jessicafoxwilson.blogspot.com.

Thanks!

Why I Always Stop At Stop Signs

I really like rules. I honestly don't know where it came from. Maybe it's because I'm a teacher or maybe it's because I'm a Capricorn. Maybe I listened to my parents a bit too much. Whatever the reason, I just like the tidiness, structure, and simplicity of rules. A rule is like a pre-fulfilled expectation, for me.

Then, there's poetry. If you're living in the 21st century, poetry is the art form that flaunts rules. (Flips them off really.) Now, I am attracted to formal poetry, which allows me to be orderly and disciplined while letting down my proverbial hair. But overall, I write poetry because it allows me to crack open my hardened exterior and access something that is hidden, secret, undiscovered, and lawless.

My problem is that, in my writing and my writing practice, I like rules a bit too much. Someone at my work once said of another person that if there's a rule to follow and a form to fill out, she thinks the problem is solved. I'm the same way. I give myself goals, structures, and responsibilities, and I think that my poetry will fit into the narrow little slot I give it. Poetry, however, is not a form to fill out and not an appointment to keep or break. It's something bigger and more difficult to pin down.

I struggle often with my discipline, with the ability to write consistently over time. It's an integration problem, really. How do I integrate poetry with the rest of my life? But, I solve the problem by setting up a rule or a system, when what I need is Something Else.

So, now I have to find that Something Else, that intangible source of inspiration. I often grapple with that, considering all the other responsibilities and outside factors in my life. It's not that I'm that much busier than anyone else. It's that I crave responsibility and run to it, rather than craving a source of inspiration and running towards that. Even after a master's degree (which I thought would solve it, because that's a program), and a stated (and restated)commitment to poetry, I still feel like I'm coming to grips with the basics -- what it means to be a poet when there's deadlines and work and life.

I think I have to remember that the rule I need to follow is: Stop. Listen. Look. Breathe.

Poetic Verbs, May 22-May 28

As I mentioned earlier this week, I have been ignoring poems in order to get work done. Both homework and real work, even though poet is my vocation.

However, I did do the following poetic actions this week, to honor my writing practice...

* wrote a Poetry Thursday Poem
* contributed to the Poetry Book Club
* re-read Natasha Trethewey's fantastic book
* ordered Becoming a Villainess, per Jim's suggestion
* kept my head above water, despite all the dog paddling I got to do at work this week.

My husband and I did have a great vacation in Iowa this weekend and I feel so much more renewed and energized for the work week ahead. Perhaps I'll be able to learn to balance better and get some writing done, despite all the craziness at work. A girl can dream...

Swallowing Poems

Have you ever taken a really big gulp of water and got it stuck in your throat? And it feels like your throat is swollen to twice its size? It feels like its stuck there and the bulge of water will never move. You have a choice to make, up or down. Sometimes you spit it up and sometimes you wince and swallow it, against your better judgment.

That's what it feels like to swallow a poem, I think. For the past week or so, I've been so busy at work and finals and stuff, that I haven't really been able to sit down and write. So my poet-mind is still working and I see or feel things that could be poems, if I spend the time to jot them down. But I'm rushing around so much that I have to swallow it down. It's slightly uncomfortable, but necessary on busy days.

I wonder how other poets deal with this. Do they take the time to write when they're busy in their other lives or do they swallow it and remember it for later? I think I should be grateful that at least I'm still noticing little snaps of images and that I can catalog those for later. I just hope that they remain in my memory long enough to write on them later.

Poetic Verbs, May 15-May 21

Again, with finals (I'm starting to sound like a broken record), not so poetic this week. However, I was able to ...

* subscribe to Poetry Magazine again after a 2 year hiatus
* post a PT poem by Shel Silverstein
* comment on other people's PT poems
* went to writer's group and critiqued poems
* worked on my online resume, soon to be launched
* recorded 2 poems and posted them on said online resume
* read poetry out loud on Saturday night when I was grumpy
* read Natasha Trethewey's book for Poetry Book Club.

If you post your own verbs on your site, leave me a link so I can visit.