Wednesday, December 2, 2009
In writing my "I remember" poem, I experienced great discomfort. More than that, I actually became quite depressed and lonesome (and very insecure; more introverted too). I found it very difficult to write. I am stuck on a certain kind of style, which lacks the kind of honesty that I really am looking for, in that it (my style) is often nondescript, using lots of mysterious word play and "confident" rhetoric, and involves umbrellas of overarching top/down processing and psychology interests of mine. It (my "style") often lacks imagery, and comes off "text-bookey and intellectual, which is good," (says a friend of mine who is a very talented poetry graduate), "but could use a specific and emotional dimension to it". I tried very hard. But, although I went through a very real and very growing pained experience in doing the poem, I am not entirely so sure that my poem is really all that good (though I have grown to like it more and more as time goes on). However my poem, perhaps, has a certain kind of insecurity about it that alludes to its own fault and lackings; which maybe makes it "clever"(?). Perhaps I have not liked it in part because it is hard for me to see my self so flawed and troubled. I had a bit of a hard time with having to write "I remember" over and over again, but I figured that I should make "lemonade with lemons" so to speak (or at least try). Writing this poem forced me to go back in time to places that I have been so desperately trying to escape from, including (but not limited to) the kind of person that I used to be, and perhaps still am "deep" down. And, another thing (p.s.); for whatever "weird" reason, I have developed the conception that perhaps a great poem is one that is made through an authentic and genuine process and experience of which its result may not even be of importance at all(?). (This poem left me a nervous wreck in shambles).