Anyone Writing Yet?

What’s this writing, you asked.
To get totally inside you put
heart and soul into it, pressed
on with overwhelming will.
The sense of conviction’s
sometimes absent, and you’d
might as well be gone.

What about technique, you asked.
That which comes easy, isn’t
much. And too much vagueness
like in between spaces.
When you made up a thread
for a breath, like this I’d
hold then push it out.

I imagine a poem being spoken sometimes. By anyone I fancy, like Bob Dylan for instance. Then it becomes like a song. It’s like the words going through someone’s vocals get communicated in a very personal way. Dylan had spoken in his Nobel speech about meaning. For Dylan a song doesn’t have to have a meaning, or he doesn’t need to know its meaning. How often have you read or listened to something, music especially, not knowing the meaning and yet it has such emotional power, fills you with some ineffable longing? I don’t think though if you’re a student of literature you can get away with not knowing the meaning of a work. You have to put your own meaning into it. You interpret it. That’s your work, as opposed to the work of the author. Sometimes I write a poem and I don’t even know its meaning. Yet I know it expresses something…ineffable. Think about writing in your poem.


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