Wednesday, November 23, 2005

Journaling into Poetry

There are moments in Decreation where I hear Virginia Woolf’s acerbic wit slice across the page. This, the last stanza of GNOSTICISM IV, could be an entry from one of her journals:
At the moment in the interminable dinner when Coetzee basking
icily across from you at the faculty table is all at once
there like a fox in a glare, asking
And what are your interests?
his face a glass that has shattered but not yet fallen.
Cruel? I didn’t think it cruel, but if I thought of meeting Coetzee I would imagine a scene not unlike this…it made me laugh out loud on the subway last night on the way back from Fordham. It was a terrible, bracing night, limos lined up outside of Lincoln Center, lights ablaze, and even after a night of poetry a la Marie Ponsot and Jean Gallagher who just won the Poets Out Loud Prize (or contest, not sure which), I was very cold. Gallagher is a smart poet and I’m looking forward to her book, This Minute. And of course Marie Ponsot remains one of my idols: I aspire to be as engaged as she, well into her 80s and not only still writing and reading, but attending readings any given night of the week.

But back to Carson I go...

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