I’m grateful that I was born a writer. I can’t imagine being born any other way. Maybe a painter, but that seems rather hard. My tools are very simple- pen and paper- and I only must need (I like must need. It sounds very Appalachian English to me, and it makes sense as both words feel equally right, and I don’t want to choose) move with the quickness of my mind. I am not Monet chasing the light. Here I want to insert another example about wildlife photographers chasing their subject, maybe someone from National Geographic, but I have no names, and I feel like that’s a shame, and I feel like there’s just never enough time to learn all the things we want to learn. Not if we want to do other things too. Do you feel that way?
Lord Alfred Tennyson described time and life:
Be near me when the sensuous frame
Is rack’d with pangs that conquer trust;
And Time, a maniac scattering dust,
And Life, a Fury slinging flame.
How’s that for poetry? It’s an excerpt from this section of In Memoriam Section L [“Be near me when my light is low”] Speaking of poetry, I’d like to recommend another poem to you. (I don’t do that nearly enough. I’ve only done it twice, actually- years ago, here and here is one of mine). This poem brings together one of my favorite poets, Billy Collins, and history, since we’re talking about time. The poem is called “Aristotle” read by Collins himself.
Is this poem not incredibly beautiful? Does the imagery not captivate you? Do the feelings not register as true? I’d like to take this poem out to dinner and get frisky in the parking lot. I think we’d really hit it off.
I like Collins’ reading. I don’t always like writers reading their own work. Sometimes I think they ruin it. Sometimes it’s disconcerting. Yesterday, though, I heard T.S. Eliot read his famous poem “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” and it was lovely the way he took his time with the reading.
I miss reading to my students, so if you don’t mind, I’ll read to you now “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”.
I’ve been working all day on mainly research, and research doesn’t always feel like accomplishment. Research, to me, feels like an extravagance and that makes me feel guilty and wasteful of the time that I’m given in my day. Are there any other writers out there who get the same feeling? The issue is that I love research. And those of you who also love it know that it can always lead to more research, but I love learning, damn it; therefore, I’ve always got this tug of am I being productive or indulgent. The other issue is that I firmly believe that most things I learn or discover will come up to help me later on. Still, research makes me feel unproductive sometimes. Also, research is one of my happy tools of procrastination.
Thanks for coming along with me on this literary gab fest. Do you like poetry? Did you like any of the ones mentioned in this post? As always, I’d love to hear from you.
My name is Lyz-Stephanie and I want to inspire you to be more connected to yourself and the world, to find beauty in simple pleasures, and to have more adventures. Every day we can do something to make our lives happier and richer, make our minds more active and engaged. I’m on the journey. Will you join me?