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14 February 2005: I get the impression that some poets are poets all the time. I'm definitely not. I have times when I'm consumed with a need to read, discuss, analyze and compose it. Right now, though, I want a long vacation from it. To enthuse into some other interest of mine, or just vegetate, who knows. In any case, it makes keeping this blog going difficult, since it's supposed to be about poetry, exclusively. Not that I haven't shirked my responsibility to be consistent about that, but I still feel I ought to.
Meanwhile, I'm also driven by duty to keep working on my presentations. The latest ones are pretty meagre: just sequences of poems--with, occasionally, a note or two about them. One of the sequences consists of a few of the infraverbal poems in heavyn, a book by LeRoy Gorman my press published 12 years ago. In spite of my mood re: poetry, several really took me (not for the first time). Here's one that particularly did:
c loud c lock s leap
So few letters, so many richly connotative words and phrases: the tactile cloud and perhaps cerebral cloud of sleep; the lockedness--and leap despite it--of sleep. The hard c's separated into softness, and speaking of seeing. The trill of the l's. With time a factor that I can't think how to fit into the scene but viscerally am sure fits. . . . Well, while we sleep, clocks, loud clocks, sleep. Needless to say, I'm one who leaps rather than falls asleep.
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