I've been reading poetry. I'm taking a poetry class at uni this term and I've been reading mostly Australian poets and some English. At first I was flummoxed. Poetry is too hard and I didn't really care. But as I've progressed I've learned the posture of reading it. It is almost physical - well, not even almost - it is physical.
To read poetry:
You have to sit down. There is no lying in bed for reading poetry or lying on the beach. You must sit in a straight-backed comfortable chair.
You must have good lighting and your reading glasses. I don't know about you but if I don't have my reading glasses on I tend to rely on recognition of words rather than reading the words. Poetry is not natural writing. The word that follows this one is not often the word you think it is going to be. That sentence will make sense to some people. I can see some of you nodding your head.
You must be prepared to move your lips while reading - or read out loud. There is a rhythm to reading poetry that is almost impossible to duplicate in your head alone. There is a theatrical quality that needs an audience - even if it is just the dogs or the dust balls under the couch. Your mouth needs to read it along with your eyes.
You must give yourself time to read slowly and carefully. There is great pleasure in slowing down long enough to let good poetry sink in and mean something to you.
And I also think it is important to dress for poetry. I think winter is the time to read most poetry. Something warm on your feet, a big sweater or blanket around your shoulders, a hot cup of tea on the table next to you. But this is just me!
I've been reading Peter Reading and Frances Webb. Auden and Les Murray. I have also been reading Immanuel Kant and Edward Said for the same class. Deep stuff.
And the light bulb moment has finally happened. I get it. Well, I get it a little. There are still poets that I think are pretentious and snobby. But there are some, now, that I admire greatly. I will, from now on be a bit of a poetry reader. It feels like an indulgence that I will partake in when the mood hits me. I hope it hits me often.
I have also been writing a little - not poetry - stories. I am enjoying it more than I can put into words right now. What I would like to share on this blog is my left-over stories. These are little 'things' that I write around my bigger stories. When I sit down to fix a story I need to get into the mood so I start writting just anything to get the juices flowing - like warm ups. These are just little thoughts and silly things but I am going to leave some of them here, with you - but only the ones I really like.
The first one comes from some valuable feedback I got recently, that there was an abundance of the word 'she' in one of my stories. She did this and then she did that - that sort of thing. Before I went in to see if I could re-word these lines I wrote this:
She
I wonder where to put the 'she'? There are too many of them and every time I take one out I don't know where to put her. I have taken to writing 'she'on post-it notes and sticking them on the wall next to my desk, but I don't think it does her justice. She is a complex character, full of life and vitality, wierdness and wonder. A post-it note will not do for a grave marker, especially a yellow one! So, I'm think of ways to express my gratitude for this little bit of her life which I have created on paper. I don't know if she existed before I wrote her down but I suppose, if I'm going to get all psyco-analytic, that she is part of me. If someone, a doctor, took part of me out, I would put it in a glass jar of formaldahyde. I wouldn't do the same for a part of my best friend though, so I don't think it is appropriate for her either. I could write all the 'she' lines in my journal to memorialize them. I could just let the 'shes' float off into the ether with no recognition. But, after careful thought, I'm going to write each 'she' I remove from my story on a purple post-it and at the end of my piece, when I feel safe that it is finished, I will cremate the 'shes' and scatter the ashes under the Chinese Elm. She will be a little bit of fertilizer for the elegant tree once I water her in.
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