::i wish i could poetry::

the art of writing/analyzing poetry is a mystery to me: i've quickly forgotten all i ever learned in high school about the stuff. but my interest has been piqued yet again. and yet again i struggle with Career Choices. do i lean on literary journalism (creative nonfiction) for a major, or do i more broadly take the stance of starving creative writer extraordinaire? that would be the "comparitive literature" road, i believe. at least, that's what the bulk of writers i've surveyed (not many, mind you) seem to focus on.

but poetry, wow, i just invested a small fortune at borders as i filled my basket with billy collins and diane diprima. i almost got a book of poetry by charles burkowski, but i tallied the figures and decided i didn't really need to drop another $20 on books.

getting back to poetry.... it really is an amazing medium of communication. how do I poetry? well, it's mostly, er, always been free form. and it's always exploded onto the page in a fit of emotion. when i poetry, it's as though i have no control over the composition and it pours out of me. admittedly i've never returned to a piece to edit it, but i have good intentions. i suppose it's because i've never tried, not that i haven't been given the opportunity. my dear kidchamp is a willing tutor. unlike prose, though, it's a deeper, more emotional task to reform what was written in the heat of a moment. i digress though. instead, here is a recent favorite. written by not me.

The Window, Diane DiPrima

you are my bread
and the hairline
noise
of my bones
you are almost
the sea

you are not stone
or molten sound
I think
you have no hands



this kind of bird flies backward
and this love
breaks on a windowpane
where no light talks

this is not time
for crossing tongues
(the sand here
never shifts)



I think
tomorrow
turned you with his toe
and you will
shine
and shine
unspent and underground