Writer's Block

I’ve come to realize that writer’s block is not so much a block as the internal critics shackles.

I haven’t written anything substantial all year. I’ve not worked on the novel I retired to the mountains to do; I’ve not compiled the poetry manuscript that’s been on the back burner for several years – probably burnt to a crisp by now; I’ve not written any new poetry, and I’ve written very few blog posts.

A few months ago, I thought I was getting closer to the explicit act. I’d subscribed to some writerly blogs and newsletters, and was feeling the twitch. In fact, I was twitching all over.

The Write Practice gives prompts with every newsletter, and every Sunday I get the Sunday Whirl with words to create poetry. Today, another blog posted about Using Setting as a Character by Marylu Tyndale, while the prompt from The Write Practice was to write about a road trip. There’d been another about ‘not’ being balanced, and one that listed the 22 Rules of Storytelling According to Pixar. That got printed and is hanging in front of my face this very minute. The twitch had become a burning itch.

So what did I do? Nothing. That critic shackled my hands with the question, “What does any of that have to do with your novel or your poetry? If you going to write, then write what you’re supposed to be writing. If you’re going to call yourself a writer, then do it, but since you’re not doing it…”

The itch cooled quickly and the twitching has subsided. 

Reach for the Elusive

A new you rises with the dawn.

The struggle and worry of yesterday gone.

If so you believe, so it will be,

Reach for the elusive and you shall see,

Within the mist of cool mountain rains,

Spirits singing harmonious refrains:

Joy, misery, or lie down to quit.

Lessons repeat. Choice or habit?

Poetry written waitin' on the therapist! Hmm. 

Review of poetry book: Dimensions of the Kaleidoscope by Mark Lee

Recently, I wrote a book review on Shvoong and would like to link here, however, Shvoong added an image of the wrong book. So, until that is corrected, I'll not link. Below is the complete review. 

Dimensions of the Kaleidoscope. Mark Lee. Georgia: The War Book Company, 2011. 69 pages.

“The remotest discoveries of the Chemist, the Botanist, or Mineralogist, will be as proper objects of the Poet’s art as any upon which it can be employed.”  Coleridge and Wordsworth: Preface to Lyrical Ballads.

In Dimensions of the Kaleidoscope, MarkLee embodies this statement, mingling and co-mingling science with Romantic poetry.

            A googolplex is no closer to infinity

                        than is the number one,

            Just as we are no closer to unveiling the truth,

                        with all the madness done.

And

            Supernovae are remnants of exploding stars,

                        stellar winds are the color of primordial scars.

            A black hole does appear as a great spinning eye

                        in the regions of space where physics defy…

Throughout Dimensions of the Kaleidoscope, Lee compares, contrasts, and melds space, dreams, time, and love; science and emotion; and past, present, and future hypothesis into lyrical medleys.

Since I find it terribly difficult to write in quatrains, metre, and rhyme, I appreciate Lee’s ability. I personally enjoy more alliteration, and slant rhyme, yet I understand there are various schools of thought on this subject, and the jury is still out as to whether good, modern poetry should or should not rhyme. In most instances, Lee does it well.

The poetic style Lee uses in Dimensions ofthe Kaleidoscope is pure canonical Romanticism, albeit with not quite the vocabulary of the great ones. Words, images, and concepts repeated frequently and often back to back, interrupt the rhythm and flow. For example, the word “realm(s)” appears 17 times in a 65-page book, which translates to an appearance every 4.5 pages; “hue” appears every nine pages. This is not to say, however, that the some of the pieces inside Dimensions of the Kaleidoscope that words appear repeatedly in are not piercing and thought provoking.

            Above the law is a realm all to itself

            Man’s wicked capacities fueled by wealth

And

            From tempestuous skies in the blackest of night,

                        the finale of destiny neared.

            From distorted hues of black-purple light,

                        a message, though latent, appeared.

Cliché’s appear often as well, in Dimensions ofthe Kaleidoscope. “Sands of Time” and “Time and Space,” are just a couple. I would have like to see Lee use more of his own words, yet these are Romantic phrases, which is why they’ve become such clichés. One used in a poem that touched my soul was in the piece titled “The Sands of Time”:

            And then we see through the portal’s past

that nothing created was ever meant to last —

all that has failed were not the ‘dreams sublime’

but the symphonies of destruction within the Sands of Time.

I’m not sure if anything else would have worked as well. Additionally, the cliché didn’t take away from the sorrow at the realization of man’s disposability. The main theme of Lee's poems is of useless striving, or the wonder of the universe, or the minuteness of humanity. Lee explores the great questions in Renaissance style.

Among Lee’s musings on life, the lines that speak of love, lost love, and lost lives are the most powerful:

            Two lovers through a meadow dance

            like petals in the wind.

And:

            And yet still now, how real it seems:

                        your countenance glows in moonlight beams,

            Reflecting eyes, so crystal clear,

                        your voice — sweet laughter, in the winds I hear.

“In The Blink of an Eye” tells the story of two men whose lives cross and end in tragedy. The entire piece is solidly written and emotionally striking. “The Vindication of Chaos” is current and relevant in today’s political landscape, all told in metre and rhyme. In that same vein, “Average Joe” and “The Designated Hero” could be any of us.

Lee closes Dimensions of the Kaleidoscope with “Moments More To Go,” which lets us know there is more Romanticism to come:

           

            “’All the world’s a stage’,

            so let this player roll,

            off the hook of Inspiration,

            with still moments more to go.

It’s been awhile since I’ve read a modern Romantic poet, and Dimensions of the Kaleidoscope was quite enjoyable. A bit repetitious and clichéd at times, however the lyricism and perfect metre balances it nicely. For a first publication from a new poet, Mark Lee's Dimensionsof the Kaleidoscope does not disappoint.

Meter and Form Poetry

Working on meter and form poetry over at Writing Our Way Home. This is a struggle for me. I've always been a free verse girl, but wanted deeply to learn forms. My attempts at tercets (without counting the meter):

The Hiding Hermit

Where does one go when one isn’t present

Cramped in a hole twisted, stuck and bent

Worry swirls round with evil intent

The sun may shine or the clouds may roll

Matters not to the sunk and buried mole

Who fears the world beyond his little hole

Wait it out and this too shall pass away

Maybe tomorrow, next week, who can say

When the hiding hermit will come out to play

And then:

Heavens Serenade

The skies split and the water flowed

No birds, no crickets, nothing showed

Up for days ‘cept a tiny thrilled toad

Only the patter and pound on dry earth

The gulps and belches of merry and mirth

For the end of the regions dusty dearth

Flowers bloomed bright and bold

All glittered and gleamed like polished gold

The creatures were content, young and old

Rockers on the front porch creaked and swayed

As life once again flourished and played

In the sweet nectar of heavens serenade

flash poetry

Whispers Gently Kiss
1-5-2010

Whispers gently kiss
Away the nightmares’ darkness
Soft breezes linger
Caress the moments’ movement
Ether to reality

Inspiration from Blaga Dimitrova

Yesterday I was emailed a link, something that happens ever so much with email--"check this out," or "we think you'll like this." Oftentimes, I just hit that delete button, as I'm sure most others do as well. Fortunately for me, I followed the link and was so inspired I wrote immediately afterward, something that hasn't happened for quite awhile, obvious by the lack of entries in this blog (or any other).

The link was to an Interview with Blaga Dimitrova’s Poetry by Farideh Hassanzadeh-Mostafavi.

It was an interesting article and a unique way to conduct an interview--by using the interviewee's poetry as the answers. I read the entire article and then wrote a piece of poetry about poetry, words and images that just came, lit with the passion of reading good poetry.

I Steal Lexes
1-3-2009

I steal lexes.
Deliberately plucked
from the cosmic garden.
Inspiration flows from the pilfered
imbibes me with the soul
of the owner, the owned and
the released.

As Prometheus
who dared to steal from the gods,
I too embrace idiom's fire,
happily scorched with the brilliance,
engraved with the eternal language
of those before, those beside, and
those in dreams.

I am frozen on the ice floe of
continuous sheets of slick, sterile
whiteness, only to be thawed
by the bristling and whirling heat
as meaning sprouts from the nothingness,
and Phoenix spreads wing over the ashes.
I steal lexes.

Format and syntax and metre confined
within Pandora's box, released at will to
express the last, the essential, the hope
that my revelation is dispatched refined.
Articulated with the reverence of a call
carved on the prison wall, a letter
written with deaths' hand.

I steal lexes.
Grasped and gathered by the muse
slave fingers, bloodied with the quest.
She is driven with the passion and lust
into the dark fields of babble to emerge
with blossoms and fruit that feed the
insatiable hunger of the master huntress.

The voracious feast begins, tearing asunder
the plant, discarding the weeds, the waste,
to reveal the succulent heart of meaning
that drips with the addictive sweetness of
unquenchable knowledge, absorbed and
discharged to the fervent masses who devour
and regurgitate the plunder.