In November, I tried to write as much as possible in classic, poetic forms. I did not do so well, but I have learned something in approaching forms.
I felt I had to get out of the way, so I tried, and came slap up against my ever-there self cleansing—what a bore. These emotions may work for spontaneous thought, but they are rubicon to forms. What is fluid to me has become mechanical. Classic forms showed me new paths, sloping for cardiovascular mindshares.
Still, I wish you a restful day of thanks for something God is giving you this year—whether that thing is good or poor, reverence is a poem.
Posted by nancy at December 1, 2009 09:42 AM