#110
September 28, 2011 § 22 Comments
But why? She asked.
As though a bit of a crime –
Asked with all the repetitious insistence of a toddler,
but none of the childish naiveté that would free me to say
Well, because.
It had started with the pink hard cover creeping out the corner
of my far-too-heavy
Purse.
Why do you carry that? She asked.
Well, I may need it, need to see it or to read it or to write something
Important down. You never know when inspiration may
Receive you.
Yes, I laughed. Receive you. Like the arms that meet you
Behind the door that swings to greet you –
and I had better have a pen and paper.
Pen and paper, why? Because I
am a writer.
Well, couldn’t you just, you know
[I didn’t]
Type it into your cell phone or something? Afterall,
It would be lighter… No,
Because I am a poet. I stated –
Stated, the only word
Appropriate for the slightly aggressive way in which I dropped that
Period, clearly –
And there is poetry in kinetics, creativity in calligraphy
Inhales and exhales you can read in graphite that you can’t see in bold face type
Good lines – you can circle them
And the rest of them? Well,
You scribble them or strike them
or just leave them, saved for later .
Sometimes,
They breathe only long enough to write it down
And by the time your scrolling eye returns, already
It’s carbonation fizzles out
And sometimes, they will tempt and tease you
One strand of yarn you can’t forget
But you can’t knit a stanza with
And sometimes, (but hardly ever)
Your hand will write without your mind
Like shaking boxes upside down and
Perfectly casted lines fall out
Either way, within these pages
Crap and craft share residence
But I always need to visit space
Where I can store the evidence
I get it, she said
You’re a writer, yes
[And that’s when it happened]
But why?
Not a Writer, obviously. She’d not have asked me
Why I Write
But I am just a writer – why?
Because I can’t sing or paint
Because my great aunt died when I was nine
Because my art teacher told me to describe a color
To someone who was blind
Because I wanted to be an astronaut, wrote so
And made my teacher cry
Because sometimes, someone says a word
Like vespers
And I feel electricity in my spine
But mostly because I’m not sure I’d exist
If I ever ceased to write.
You exist well in words.
your are so talented. Thanks for sharing
That word left a bit of a tingle in my spine as well!
A wonderful way of explaining why.
hmmm. it’s almost electric. i like this, very much.
thank you for sharing!
Ah, yes – this one speaks to me too. The strangeness of trying to explain to someone what we do and indeed why. I like this very much.
I can’t wait for the next one.
Absolutely beautiful! A remarkable poem. Fantastic work.
– Ermisenda
Well said! Or perhaps I should say, well writ. Your posts are enjoyable and thought-provoking.
I agree with you 110% on the necessity of tangible instruments of writing…there’s something almost magical about the weight of a pen in your hand and the invitation of a blank page. Similar to the feeling of a good book as opposed to an e-reader.
For now I consider myself a writer-to-be…that is, when I have time after my days of diapers and highchairs. But when that time comes, it will be on crisp, white paper.
[…] great poem I found by Authored Angioplasty titled #110 and wanted to share with everyone. I especially wanted to share with those of whom write, and agree […]
[…] Davis presents #110 posted at Authored Angioplasty, saying, “This piece attempts to explain the philosophy of […]
This is absolutely stunning – this is how I feel! Bravo.
Astonishing, the way this creeps upon you, grabs you by your collar and leads you on an adventure of words! You ARE gifted! Abso-bloomin-lootely wonderful wonderful poem!
Hi, Jessica, from one lucky Volume 1, Number 1 ‘section leader’ to another: Congratulations a) on being first, and b) on a terrific poem. May success pile upon success for you.
Oscar
I love this. Thank so much for expressing our calling so wel..
This piece left me spinning in a circle of creativity! I loved it! Jessica, you have spoken for all writers with this poem. I guess you told her!
http://lyricfire.typepad.com/lyric-fire/2012/01/lyric-fire-soul-diving-partial-poempart-confession.html
Loved all of it, but these lines grabbed me:
Your hand will write without your mind
Like shaking boxes upside down and
Perfectly casted lines fall out
Thank you for sharing.
Oh,fantastic! I wish I could reply this way!!
Absolutely fascinating look at why. I paint for the same reason you write. Because.
Wonderful post. I found this post on 3rd Sunday Blog Carnival. 🙂
“…within these pages/Crap and craft share residence.” I love it. Very nice!
I love it! It’s ingenious and pulls the right strings and your writing has a certain magnetism that once a line is read, you simply have to go on until the end.
“Because sometimes, someone says a word
Like vespers
And I feel electricity in my spine” _ YES. Yesyesyes!
Wonderfully noted!
Here is my take if you like: Posthumorous.
[…] As writers, we write an awful lot about writing don’t we? For more on the significance of these journals, take a look at #110. […]