It has been a while since I
jotted down anything which resembles a poem, and even longer since I managed to
write anything I actually like. I feel thirsty - my mind dehydrated,
shrivelling and shrinking. I imagine a slug caught on a salt trail - osmosis -
the melting mess baking in English sun.
I know there are possible
solutions - causes of action which may result in a different outcome - the
"If you write all day you'll get into it, into your body, into your feelings,
into your consciousness" ethos - but this always seems far easier to quote than
to implement.
When you are really thirsty - in
a literal sense - any palatable liquid will suffice. After long walks over Grizedale
I've been delighted by the prospect of tent-warm bottled water - self-imposed
coffee restriction (because of the expense) at Latitude has made the
one-cup-a-day coffee the most satisfying I've tasted - a baobab fruit drink
shack in the humid climes of The Eden Project's rainforest saw me downing a
mysterious, milky concoction without a moment of suspicion or hesitation. In
our Western society of convenience, thirst can be quickly quenched. But, while
the dryness of tongue is easily resolved by a multitude of flavoured liquids,
the rehydration of my mind seems to be a more complicated and less convenient
process.
Reluctance - laziness - fear. That
new pad of yellow paper with its fresh-start intention remains blank. The
attempt to romanticise - digging out the old typewriter - fails to bring the
love story it promised. Creativity and craft - plentiful on my bookshelves but
suddenly empty once in my hands. A world which used to be rich with idea is now
poor and quiet. A thirst that even the luxuries of Western society cannot
quench.
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| A Mortally Wounded Brigand Quenches His Thirst — Eugene Delacroix |
3 comments:
This makes me think about my mum's advice when I was a teenager and really wanted a boyfriend. She told me that if I forgot about boyfriends and went out and enjoyed myself, then, because I would be happy and smiling, I would find boys more likely to approach me. And if they didn't, it wouldn't matter because I would be out enjoying myself.
I think the same thing could apply here. If you forget about poetry and concentrate on enjoying everything else. Maybe poetry will find you.
I really like this advice :)
Write a poem called Thirst - then use some of the wonderful prose in this blog.
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