Thursday, January 20, 2011

Tickled

Poetry tickles me so much.

'Poetry'.

I'm not sure if it is appropriate to call it poetry, what I write.

I'm envious of people's knowledge of form. Of the technical side of it all.

I'd like to know about the technicalities of form.

I'd like to know what you know, Golub.

I was listening about that Renaissance stuff and I thought it was really cool.

I have this desire to work within confines. This desire for expression that is regulated by the conventions of a time.

But what are our conventions?

Is it possible to go off in prose? I guess so.

But for some reason clumps of lines feel so much different.

The form feels so different.

What is poetry? I ought to read something on poetry.

Something about form.

I want to read Hayden White's book The Content Of The Form. Would be valuable, I bet.

Never read a whole book by him. Only essays.

I'm doing some serious writing tonight on life as art.

I feel better and better about it.

Which is nice because for a while I wasn't.

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