I look forward to Friday the 13ths. Well, I don’t know if I look forward to them so much as I like when they happen. I welcome them. I’m superstitious about some things, but not Friday the 13th (knock-on-wood). So happy Friday the 13th to you!
Today is a number day: 7-13-12.
Hmm…what sort of number day is it? 13 and 12 look strong and odd together at first. Seven is one of my favorite numbers for some reason and seeing seven and 13 next to each other makes me smile. In fact, 13 looks like a smiley clown and twelve is a one with a two that decided not to be a question mark. 7, 13 and 12—a circus ring of numbers with seven as the ringmaster, while12 can turn into any animal he wants. He can shape shift. I see an elephant, no wait…a tiger…hold on…I see a seal with a red ruffled collar around his neck and he’s standing on his flippers and he’s dancing around and making his seal noises that sound like a fish barking and his whiskers shake and his body wiggles and he smiles to us, a happy circus seal.
Yesterday I hit delete. I know another who does this and I’m sure there are many others that do it and don’t talk about it. I don’t often find myself pushing the delete button. Many times though, I’ve thought about it and almost did. Something about yesterday made me do it. I had already written my blog and I didn’t realize I was going to write another and later when I reread what I wrote, I just wasn’t satisfied. I went back and forth in my mind about deleting: To Delete or To Not Delete? That was my question. After reading the first paragraph on my short second blog, I decided it was too rushed. Not quite right. I logged on and I did hit delete.
I think I’ve only ever completely deleted one or two blogs. No biggie. I see where I need to rework the deleted piece, to slow down; and one word in particular was bothering me. I decided it wasn’t necessary. I’d like to post the blog eventuall because it’s a memory—a food memory and I’d like to be able to look back.
It felt good to hit delete and it felt good knowing that I could come back to the piece because I didn’t hit delete on my computer.
Enough about delete.
I forgot how difficult poetry is to critique. Poetry can be so personal and sometimes it can mean something to the speaker that the reader will get a sense of but will not be able to enter completely. And a reader brings what they can, different experiences relate back in different ways.
Poetry can take longer to critique because there is so much there bottled into spaces of all sizes—and sizes can be deceiving. One small tiny poem can carry so much weight. With poetry every word counts even more, we move along—taken somewhere, immersed in a place or person, open to feelings. Who’s to say what is right or wrong? But of course it’s not about right or wrong, it’s sharing the experience of the poem as a reader and what I bring; it’s about what details I may be missing and noting that, what words are out of place; what feelings I feel after reaching the end; and how many times do I want to go back and keep reading? There are always questions. Sometimes I want more, even if it’s not meant to be. In some cases it can be more obvious; in other cases, it’s those fine details or lack of that you try to comb through and figure out what’s working and what’s not. And sometimes the poem is fine as it is.
There are so many ways a poem can express itself. Old schools, new schools, contemporary, rhyming, free form, etc. Just writing about this has brought a poem out of me.
Like a tunnel
suspended in space
grounded by gravity,
poetry shoots out—swoosh, bang,
into outer space,
twisting and turning,
reaching to the stars,
the shining moon—
Poetry is a wonderful mystery. I will always be in awe of what it can do, what it can pull out of each one of us.