April 10th, 2009


Mull and Muldoon

A lot of days of writing what I don't like. As Nick says, it is often a poem speaks to you.

It is almost better to read and write by long turns rather than flipping to and fro, being continually caught back by how good others are. Inhibiting that. Or to read what doesn't catch at all, a tiring sort of channel flipping from poem to poem, feeling there must be something that would resonate soon. Something I can hear and feel and which is well-rendered. It feels like playing the slot machines sometime. I just want a hit. Something ahead to rest in. Whether written or read.

Huerta might be my fav find so far from the Poetic Asides Challenges.

I think my newest favorite poem is from Paul Muldoon Poems 1968 - 1998.

Wind and Tree

In the way that the most of the wind
Happens where there are trees,

Most of the world is centred
About ourselves.

Often where the wind has gathered
The trees together and together,

One tree will take
Another in her arms and hold.

Their branches that are grinding
Madly together and together,

It is no real fire.
They are breaking each other.

Often I think I should be like
The single tree, going nowhere,

Since my own one arm could not and would not
Break the other. Yet by my broken bones

I tell new weather.

Each phrase placed sensitively, it extends and extends and still works. It is so literally and figuratively accurate. The end stopped lines or enjambed corral pace. It bears reading and rereading and forces itself to tongue, not content to stay on page.