Curriculum Vitae, Ars Poetica

I was playing around with words today, stealing seconds and minutes throughout between busy spurts at my work desk.  I had difficulty focusing on any one thing for too long; my head has been pounding like a bass drum for forty-eight hours now but somehow I still managed to pull up my proverbial socks and stay lucid and poetic-y.  This verse was a mere shell, scratches on scrap paper and then I started working it around until it was singing up at me.  It’s a little on the esoteric side I know but I’m going to save this one for the next Open Heart Forgery reading.  I can’t wait to unleash it and read it aloud.

It’s really just about writers and what they do, how they do it, why and for whom.  I admit, I often would only write for myself but now that I have this little home on the interweb I’m content to share my words instead of hoarding them in writing books tucked away for safe keeping.  I’m all about letting words breathe now, less tense about releasing what I write and so pleased to have friendly readers (even if you don’t always enjoy or ‘get’ what you’re reading, I still appreciate you being here).

Curriculum Vitae, Ars Poetica  

Discreetly, in my own words

& in my own passionate assignation

I have anthologized my last soliloquy

& all that has escaped me.

With the aid of notable presence,

active exercises

& conceptualized patterns

supreme fiction and paradoxes

inhabit the middle.

What is written first

& the last voluble lexes

disclose the shapes of the world

mirrored against my internal theatre.

With ambition, I seek

stronger sympathies for artistic labor

by my oblique ability to infiltrate

rococo ingenuity & lure capricious counterparts.

I, without hesitation, by my own assertion

endorse charmingly ribald admissions

that the veneration of my elevated artist

is

imaginative realism

dominated by the constant desire

to upend conventional expectations.

Abstain your banishing of poetic currency

from the support of penciled illustrations

look forward to the precipice of peace

& permit me to push the margins of excess.

This bookish ideal has persisted for centuries

& whether it was meant to confirm or deceive

a litany of language remains a constant curiosity.

Cease to falter on a fulcrum of reservation

or consent your acute perspective to hinge

on egregious grammar & snarled semantics

it is certain the result is commonly chimeric.

Subtly, in my own pristine voice

& in my own arcane acknowledgment

I am the architect of a true sequential story

& all that I have been hard done by.

Don’t leave me to weep

don’t repudiate my place

or

deny me the challenge to

cultivate an audience for poetry.

It’s a writer’s life,

& an extraordinary duty.

Visit me, my entangled alliances

& my fine assortment of verses.

I am a good hostess,

let me read to you.

 **

And as a sidenote: once I’m finished reading John Taylor’s highly anticipated memoir Into The Pleasure Groove, I’m going to dig in and explore some of Wallace Stevens work.  How did I not know how wonderful he was before this!? I can’t wait to read every poem he’s written.

Second sidenote: thanks so much to everyone who stopped by to read ‘Whistle’.  I received so many lovely notes of praise and even some constructive criticism, all of which were so appreciated.  It was also quite a coo to have my Dad who has so often in the past toted my lust for writing as a passing fancy lament how much he liked it and proceeded to ask open-ended questions about the characters and then where I planned to submit it?  Alternate universe? Perhaps but still a welcome surprise.  So thank you again for taking time out of your busy lives to read and share your thoughts.  It means oodles.

In propinquity,

Nic