Sunday, April 02, 2006

The Cult of Me

I did watch the French movie from 2000Va Savoir last night. As all the reviews said, it gets off to a slow start and doesn’t seem to know what it wants to be until mid-film. It was an excellent film to practice one’s French on if one is so inclined and it is filmed in Paris. In case you are longing for Paris.

When I was in Tahiti I of course took notes about all that I saw and did towards the idea of writing poems. I have written poems while in both the Caribbean and in Hawaii while there.

Tahiti was different though, I didn’t write while I was there and it has been six months since I returned home and until this last week, nada, nothing.

I think it was two things, and now that I am musing on this I remember the same thing happened when I went to Paris, it was so radically different from the world in which I live it took longer to absorb the sights, the smells, the sounds, the light and the language.

The other hitch I think is finding a place so magnificent it feels overwhelming to try to find language to do it justice and also this idea that I get stuck on that I have to write about things as they happened.

Andrew has worked extensively on that one with me by asking screw reality, what makes sense artistically? That is the question.

One doesn’t always have to tell the precise truth to write the truth. There are many paths in and the one of the imagination is often the best.

Who cares what happened to me?

I went to a poetry reading by a prominent and well-published older poet a few weeks back and the only way her poems have any value for the reader is if the reader cares for her. A stray image may float loose and hold one’s interest but fundamentally the value lies in how well she is telling her stories.

I have no problem with her as a person, but I also have no interest in her point of view. It seems dull to me, flat, pedestrian, umm… unimaginative.

As far as I am concerned the only way that my experience matters in a poem is if it is a universal one and that through the filter of the imaginative I, you are able to touch your own experience.

Unversed really in expressing strongly held opinions I wonder if this makes any sense?

Let me be your guide to the depths of your soul. I’ll go in first my torch held high and if I can’t illuminate the dark places for you then I am not doing my job.


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