I am fortunate enough that I have a great deal to be thankful for this year. Some of the things I am thankful for are doubtless things that most of us would recognize as worthy of our gratitude: family and friends, a home to protect me and food to eat, my relationship with God (has its ups and downs) – these are all good places to start.
But I am also thankful for a recent development in my life that I touched on in the previous post, namely a rebirth of my curiosity; and while the other day I wrote about my curiosity with science, today I am fortunate enough to be able to write about a rebirth of my curiosity with language.
To write poetry is to commit to something quite difficult: the poet must negotiate the demands of sound, sense, and structure (to borrow from Perrine) to create something that is beauty and meaning. For me, this negotiation has always begun in the realm of sound: sound has always proposed the terms, sense and structure have always had to meet the terms or compromise. I don’t think that this happens joyfully unless I give sound its free reign to propose what is principally odd – sound does not like to give much heed to sense, and structure it either corrals or deals with.
Thankful for my new willingness to play, I share a couple of the oddities that sound has made for me in recent days:
Words words words – the discus is a mantle-claying crown.
Thus they work in pairs –
They work in pairs to cut hairs.
What bears with caring? – O! I think you are a folly!
To flee one’s purpose, never has poor Time.
Fortunately, every now and then sound carries forth some sense.
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