I find that the only time I desire to write poetry on a consistent basis is when I am reading it on a consistent basis.  Spring semester I took two lit classes in addition to a poetry workshop, and I have no real desire to pay attention or think about anything at the moment.

So I haven’t been reading poetry, and therefor not writing any, save what I wrote for class.

My question for you all is: how do you flex your poetry muscle?  Do you just let it lie unused until you’re ready for it? Do you "write every day, no matter what?" Or is time spent not writing, time "refilling the well?"

Intellectually, I think I should write, but I can’t seem to find any poetry when I write.  Philosophical musings (such as have been posted here), yes, but not poetry.

That is the idea that a blog should be sending.  I’d say that Seth Godin is right: when we have options, we will choose the best, the expert.  The Jack-of-all-trades is only useful if it’s all we’ve got.

There has been some discussion about Read Write Poem via email amongst it’s contributorial staff about possibly adding something in.  I don’t mean to say much about it as I don’t know that the final determination will be and I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes.  As a site, we have (mostly they have) put together a really fantastic resource on the art of poetry and of being a poet.  The arts of poetry and poeming (if that isn’t a word, it is now).  It may take nearly a dozen of us, but we’re an expert over there.  The challenge is to be an expert in what you can be an expert in, and not spread yourself into too many areas and becoming a generalist.

Most blogs suffer from the generalist problem (even mine).  It’s a difficult line to straddle between focus and interest.  Most of us blog about whatever we want: what’s going on in our lives, the experiences we have and think the rest of you should know about, ideas and insanities, the minutia of life.  The reason we can do this is that we are not a wikipedia article.  We are people and while our relationship may be very one-sided, this medium is still two people connecting.  People are not singular, expert entities, with only one topic.  We are like ogres, we have layers*.  People who are that focused, sure we head their way when we have a question, but we don’t hang about with them and converse.  They are useful to us and otherwise ignored.

So how do we weigh that against Seth’s comment?  Be an expert in the one area you cannot be contradicted in: the art of being you.

*I’ve only seen the first Shrek, and that is the only thing I remember from the movie.  But it’s a funny thought-ogres.

And no, I’m not referring to anything I’ve done.

I’m sure most of my regular readers (those not driven here by a link to one particular quote) are aware that, when I don’t lose track of time and freak out, I contribute to the Read Write Poem website as a prompt author and as a contributor of a monthly column on prosody.

Keep that in mind while I divert this post into a completely new channel.

Today was my one final for this semester, so I’m done with school for now. The last few weeks have been crazy with papers and research projects and portfolios, oh my! Top that off with corporate life and setting up website transfers and I’ve been distracted. As I was driving home from Iowa City I thought to myself “self, what shall I do to reward my survival and maintenance of sanity?” I responded: “Well, you survived at any rate. But you’re talking to yourself, so the sanity is questionable.” “Quite right, quite right. I know; I shall buy nilla wafers and frosting and eat nearly pure sugar (frosting with sprinkles, yay!).” And I ended up watching The Golden Compass, which I had bought some weeks ago (armored bears!) and which has been unopened. I enjoyed it. I enjoyed the Nilla wafers and frosting. And then it still wasn’t time for bed-though it is getting close now-so what else to do?

Jumping back to the previous channel: A couple of weeks ago I had written a prompt to use jargon in a poem. I like to bring something kind of crazy to my prompts to get people out of comfort zones; I think we learn a lot about ourselves as writers when the net is taken away. What we write I think is more honest when the artifice of a long-standing style or theme is compromised. At any rate, I had not read the posted poems! So I rectified that. And it is impressive how creatively people have used jargon in poetry. I’d like to thank everyone for giving it a go. I only want to highlight one, because a line from it just stuck with me.

from Chemical Acrostic by watermaid

Entropy is an existential state.

Well watemaid, if my blog traffic ever gets back up, you may get some click-throughs!

Hopefully I can will take more time to devote this site and to my writing now that classes are out. There certainly should be a lot of catching up for us all to do.

EDIT: I have a lot of blog’s in my google reader and my blogroll is still gone, so I’ve added a link at the end of the sidebar to my google reader’s shared items.  It’s just a few things right now, but I’ll be adding posts from various sources to it.  If you’re interested in seeing what’s interesting me, that’s one way to get a glimpse.  Or you can ask.

"If someone gives you ruled paper, write the other way."
  -anonymous classmate during a group… art… event…. thing, I guess.  I should probably detail that later.

What with moving this site to a new server and finishing out the semester, I haven’t been taking much time to think of interesting posts for you all to read.  So you’re getting some links that I have starred in Google Reader that I think more people should see. Also, for the few people who comment, I’m using the commentluv plugin which is supposed to include a link to your most recent blog post (if it can find it) I assume based on the website address you enter.

Breaking the Glass - Seth Godin

When you’re ready to make the leap, to commit, to make something happen, you break the glass. The sculpture is ruined.

Every Living Creature Dies Alone - Neggles

This is the post I reference in The Other down below.

Now, don’t think me one of those manic-depressive people. I’m very pleased with life at the moment (though in all honesty, I feel more aloof to life than anything else). I’m engaged to a wonderful man. My classes are going well. I ate steak last night, and it was delicious. But because I am the only person who can experience this as I do, I am a singular existence.

Writing About Myself - Mariacristina

Well-written blog posts are mini essays. Some are lyric, some are personal, others didactic, and still others bombastic. By and large, most bloggers write in the first person, and include details of their personal life on the page.

100 Things - Goldmourn

In which we learn many things about the auther.  One hundred of them, in fact.

01. I was born in St. Thomas, Ontario, Canada in 1978.
02. I have a collection of zines purchased mostly through the internet.
03. I wonder if I’ll ever complete / create something that is worthwhile.

What are you About? - jblanton

Does your Blog have an about page? Most likely it does? If someone happens upon your blog they might want to know who is behind the blog post they just read or more importantly what the blog is about. The about page is one of the easiest ways for someone that has no idea who you are or ever been to your blog to get the scoop quickly and easily. Its your job to take the time to put together a nice page describing all this.

Lantana: NaPoWriMo 23 - Mariacristina

I really mean to stop by her site and tell her this, but this piece really reminds me of Italo Calvino’s Invisible Cities, which I liked as well.

Lantana

is a miniature town carved in rock high on the Cathedral of St. Peter and St. Paul, on Peachtree Street in Atlanta, Georgia. Most Atlantans remain unaware of its existence, as Lantana perches along the eaves of the cathedral.

Waiting until the last minute - Seth Godin

In a nutshell: don’t.

Bad situations to wait until the last minute:

• Catching a transcontinental flight
• Asking your secret crush to the prom

If you’re seeing this, the move worked, fallen verses is on a new server.  blogroll is gone, so the links will be added back slowly.  sidebar needs work. I’m curious what all of your thought are, particularly on the theme.  Is it too “girly?”  I mean, I know it’s pink and all, but I’m okay with pink.  it’s a calming “cherry blossom” pink.  cherry blossoms are associated with samurai.  ergo, pink is good for manly, warrior men.  good enough for me.  But definitely, I’d like to know what you all think.

Also, some of the links and post titles will be changing due to some of the dynamic page-creation devices I now have at my disposal, so if you’re links get brokeded, I’m sorry.

EDIT: I think it’s all working.  The new comment moderation system requires the author have at least one approved comment before people can just post, we’ll see how that goes.  Again, question, comments, conecerns, proposals of marriage: tom [at] fallenverses.org*

*kidding about marriage proposals, by the way.  You never know who’s gonna read these things; I thought I should clarify.

In complete disregard of what I’ve posted below, I don’t want to clutter my “pages” list with useless crap, so these are going back to posts.  There is a new category “memes” which all this silly stuff (on the occasions i Do any of it) will go into

So, rather than clutter up my postings with posts after posts of meaningless memes and iquizzes, I figure I should just have a whole page for them!

Your Dominant Intelligence is Linguistic Intelligence

You are excellent with words and language. You explain yourself well.An elegant speaker, you can converse well with anyone on the fly.You are also good at remembering information and convicing someone of your point of view.A master of creative phrasing and unique words, you enjoy expanding your vocabulary.You would make a fantastic poet, journalist, writer, teacher, lawyer, politician, or translator.

What Kind of Intelligence Do You Have?

(via good at getting better)

tom took the free ColorQuiz.com personality test!“Longs for a tender and sympathetic bond and for a …”Click here to read the rest of the results.

Your Score: The Ardent Atheist

The results are in, and it appears that you have scored 71%…

You are an atheist, pure and simple. You think God is just one big lie, and consider religious people to be both annoying and beneath you. Ardent atheists will argue tooth and claw for their position, and have no truck with people that won’t listen. You think being an atheist is the only way to lead an honest life, and see no reason to accept the pleas of faith. Ardent atheists are the backbone of atheism. Be proud.

I suppose I can buy most of that. But, seriously, how does music genre really show anything about religiosity?

Just an fyi:

Over the next few days I’ll be moving the site over to a new hosting.  I’m switching from wordpress.com to bluehost.com; they already host another site for me, so I figure I might as well use the vast storage and transfer rates and get a bit more customization.

I won’t be changing the domain, so everyone using http://fallenverses.org shouldn’t have any issues once I change the nameservers.

Anyone subscribing should use the feedburner feed which I don’t know what it is off-hand.  That will be automatically redirected as well, or redirected by me, or something, before I make the switch.

If you have any problems with the site now, after the switch, during the switch or have any problems with the rss or just want to harass me: tom (at) fallenverses.org.
Unless something screws up an mx record that shouldn’t have any problems.

Ekphrasis

For my poetry workshop, we were supposed to write an ekphrastic piece. I knew the piece of art I wanted to write about, but I had some difficulties getting a good concept. After talking with my instructor a bit (and having to turn in the portfolio tomorrow), I wrote this:

On the Technique of George Seurat

It’s at the end of a long gallery. You can’t help but to stand in the doorway, just for a moment and look at Seurat’s masterpiece. It fills the entire wall at the far end. The time he must have put into it…
We stood, just like the thousands before us and the giggling teenage girls being quietly shuffled along by the art historian whose MA should qualify her for a job better than tour guide. We stood and looked over the parquet floors to see that little park in Paris.
The working-class man with his dog, the upwardly mobile strolling with parasols and gloved hands, strangers all, and inhabiting that moment together as they shared some purpose for being on that island.
(Seurat! What would your painting of this hall be? Would you catch the giggles of the girls or would prefer something less fleeting?)
We stood for our moment to take in the painting, stepped inside the gallery and sat on one of the benches. Ever the instructor, you told me about Seurat’s life, his influences, his technique. You suggest I take a closer look. I stand, look at you, expecting you to join me. A slight shake, “no.” My solitary footsteps, then, echo.
(Seurat! These frames lining the walls surrounding the work of your peers: would your keen eye see green in the shadowed recesses of their gilt scrollwork?)
I can’t see the whole thing as I near it…. I have to focus on smaller and smaller sections…. and Bernadette Peters really does look like this woman in the front…
Sunday in the park with…
The people start to get fuzzy, not blurry, their edges bleed into the trees and the trees into them…
Sunday in the park with…
“He used a technique we call pointillism. Instead of fields of color, the entire image is composed of dots of discrete colors. At a distance, they eye blends the dots together and you see the colors as if they were unified.”
Sunday in the park with…
Your voice blends into the moment in my mind and I see the dots: blues reds pinks even yellow in the dress… bright dots of spotlights… (Seurat! Seurat! How did you see all these colors? How close to the dress and the tree did you have to stand?) the small dots of atoms I will never see and the large dots of stars and the distance is dots of nothingness and your face, half shadowed above the bench in the distance…
On the interstate that night, you’re asleep in the passenger seat. As the headlights of oncoming traffic flit past, I see your face lit for just a moment. Ahead, the intermittent red of taillights.