The Seeker

A Meta-Cognitive Journal About Writing… Plus Other Stuff

Lake Shore Drive, February 1

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I was reading the Henri Cole interview in The Paris Review this morning, and was struck by something he said.  The interviewer noted that Cole’s poems give readers access to certain kinds of pain and grief, and then they leave us there.  Cole responded:

I don’t want the reader to experience comfort—I want the opposite.  A lyric poem presents an X-ray of the self in a moment of being, and usually this means dissonance.

His thoughts struck a cord with me, and I flipped to a writing app on my notebook to write a few lines about how pale my skin gets in the winter, and how I feel like I wash out given that I’m bald, too, and why now I’ve decided to regrow my goatee so I have at least some facial features.  My warm-up set was to do a few lines about my immediate setting, including some notes about the nasty weather we are getting just now.  I never made it past the warm-up, and was having so much fun that I spent the next half hour shaping this poem.  It makes a good companion piece to last year’s entry, Faculty Lot, January.

Lake Shore Drive, February 1
The weather map looks like
the Old Man smacked a bruise
across the Midwest.  He screams
his spite outside the window
and spits snow at us, each
flake a tiny needle
cracking against the glass.

 

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Written by seeker70

February 1, 2015 at 3:24 pm

Posted in Uncategorized

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