My poetry Muses are real to me. If you've been reading my blogs for a while, you may recall in prior blogs that I've described the Muses as "fallen angels, smoking cigars and playing poker at the upper left corner of any room I currently inhabit." They're greedy for my attention. I can write a gazillion poems -- and I have -- and such is never enough for them. Greedy muscled angels -- big breasts (though not human boobs so much as a bird's oversize chest for flight) as well as huge steely biceps to operate those huge wings. Colorless or color-replete eyes, depending on your point of view, in that heated light rather than color emanate from their long-lashed orbs. I can continue, but you get the point. They exist and they are not benign -- found the above image in the internet and while it's not quite what I always envisioned with my Muses, it shares with my Muses the sense of a lack of stability even as love exists. Poetry can't be stable.
So, when I finally shook off the perfumed steel feathers my poetry Muses kept dropping on me and work, instead, on a novel, I wondered how the poetry Muses would react.
Well, I got my first response this morning. And I'm relieved. They're not mad. Moreover, they will continue to be generous because, while I was sneezing through their feathers, I honored Poetry. That's my take anyway. My take on what happened this morning, which is that I wrote a new chapter that was scaffolded by one of my poetry books, 5 SHADES OF GRAY. Another scaffolding was the "I Forgot" structure of one of the two poems in Tom Beckett's new and fabulous release,
I'm so relieved.
As Scoobie Do would say: Rut-ro!ReplyDelete
But, btw, Wiki says that Rut-ro sound, while often attributed to Scooby Doo, was actually the music of Astro, that dog from The Jetson's.
Yes, we go to this blog for deep issues.
That's deep, my Chatelaine!ReplyDelete