Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Regard. (Or the mercurial nature of assuredness, or 'does this suck?')

Man, this has been a challenging month for me. I'm going to blame the weather. Because in my heart and mind and spirit, it has been a few weeks just like that: SUNNY! BEST EVER DAY EVER oh shit it's raining again, not just raining but tornado sirens and debt and unknowing WAIT THERE IS THE SUN, ALL GOOD AND I AM GOING TO BE MORE THAN FINE MAYBE FIND LOVE TOO wait its freezing and I am unsure of WHEW! BEST DAY EVER! HOPE REDUX.

During this crisis of knowing what the day will bring, I have been working hard to feel into knowing which of the multiple creative projects that call my name (sirens, all) is THE ONE. It is like taking on a lover or a new friend or a new job. These endeavors take time and I want to get it right if I am going to spend several months or a year with a new novel or play or creative collaboration.

A week or so ago, a new novel popped into my head. It was a surprise. Like meeting someone out of the blue. And it was so exciting!! It spoke to me, it yelled at me, it begged me to write it.

So I did. I spewed out 50 pages in a week. I loved every single character and word and thought "yes yes yes!!" And then I sent two chapters to my agent who said (I paraphrase) "Um, it sucks."

So it went from a SUNNY DAY to freezing cold drizzle and wind with cloud cover for days in like three seconds.

My friend Sue sent me this poem right at the same time I was getting my "knowing" smacked down from afar. It was perfect for me today so I hope you too will find what you need in it.

(And p.s. - I'm not ditching my novel. Not just yet anyway.)


Beat and stop and beat and skip again,
Blood and heart I am in the house of impossibility,
My disbelief exploding within me.

I see and then I see no more, and see again,
Things like chairs and laughter, dawn and kisses,
Like a painter gone insane
I've made friends among apples and pears,
Chairs and tables, and flowers in jars.
Remembrance and prophecy,
I have no interest in what is missing.

I seize what I find and let what else be gone,
My interludes of blindness make sight that dear.

Still, the potency of nonsense overwhelms me,
Its grasp too small but grasping nonetheless.
I have no need to wonder there is more
Than that with which I'm blessed.

Beat and stop and beat and skip again,
Blood and heart I am in the house of impossibility.

Robert Kipniss

No comments:

Post a Comment