Kind of like the blues, I suppose.
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poets are just humans but they seemed to know that deeply, the mortal, frail, fucked up, ugly, beautiful, beast, under the skin and what’s feverish, or tranquil in our being, and there are those wannabees who think they know about poets or being poets when they have never gone to the deep end or gone so messed up, alone, that he/she lost everything and coming to face to face with living and dying or what’s worth the salt of life, or not having a single grain of salt…
Li Min, I think you’re a poet. I think it must be time for me to read your book.
Guess the Poet believes in a life after or forever or? I was thinking about how recorded time will change. Old drafts/versions will essentially be gone after updating. We won’t be able to remove the layers of paint to see what was painted underneath it all. Is this bad? Who am I to judge. Wait, let me go back and change what I wrote.
alright, let’s tackle that mortals’ concern, being here and gone and how any those written stuff going to stay or not stay, the truth is very simple and complex or terrible, true poets are just channelers, or spirit transmitters, or dream deliverers, once that’s delivered and you, the readers or receivers get this whiff of that poetry-stuff, and that’s it…there’s really no need to keep it forever, its this obsession with keeping something forever that we lost the true eternity and real dream-sharing;emily dickenson wrote and kept it in a drawel, i write poetry because it gives me a reason to go on living when my lot is getting so bad, like a meltdown!! the real essence of poetry is here on the bare branch of winter, or the trash sitting there festering doom, its all these 100 fleeting images and we can only get a tiny bit of that transforming matter, matrix is the work of the soul, and the soul is not just human, is cosmic and out there with the stars where we came from, the dust of all light still coming at us while i type.
have a happy solstice!!
if you like my rambling thoughts or stuff from my heart and soul, please consider checking out my book, Spirit Bridges, by Li Mo at amazon, and maybe buy a copy and give it to someone for the holiday!! poets can’t make a living selling books, but it makes us feel better to get the work out there in the world. my book is a memoir, a story of my life, a lot of poetry there and stories.
And so, the soul speaks to survive, and a little while later, the mind wants something for it. Nothing wrong with that, it’s just funny. The soul is not only cosmic, it’s comic.
Yesterday I screamed because I needed to. Today I think about what a wonderful scream I had.
By all means, buy Li’s book. I know I will.
OK, I get it. Poetry/art/living is only a transitory experiences during fleeting moments. I agree. Then there are the, well, studious types like me (I?) who want to see the transition of works. I can go to the library and look at a NYC telephone book from 1922. It’s static and gives me a moment in time. But I can’t access my email address book from 10 years ago. That moment in time is gone. Perhaps I think too much.
Ah, but dig the poet: He’s just damned all of History to the last syllable of recorded time. But does he shut up? Oh, no, not he!
Indeed, life is a transitory experience
and does poetry somehow anchor us
in our moments
or not?