I like the confessional sense of the last stanza here, Doug. As if dipping into and getting soused with ink is to put one into the well, the liquid mineral fiber and true carrier of the language - and away with all this digital instant appearance and erasure that barely represents a ghost of 'the real' or resides only as 'the ghosted real.'
A looming renewal of an arts & crafts movement! Enjoy!
Stephen V
http://stephenvincent.net/blog/
Douglas Barbour <[log in to unmask]> wrote: snap: upon looking for and finding my lovely slim brushed silver
fountain pen, then searching through various drawers for ink, finally
finding the little box of ink cartridges, then shoving a cartridge
hard onto the pen, then trying to get the ink to flow, finally dipping
the nib in some water, oops, blue on my fingers, but dried both hands
and pen, and tried to write, not having completely forgotten how to
hold a fountain pen but realizing as before that my penmanship is, to
be polite, not the best.
I want to be
an ink-stained wretch
again
Wednesday April 30 2008
Douglas Barbour
[log in to unmask]
http://www.ualberta.ca/~dbarbour/
Latest books:
Continuations (with Sheila E Murphy)
http://www.uap.ualberta.ca/UAP.asp?LID=41&bookID=664
Wednesdays'
http://abovegroundpress.blogspot.com/2008/03/new-from-aboveground-press_10.html
There are no wrong notes!
Thelonious Sphere Monk
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