Well, sprung, guys. Yes Doug, Max, Pat, it was a sort of exercise. Once a
fortnight a bunch of lunks here in Daylesford get tasked with writing on a
common 'theme' if you will. Next time, I reminded them, Hemingway said to
The Kraut, 'never confuse movement with action' so we will be doing action
which should shift me from passive constructions if nothing else, Doug. A
French contribution at the Writers' Circle was the most interesting
actually from Danielle who opined that various movements in French and word
families are much closer to actual things being put in different places, if
I remember rightly whereas in English we have movements of symphonic music,
labor movements etc.
As far as using 'we', Max, I felt using the second person was too
instructive-sounding and 'I'
too distantly personal if you know what I mean. Anyway the opening two
lines were sort of inspired by the following (long) article with which I
have become fascinated. The thesis is basically that the brain and memory
particularly does not 'operate' as we think.
https://aeon.co/essays/your-brain-does-not-process-information-and-it-is-not-a-computer
Bill
On Thursday, 2 June 2016, Max Richards <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> mm, what Doug says…
>
> I specially like the verbs, Bill -
>
> hang on, I misread roll as roil.
>
> Opens as if a response, but to what?
>
> and saying ‘we’ feels - in a poem - verging on the presumptuous.
>
> But you may know poems that persuade me otherwise…
>
> Max
>
> On Jun 1, 2016, at 5:30, Bill Wootton <[log in to unmask]
> <javascript:;>> wrote:
>
> > We are neither programmed for movement
> > nor stillness. We are not programmed at all.
> >
> > We do tend to mobility however. Rather
> > than be still, we walk, kick, fiddle, nod, tap.
> >
> > Our minds move. We grapple, weigh up, tongue-wag,
> > gesticulate, eye-rake, sniff, lick, munch, caress.
> >
> > At night, we lie but air still moves within us. Cool
> > and dry on the intake, warm and moist on exhalation.
> >
> > And our inner worlds move on as we roll over,
> > stretch, spread and roil in dreamscapes.
> >
> > Our conscious selves rarely squat on a second.
> > Off we trundle in our mind's eye to years ago
> >
> > or to the supermarket later this afternoon
> > traipsing down the aisle behind a trolley.
> >
> > Be they habitual or new directional, our lives
> > chug along in mysterious perpetual motion.
> >
> > bw
>
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