Grumpily surveying my own lack of anition this morning, and the constant,
usually dominant feeling that, no matter what I do, I have no idea what I
am doing, or what I have done, or what I will be doing, it occurs to me
as usual that talking about it is ultimately no help at all. But I can't
help being curious... I'm inclined to think it is a kind of weakness, a
grasping for certainties where perhaps no such certainties exist: my idea
of my own strength can be measured by my participations in such
discussions.... How much does this positioning of I think this or that
make any difference when you're sitting cogitating in front of the blank
page/screen/mind? does it? doesn't it? how much? how little? what really
happens when you're writing a poem? what is listening to what? I'm
fascinated, for instance, that Keston can decide he's going to pursue a
certain way of writing, and then do so with intent purpose. For me such
decisions last as far as the opening lines of a poem, if they ever exist,
and the more common experience is a feeling of walking over unmapped
quicksands with eyes fixed on oblique balance. And mostly falling in a
hole. And if I have deciphered for myself some line of intellectual
intent, it's usually in retrospect and therefore feels untrue.
I sometimes think attempting to trace intent is like trying to map the
individual pathways of a swarm of grasshoppers. Unless you think like
DavId Mamet that human intention is just about one locus of desire that
you move inexorably and impermeably towards. But even, say, if you
applied flocking theories or game theories or whatever to the processes
and came up with a startling explanation, what difference would it make
to in fact writing a poem?
How do other people cope with this? or do you not have the same
problems? does everyone know what they're doing except me?
Best
Alison
Alison Croggon
PO Box 186
Newport VIC 3015
Australia
Masthead Online: http://www.masthead.com.au
Home Page: http://www.fortunecity.com/victorian/bronte/338
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