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>But on the other hand, I'm never happier than when I'm working hard on something. I don't know if that's inspiration, though. That's the thing... if I work hard enough at it (and there's the key), then sometimes it's as though it shifts to a different plane. It's not inspiration I think, more like the body relaxing, the conscious backing off a bit. And then it starts - occasionally. >I do know that when I am writing well I feel much more mortal, much more on the edge of things, much more aware of the fragility and vividness of things: Fragility and vividness, and no ideas/ but in things... -----Original Message----- From: Poetryetc provides a venue for a dialogue relating to poetry and poetics [mailto:[log in to unmask]]On Behalf Of Alison Croggon Sent: Monday, 13 March 2006 5:49 PM To: [log in to unmask] Subject: Re: Inspiration On 13/3/06 10:05 AM, "Caleb Cluff" <[log in to unmask]> wrote: > I don't know what it is; but when it's there, sometimes it's not me at all. > It's as though someone else has moved inside me. I just wish they'd stay > longer. I like them so much better than me. Whatever that person is (Borges' wolf/other?) my commoner feeling has been relief when he/she leaves me alone; sometimes I think it's like a disability. But on the other hand, I'm never happier than when I'm working hard on something. I don't know if that's inspiration, though. I am suspicious, like most people, I suspect, of the notion of inspiration, that romantic cliché of wild-eyed poets clutching their pale foreheads. I think it's both more banal and more mysterious than that. I do know that when I am writing well I feel much more mortal, much more on the edge of things, much more aware of the fragility and vividness of things: I suppose, more alive, more aware. And because of that feeling, you can be forgiven for the illusion that it is something that comes from outside. On the other hand, the last poem I wrote came to me while I was doing the washing up, line by line by line. I would put down the cup, go to my desk, write down the line, wash another couple of things, and repeated that until I finished the poem. It was all very undramatic, lines quietly floating up. Best A Alison Croggon Blog: http://theatrenotes.blogspot.com Editor, Masthead: http://masthead.net.au Home page: http://alisoncroggon.com ============================================================================== The information contained in this email and any attachment is confidential and may contain legally privileged or copyright material. It is intended only for the use of the addressee(s). If you are not the intended recipient of this email, you are not permitted to disseminate, distribute or copy this email or any attachments. If you have received this message in error, please notify the sender immediately and delete this email from your system. The ABC does not represent or warrant that this transmission is secure or virus free. Before opening any attachment you should check for viruses. The ABC's liability is limited to resupplying any email and attachments ==============================================================================