It keeps occuring to me that I do
best when I write about a topic-
in spite of what I said in
Subject to Change. But, even then,
have I simply said all I want
to say? Is this the problem?
No, I love to write, I really enjoy it.
It's just that I'm only now learning to
work with it in a way that's more satisfying
No-Who am I= Who is listening to me.
When it comes to poetry, I seem to
want to speak in a soft voice. Yes,
I remember about X's readings- declaiming
his lines in a loud, booming voice. Of
course, too, Leland- affirmative,
confident- like Y. But my poetic
voice is not so confident- yet I am
no longer afraid of coming out of a delusion.
Perhaps I've been deluding myself about
poetry- but I was out to show that I
can write. Constantly assailed by
doubts, I am forever choosing things
in my life that give me no solid
foundation- with one exception- my
therapy degrees and my practice (and my therapy).
One thing about the short poem that
attracted me was its "quick fix" satisfactions.
Once published, I could easily picture
certain forms being published in certain
settings. But in the past ten years-
the definitive date being X's pronouncement-
I have discovered again that my
poems do not *progress* the way my essay
writings progress. This is true from a
publishing context with no question. But this
is largely a question of "change" as Leland's
letter puts it. In a sense, going to
a publisher is like going to a doctor. That's
where an image of Douglas holding Emma
comes in. Maybe the fact that I've tried
hard to be honest with myself that makes my
writing interesting to others- and to myself.
I'm getting more and more of a taste for that.
Part of my anxiety (I felt it then) also
comes ffrom this successive (excessive) self honesty.
Only fears of coming out of a delusion
if I'm afraid I'll have nothing else.
But then at times I get fuzzy about what
is a delusion and what is not a delusion.
But art is based on fantasy- and the
environments of mind in which I build
whatever Iwrite are important to me. From
this perspective they are not delusions-
in fact- they are the opposite. They are
*armatures* (I prefer this word so much
more to structure with its whiff of
strict schedules and strict attention.)
Why should I write anything other than what
I want to? Oh, never again (baby), never
again. "I hate to see that
evening sun go down, cause it makes me
feel like I'm on my last go-round."
(Unidentified jazz singer)
"Oh, woe is me" days are over- not that
I'll never mourn a loss. But I'm not deluded
about the "powers" or"impact" or pleasures
of such mourning.
Yet again- stimulants- coffee,
nicotine, sugar constantly ingested-
points to a problem. There is a dependence
in me on (imaginary?) and *exhilirated*
states. These still must be the result of a great fear
of calming down. And yet, that I've
found more and more ways, to avoid
acting out my anxieties brings me a
measure of constant strength (awareness of
A "primitive language" is an awareness of
the values of giving expression to
ones thoughts as a way of learning
what they are. "Free speech" then "free association"
then- private language ("personal" language?)