My summer intentions regarding my poetry project were perhaps ambitious but I wanted to test myself and push the work forward - one sequence having manifested to draft stage, 3 more sequences or sets of poems to do. As it is the 3 ‘undrafted’ sets have come to exist in/as structure - they have become form driven, inhaling words to varying degrees of intention and satisfaction (my own). There is a comfort in this - I have come to learn that if it has its form, it can exist...
And so with its forms in place the work has definitely taken on a life of its own. So much so that I continue to be at times observing it unfold - which is a little unnerving - that it has managed to become a distinct entity - pulsing beyond my conscious control, refusing to settle into a path of least resistance that I may have been attempting to wave at from. It can, and does, suggest its own paths now. Sometimes I have to wait to find out what these are - meanwhile I’m left drumming my fingers on the bark of a tree eager to move on.
Impatiently I wanted this work drafted and finished - but I’m compelled to listen to it - why would I not when it has gathered this momentum? Also, having discarded a lot of work as unsatisfactory before this piece of work came to suggest itself - I have developed the feeling that I can be patient, that I needn’t fear that this piece will die on me - it has become too strong a presence.
So I continue on with a nervous excitement to see this thing - but is it leading me astray? I think I can trust it - I’ve spent enough time with the structures, themes and motifs of the work for that. Perhaps my misgivings come in part from the sudden shock that my baby is beginning to realize itself as a separate being. As I push / am pulled on, I’m hoping it hasn’t become too much of a monster and that I can manage to let it breathe in the words it needs in order to become itself.