Naming the Mysterious
Klonk bonk klonk. An acorn hit me on the head today while walking to work. It's ok, it didn't hurt too much. The streets are strewn with acorn crumbs so dry and crunchy underfoot. A field day for the ever-fatter squirrels.
Yesterday I went to a poetry reading by Franz Wright. It was sponsored by AGNI, some literary society at Boston University or something...Details escape me.
My poet friend Sarah told me about it.
It was enjoyable. So nice to hear something usually experienced in the cold, harsh, un-intimate setting between one's mind and a piece of paper spoken - and from the author's mouth. Though, as he acknowledged, it never comes out the same way you thought of it, and likened reciting the lines to acting.
Wright, who has published several books and whose work has appeared in The New Yorker, etc, was very open about how inspired he had been during some of the hardest times in his life, due to drug addiction & abuse.
Speaking with him afterwards, he reminded me of myself. Getting older, yet still basking in the mysterious wonderousness that is this life. Forever like a child.
The speaker who introduced Mr. Wright referred repeatedly to the poet's work being about God. This set me off a touch, but when he launched into one of his first pieces and it dealt with being in a bar, a teenage girl, and a transsexual whore, I feared nor expected rhetoric any longer.
Yesterday I went to a poetry reading by Franz Wright. It was sponsored by AGNI, some literary society at Boston University or something...Details escape me.
My poet friend Sarah told me about it.
It was enjoyable. So nice to hear something usually experienced in the cold, harsh, un-intimate setting between one's mind and a piece of paper spoken - and from the author's mouth. Though, as he acknowledged, it never comes out the same way you thought of it, and likened reciting the lines to acting.
Wright, who has published several books and whose work has appeared in The New Yorker, etc, was very open about how inspired he had been during some of the hardest times in his life, due to drug addiction & abuse.
Speaking with him afterwards, he reminded me of myself. Getting older, yet still basking in the mysterious wonderousness that is this life. Forever like a child.
The speaker who introduced Mr. Wright referred repeatedly to the poet's work being about God. This set me off a touch, but when he launched into one of his first pieces and it dealt with being in a bar, a teenage girl, and a transsexual whore, I feared nor expected rhetoric any longer.
posted by Ajda the Turkish Queen at 8:24 AM
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