My poetry collection appears to have a following among the dirt bike riding community of Australia. One of them asked for tips on where to go around Sydney, and the second post down suggested the rather surreal route of my book!
It gave me a much-needed laugh anyway…
1 comment:
Surreal routing to the beyond, subconscious realm of anything at all, spontaneous poetry within the soul and coded in every single cell of us Bob mon ames.
It gave me a chuckle too, a slight pause as I read it and thought, gawd, isn't life really weird and amazing: just like poetry is weird - in the sense of it psychically searing with phantasmagorial whisp, hint, hidden from consciousness because; only brifly held, it draws us into reading again, and again?
Like you, or another poet intellectualizing elsewhere (it could even have been me) on the relationships we have with a poem, being like the one the narrator, fictional whisp, does with the songs in a Nick Hornby 1995 novel, High Fidelity.
We are continually sorting, grading, seiving our favoutites into lists and re-ordering our imaginary perfectly ordered collection of songs that follow us through life. For you and I, 1970's to now, we have a background top 100, 500, hundreds of ditties we inhabit almost, in that the sound of music, rock 'n roll, pop, R&B, soul, jazz, classic, punk - you name it Robert, and we have it internalised.
Perhaps internalised is more accurate than 'inhabit' - though there is that aspect of in-habitation - because all we do is internalise what's exterior: and our all time fave song, movie, text, performance, or 'poem's, are continuously in free-float being re-ordered by the intellctual in Letters with a living connection to ditty making. The Makker.
Poetry coming in the re-order and never the same point in the river twice: do we make our point in prayer or comedy, try-hi flown visibles, or beyond into surrealism - where the wells of seigas, caves at delphi and the Fort of Shadows on the isle of sky, flit for a go in our attention on the page Macca D makkers we are, or nea
robne
(is the word verification)
mo chara?
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