Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Now, they are blooming everywhere, and in various pockets outside on the sidewalk, you can catch the scent of them across the street in the park. I'm trying to settle into my summer routine, but it's more I'm trying to draw a perfect circle but my lines are all squiggly and uncontrollable. I'm sunburned, slightly fevered, and hungry at all the wrong times of day. This happens every summer when the temperature heats up and I start working less noctural hours. It takes me a few weeks to adjust..In the meantime, I am still trying to decide what to do with girl show if neither of the places it is out to works out. Also, plotting places to send the newer book, places to send poems. Maybe I've just grown weary with poetry biz, but I don't approach it with the same gusto I used to. On the other hand, I find myself getting excited about other people's work immensely--what I publish, what I read, perhaps because I'm less excited by my own. Maybe I've just ceased surprsing myself anymore with it--have lost a certain joy, a certain spark. It all feels sort of mechanical. Some parts of "being a poet" are absolutely near unbearable these days. It's probably just a phase, and I'll crack it at some point or maybe just take it in an entirely different direction perhaps.