D.W., envious of my electric typewriter.
Me, envious of the garage he converted into a large writing studio.
Poetry workshop, as we called it.
I was asked to read at the end of the evening – just as I was about to leave, actually. So I shared three pieces.
“Your poetry is very rich. It’s almost so rich you don’t know what to do with your wealth,” one person said to me afterward.
Pflum was very pleased. “You’ve improved a lot in the past year.” He enjoyed the suggestion, the room for the reader’s imagination. I told him I had a lot of help.
Earlier, I had sensed in his reading a real or whole person, despite his disclaimers.
A poetry journal I noted had a “Zen mood.”
Rejection 21:I:76: “… your poems lack vitality, are surface, not involved.”
Was surprised by our featured reader, who had contributed so little to the group and usually left immediately after reading. … She invited her ex-husband to come and hear her read of lovers and her abortion.
Am thinking about a style that requires a new turn in each line, so that the poem move forward by mosaic rather than each line alone
Pflum and Wade arguing over whether to discuss a work-in-progress or wait till it’s done.
In Pfingston’s poems, every word is right, exactly on target. His deceptive clarity is so much harder to achieve than is apparent, so that some might dismiss these as “so what.” Not me.
David Halpern on poets under 40: “There is no poet-public. Name a well-known living poet. Few people could.”
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You never know where you’ll find inspiration:
~*~
From Spiralbound Hoosier, with commentary from now.
Jnana's Red Barn 