This is quite wonderful, Deborah. I found this piece from last year by following your most recent post about mackerel and poetry this year. Both reveal an inquisitive consciousness reaching tirelessly toward truth. I admire and appreciate your work. I’m also a fan of Annie Dillard, so your dialogue with her was most appealing. Thanks for writing and sharing this.
Thank you, Andrew. I'm so happy you followed me here and shared your thoughts. It was remarkable to me how much I learned reading Dillard, and even more how much I "recognized" what she was saying, as if it was something I felt and knew and she put it into words.
And the one by Elbow is an old favorite too. But I've never read the one by Goldberg, and I've heard loves of good things about it. Time to get it on my shelf too. Thanks!
Very illuminating Deborah, thank you. I've not written a sonnet (or anything for that matter) since July 25th. That's the longest stretch of time sans a sonnet since I started writing them again in the late fall of 2021. It literally hurts. I feel like an unfaithful lover to my Calliope. I don't feel she has deserted me but I her. My schedule and life situation to blame these past 3 weeks, yet will she return when my situation becomes more stable? I've often written of the terror that she will leave me. How much more horrific if I find she's left me for good due to my own absence. Lines that have been thrown my way and left by me in the dust. You give me hope.
I hear you, Frank. I've had those spells too, where I feel like an unfaithful lover to my writing. she won't leave you though. She's a part of you. She comes from within. She knows your busy and she's giving you the time to get things settled before she makes her appearance again. And then she will come back and make up for all the time you were apart.
But Deborah, why the need to be recognized as anything? It all relates to our death worship cult. That wish to stamp ourselves unto the earth for all eternity. But alas, it doesn't matter - writer, lover, mother, revolutionary, addict ... what matters is your quality of involvement with life, not the flag fluttering in the wind but the direction itself. But enjoyed the read. Paris Review for years was my learning field, where I communed with fellow thinkers. Alas, like everything, the paywalls have eaten it up. Lucky me, I got amnesia and just like Granta, can pull down a volume and read everything like the first time.
Write on, pound that typewriter of time, make the world thine. Then, tear it all down again. Why? Because, it teaches you that only you, can bend.
You may be speaking for yourself but I've never been part of any death worship cult and have no desire for stamping myself into the earth as if such a thing were possible. I am a part of the earth and of all things and I relish that connection. I don't believe in death. I believe in the here and now which always was and always will be. You sound angry, my friend. Forget about the Paris Review and Granta. Look within yourself. All you need to learn is within your own mind and heart. The universe that appears outside us resides within.
This is quite wonderful, Deborah. I found this piece from last year by following your most recent post about mackerel and poetry this year. Both reveal an inquisitive consciousness reaching tirelessly toward truth. I admire and appreciate your work. I’m also a fan of Annie Dillard, so your dialogue with her was most appealing. Thanks for writing and sharing this.
Thank you, Andrew. I'm so happy you followed me here and shared your thoughts. It was remarkable to me how much I learned reading Dillard, and even more how much I "recognized" what she was saying, as if it was something I felt and knew and she put it into words.
Thanks for sharing Deborah! This book is being added to the list.
It's well worth the read. You might also enjoy Part II of my Dialogue with Annie which I'm posting today. https://deborahbrasket.substack.com/p/part-ii-dialogue-with-dillard-on
The first one I always recommend is The War of Art, by Steven Pressfield. I've re-read it several times.
Writing Down the Bones, Natalie Goldberg. Writing Without Teachers, Peter Elbow.
You're welcome.
Wow! Seems like we're on the same writing page. I wrote about The War of Art just a few posts ago. https://deborahbrasket.substack.com/p/getting-serious-about-our-lifes-work
And the one by Elbow is an old favorite too. But I've never read the one by Goldberg, and I've heard loves of good things about it. Time to get it on my shelf too. Thanks!
I remember Annie Dillard's book on writing. On my re-read list.
Yes, well worth the re-read. Any books on writing you'd recommend? BTW, thanks for the restack.
Very illuminating Deborah, thank you. I've not written a sonnet (or anything for that matter) since July 25th. That's the longest stretch of time sans a sonnet since I started writing them again in the late fall of 2021. It literally hurts. I feel like an unfaithful lover to my Calliope. I don't feel she has deserted me but I her. My schedule and life situation to blame these past 3 weeks, yet will she return when my situation becomes more stable? I've often written of the terror that she will leave me. How much more horrific if I find she's left me for good due to my own absence. Lines that have been thrown my way and left by me in the dust. You give me hope.
I hear you, Frank. I've had those spells too, where I feel like an unfaithful lover to my writing. she won't leave you though. She's a part of you. She comes from within. She knows your busy and she's giving you the time to get things settled before she makes her appearance again. And then she will come back and make up for all the time you were apart.
Thanks for the restack, Russell!
But Deborah, why the need to be recognized as anything? It all relates to our death worship cult. That wish to stamp ourselves unto the earth for all eternity. But alas, it doesn't matter - writer, lover, mother, revolutionary, addict ... what matters is your quality of involvement with life, not the flag fluttering in the wind but the direction itself. But enjoyed the read. Paris Review for years was my learning field, where I communed with fellow thinkers. Alas, like everything, the paywalls have eaten it up. Lucky me, I got amnesia and just like Granta, can pull down a volume and read everything like the first time.
Write on, pound that typewriter of time, make the world thine. Then, tear it all down again. Why? Because, it teaches you that only you, can bend.
You may be speaking for yourself but I've never been part of any death worship cult and have no desire for stamping myself into the earth as if such a thing were possible. I am a part of the earth and of all things and I relish that connection. I don't believe in death. I believe in the here and now which always was and always will be. You sound angry, my friend. Forget about the Paris Review and Granta. Look within yourself. All you need to learn is within your own mind and heart. The universe that appears outside us resides within.