The Muse Took a Hike
Yeah, the Muse took off a few days ago.
I am still writing a poem a day, but now, I am indeed relying only on craft, and much of the work is not even fit to be called a rough draft yet. I am also, however, tinkering with previous work - as is the wont of poets. Fussing, fussing, fussing. And of course, that's what one does when the Muse takes off - because that fussing - that's revising - and that's craft.
But damn these Muses ... can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em.
Baby come back,
any kind of fool could see
I was wrong...
and I just can't live without you.
Baby come back,
craft is certainly an imperative indeed,
but my love
i need your inspiration.
Baby come back,
the full gin bottle stares at me
and my words ring cold and empty
without you in the mix.
Baby come back
the gin bottle is empty
and my words lay
flat and stale.
Baby come back
anything i write now
pales
in comparison to the words you gave me.
Baby, just come back.
I am still writing a poem a day, but now, I am indeed relying only on craft, and much of the work is not even fit to be called a rough draft yet. I am also, however, tinkering with previous work - as is the wont of poets. Fussing, fussing, fussing. And of course, that's what one does when the Muse takes off - because that fussing - that's revising - and that's craft.
But damn these Muses ... can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em.
Baby come back,
any kind of fool could see
I was wrong...
and I just can't live without you.
Baby come back,
craft is certainly an imperative indeed,
but my love
i need your inspiration.
Baby come back,
the full gin bottle stares at me
and my words ring cold and empty
without you in the mix.
Baby come back
the gin bottle is empty
and my words lay
flat and stale.
Baby come back
anything i write now
pales
in comparison to the words you gave me.
Baby, just come back.
posted by Bird | 2:59 PM
9 Comments:
I have taken your lead and fall alarmingly short and pathetically gross in my attempts.
Now that is a 'baby' we do need, ay Bird?
Well, even a Muse needs some time off to amuse herself...
Holland Oats???
Hmmmmmmmmmm?
polly - are you writing then?
TN: yes, the Muse needed some fun I suspect.
CJ: Yes, you are correct. See what the lack of a Muse has done to me?
flap.flap.flap
Player! It's Player! Baby will Come Back if you call on the Telephone Line. Bad 70s schlock. Ain't it the best?
dunno 'bout the muse bout.
visual is a lil different, though sometimes seems similar.
I hope your room and bed
is full of scraps of paper, all filled with the b'zillion ideas that flash through your head.
Wildest poet I've run across of late would be Mike Brown, who sets a fair amount of his work to music.
Youtube as 'slippereal' or in tailcast as 'mikedelic brownage'
There's a sample of his stuff on m'blog...at the bottom, now, as I put it there some time last week.
Posted the words, too. Good guy, actually.
Really powerful poetry.
Takes what we lean on as rhythm and sets it differently.
Well, good luck with the 'crafting', eh....
craft is concrete
and the muse a breeze
craft is your rock
and the muse, your knees
craft is king
muse is bling
gettin r done
is always the thing
Your plight reminds me of a late friend of mine. He had gotten a dream assignment in Washington. He had all sorts of wonderful plans that he worked diligently to put in place. They were damned fine plans, too. No matter how hard he tried, nothing seemed to work.
He finally said the hell with it and stopped trying. Within two days things started to happen just as he had planned.
Sometimes we just try so hard that we get in our own way.
Baby is coming back. Count on it. We just don't quite know when. But, baby will be back.
We will all rejoice when it occurs.
....i dunno.
sometimes it seems that it would be easier to spread arms and fly,
fly gracefully to and fro,
than to smile.
Though smiles sometimes reflect back at you with the faces you see,
or those who listen....
still....why is it that melancholy knocks at our doors, banging away till we answer, and always sad that we do.
Uninvited it was.
or....
was it?
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