Wednesday, January 27, 2010
5- A Poet's Attempt at Fiction
When i am having a particularly horrible day i go to the nearest bookstore, sit on the ground, and grab randomly at poetry books. if i don’t like the title- i shove it back in its place. if i don’t like the paper color or smell- i shove it back. if i don’t like the specific combo of words my eyes fall on in the middle of the page in the middle of the book- i shove it back. i reach and grab and reach and grab and shove and slam until i eventually find exactly what my subconscious has been searching for. today i found Anne Carson. and it is so extremely fitting that i have found her, and today, of all days. yesterday i finished the most beautiful book in the world. it hurts; i miss it, a lot actually. i found myself wishing i could still be reading it for the first time. that i could be reading it eternally. i dislike re-reading. this book is titled Fugitive Pieces and it is by Anne Michaels. this book, and the new books i discovered today, are prose-poetry. they are poem-novels. they are a postmodern intersection of lyricism and plot. and they freeze me. they stop me cold and turn me off of the world. i read these books and i am gone. a poet's first novel, a poet's 'attempt' at fiction.... this is my true love. no genre completes me like this. the first book i read in this manner was The Way Through Doors by Jess Ball. it stunned me. and i have been forever grasping for more of it. today's books are precisely what i need, precisely what i want. Autobiography of Red and Decreation by Anne Carson. When i grow up- this is what i will do, this is what i will write.