Still thinking

So far, my school adventure is earning me A's in both biology courses, but the most exciting one is poetry -- not much of a clue about the grade though.  I forced myself to have a conversation with the poetry prof and the molecular genetics prof about my fork-in-the-road dilemma.  The biology conversation reminded me why I didn't finish either of my previous Ph.D. attempts, and it seems to me that a new and different outcome is unlikely.  Admit it, me, I'm distractible, apt to take off for Oregon or Europe, and not terribly keen on the sacrificial aspects of graduate work in science.  On the other hand, I can keep on writing poetry anywhere, anytime.

There is nothing to stop me from taking all the science courses and poetry courses I want.  I can even apply to short-term writing workshops -- there are a zillion of them every year.  Do I want an MFA?  Being in a graduate program gives me access to assistantships (a good thing in these days of dwindling inheritance) and a helpful, even nurturing faculty.  Sounds good.  I'd need to have a writing portfolio of at least ten poems and the sort of lit essay I'd do in a lit course (so I'd need to take one).  I can't apply immediately -- I have more time to decide... and write.

I am itching to see next semester's class schedule, want to sign up for the 300-level poetry course and a lit course.  Secretly, I always wanted to be an English major!

Writing a poem feels wonderful -- a psychic rush.  When it works, it actually feels like I'm using all my faculties, whether you call it right/left brain or something else.  An image zips through me and emerges as words.  Reading it, especially aloud, the images evoke emotions -- a neat trick.

When I hike or just walk, if I'm alone, I do a lot of pausing and gazing.  Often I get that marvelous feeling just from merging perceptions.  Now I'm learning how to preserve that, how to communicate it by making a poem that captures it.  It is thrilling.  Will this thrill wear off?  I don't think so.

Now I have to do a major revision on one of my poems for the midterm "exam."  The poem about my body, "Triple-D's," is the one I should revise, as she actually commented "strong poem" at the bottom.  Instead, I've been working on "Duende," the poem inspired by a piece of art.  It's from a charcoal portrait by Whitfield Lovell of the same name.  I had to look up "duende," which turns out to be a Spanish rough equivalent to "soul."  The portrait is very stiff, and the black clarinetist's face was closed in that way one sees even today on those who've gotten strong through learning to deal with the constant expectation of being kicked.  Of course I googled Lovell as well.  He works from old photographs and tintypes, and this one is several decades in the past judging from the clothing style.  He depicts many aspects of the black experience using these photos and placing his rendering of them in an expressive setting, sometimes by simply adding objects, sometimes by placing them in a much larger installation. "Duende" was drawn on rough boards with a tarnished clarinet attached to one side to identify his particular mode of expression, his duende.  From the look on the musician's face, I suspect the photographer was white.

I worked on "Duende" most of the day and got tired of it.  Back to my tits.  I'm annoyed that the end was misunderstood, so I have to work on it.  I have to admit it's better, more me.