I went to a reading last night and had my mind teased and prodded in the best way.
It had already been a rather intense furrowing of the brow kind of day. The morning was spent deep in thought running multiple lines of words and melody through my head at the same time. I’ve finally realized I’m most productive if I dive into the deep end with held breath, resurfacing only in fits and bursts for a quick sharp gasp of air. Gulping, I relish the descent back into the waters, unseen and silent for another week.
Feeling less like a hermit than in years past, I just recognize my need for solitude and silence when I’m writing. A room of my own, as Virginia Wolfe would say. It feels slightly antisocial but it’s a requirement for good work, for me at least. Actually, when staying at a friends in London last week for a songwriting workshop, I read an intriguing book, Quiet by Susan Cain that sat on the nightstand by my bed. It’s not an unusual requirement according to her. It’s just unpopular in western culture, or American culture. Anyhow, that’s neither here nor there, but if you’re remotely curious about Introverts + Extroverts, get yourself to a bookshop. Quick.
I almost couldn’t make it out. I was worried about interrupting my flow. I shouldn’t have been.
My big night out and away from my little studio was a glorious night of mind fireworks. A friend of mine, Robert Krut, has a new collection of poems out called This Is The Ocean and he read several pieces from his wonderfully evocative poetry. Bold and visual images swirled into delicate and vulnerable whispers. His poems leave you feeling privy to the words exchanged by lovers, and the promises sung to children by parents. It’s beautiful stuff. There were two other writers that read under the glowing bistro lights and in particular Wendy C. Ortiz‘s writing really caught my ear. She’s got a beautiful way of stringing words together, swirling beads spinning on a thin metal chain.
If you are a lover of words to linger over and slip deeply into, these two are your kind of poets. I’m currently obsessed with the poem ADMISSION IS A PROMISE, THE EXIT IS A LIE but I’ll leave you with these three lovely pieces.
HOLD ME, THE WALLS ARE FALLING
THE FORTUNE TELLER