Thought for the Day
The writer knows his field––what has been done, what could be done, the limits––the way a tennis player knows the court. And like that expert, he, too, plays the edges. That is where the exhilaration is. He hits it up the line. In writing, he can push the edges. Beyond this limit, here, the reader must recoil. Reason balks, poetry snaps; some madness enters, or strain. Now, courageously and carefully can he enlarge it, can he nudge the bounds? And enclose what wild power?
-Annie Dillard, The Writing Life (HarperPerennial, 1989), p. 68-69
I spent a couple of hours this morning pushing and reworking the new poem. I have something good and real and alive here and Yes, I am grateful for that. The poem is out over sixty lines, mostly because after cutting some dross I've built the story back by suggesting several alternative directions in the narrative. I have decisions to make and suspect that this one will edit back down toward fifty lines.
I have another busy day at work. Meetings all morning, meetings all afternoon. Through most of which, I will be expected to extravagantly tap-dance.
I just opened the door to let the cat out and two deer were coming down our driveway as if to say, Good morning! The deer were big and red, walking serenely, then went leaping into the wood lot after they saw me. I suppose one shouldn't be so full of doubt, so early on a summer day.