I'm working on a poem but it needs more time to rise at room temperature, so I won't post it yet. And I didn't enlighten the world yesterday with my witty blog-banter either.
But tonight I am inspired, first because I went to see David Bromige read. The evening began with several of his greatest admirers and other fine poets read his work in homage to him. Bromige is a frighteningly brilliant man and at the same time so completely humble and accessible, he might as well be canonized now, for all he's apparently an atheist. I can't say I always follow all of his work, but he's the real deal.
The second source of my inspiration is the latest Richard Shindell CD I got. I'm trying to think of how to describe him - a John Denver with no sentimentality and ten times the talent? A modern-day Don McLean, maybe?
At any rate, the poetry & music had me all worked up, and driving home I felt pretty moved. Moved to get lost writing in particular. (What!? Is it really after 11pm? How did that happen!?)
It's bound to be an emotional time for me anyway. D. is tearing apart the garage - our pantry is now on sturdy (function, not form) shelves in the kitchen, my [adjectives deleted] mother-in-law and her husband are coming for lunch tomorrow, and Easter marks the one-year anniversary (the holiday, not the date) of the last time I saw my mother alive. Yeah, that last thing just might explain the vulnerability. Bear with me, folks.
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