(March 2005) Joy Harjo wrote, in “Bird” (her homage to Charlie Parker) that
understand the final uselessness of words. We are chords to
other chords to other chords, if we’re lucky, to melody. The moon
is brighter than anything I can see when I come out of the theater,
than music, than memory of music, or any mere poem.
I am eating words today. Chomp. And feeling as if I need to isolate myself more (but am trying not to think about this so I can concentrate on my editing, durn it). Worked on my 1,200-page freelance manuscript for a while then, wisely, switched to the smaller 300-page manuscript. I have been so fortunate in my freelance jobs of late. My last one was a local writer’s latest novel—I got to read it first!—and this one explores nature-focused poetry.
I am so fortunate to get paid for editing something I would read anyway (and fortunate that so many academic presses call me when they’re publishing scholarship on poetry, too).
Whee! I will probably finish this book just in time to watch basketball.