Gossip [&] the Devil

The Practice of Poetry :: A great resource for overcoming writers block.

As you know I’ve been going through a bleak depression/writers block. To counteract this I’ve went back to one of the earliest writing techniques I learned in high school: the art of the twin poem.

For any unaware writers out there,  a twin poem is basically just like it sounds. You find a poem and write it’s twin, opposite words and situations. More often than not you wind up with a poem totally different than your twin, and something to add to your portfolio. I’ve also signed up for a couple “word a day” programs in an attempt to expand my vocabulary. Every day I get a word and I use it in that evening’s twin poem. I hope that soon they’ll sound/read natural because my language will be elevated.

7 Poets, 4 Days, 1 Book :: The book I'm currently using to write twin poems.

This has produced me some of my best work to date and I’ve decided to release a book when I’m done twinning  my current book of choice,  7 poets, 4 days, 1 book. My book will nothing but my twin poems and a handful of new work I’ve had in store for a while. Its coming along quite nicely.  A preview of what I’m talking about is found below the cut:

[Original Poem by Simone Inguanez]

Night

night, lie beside me
–in this bed by the river.
rest your flest, blow–
turn me into your image
–let me bear you
in my womb, it’s splitting
i want to feel the stars
stir in me–liquid pebbled in a bowl
repeat my name, warm in my ears
among the trees, leaning barefoot to one side
–our side.
here also, nymphs appear when the moon
is full–still alien still withdrawnn–and we’re their ghosts.

here, no one knows who we are.

[My twin poem]

Ghosts

Day, you walk away from this bed
by the lake.
Awaken your flesh,
your offensively lentiginous
nose and inhale the city.
I’ll turn around while you dress,
refuse you access to my womb,
it’s broken—
my doomsday biological clock
gone ka-boom.
I don’t want to feel the universe
I want rocks and steel things,
the callousness to stir in me
and soften
like the bottoms of your feet.
Don’t say my name,
a cool breeze
from an open window knows
how to speak my language.
All you have to do is
dance among dying trees
lining our street, tongue-kiss the one
knotted as inexorably as our hearts.
You disappear when the moon is full,
still alien, still withdrawn despite
the years,
we’re ghosts haunting
one another
the inability to speak,
my chest does not rise and fall rapidly
when you glance past.
here, we’ve no idea who we are.

I’m extremely happy for these poems, as I’ve never produced so much in such a bleak time before. there are still things I can’t quite get to, namely my weekly series on Trpubadour 21 [which has a new installment as of last week entitled "Exhibitionism on Hopeless Beach - Part IV!" T21 has been a struggle from day one to get across decent work and they're almost always late but I finish. Editor Paquita Roth [who also wrote a fabulous feature article on short stories and mentioned my series]  has been an angel in helping me through this time. I need practice being a weekly writer, even if  I feel like I can’t do it, or I’m not producing my best work.  I thoroughly enjoy writing the Billy series, now if only this damn block would lift! Sometimes you just have to let it go, as a friend once said to me.

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