There are times, increasingly often, that language is slow to come to me. Of the possible forms of expression -- the hug or kiss in greeting, for example, or gesturing down the street and around the corner for a stranger -- the verbal sometimes takes more energy than I can muster.
|Japanese radishes drying. Image by risumiru|
And what about that highly-polished nut, A picture's worth a thousand words? It's often used to sell, usually (paradoxically) things we aren't meant to examine very closely. And if we were to take it literally, we'd soon stop using language altogether, and instead invent a system of pictograms pointing our way to....
You can see the problem of "being a writer," if being a writer means making with language. It may be more useful to a writer to think of writing as a circling back to cave paintings and lines scratched in shifting sand.
Not every morning offers up that radiance. But so much of writing poetry is about attending, by which I mean showing up and waiting around for nothing to happen (if I may alter the context of what Auden supposedly said). It's in this window I sometimes find my way.