On Editing a Poem, or Anything Really
For every poem you birth a twin follows on its heels.
The first usually has all its fingers and toes
and scores quite high on the Apgar.
But the second?
Its a surprise, often arriving ill-formed,
at times possibly even grotesque.
These follow-ups are quickly whisked away by your mind’s
meddling midwife and sealed behind lock and key
in the ever shameful tower of dude-that’s-not-really-a-poem.
But if you have love, which is the universal prerequisite
for a poet, then at some point you must scale that
dark edifice and liberate your forgotten progeny.
Why?
They hold secrets about you that their darling siblings
don’t particularly care for, not to mention the establishment.
And the point is they’re family, sprung from your literate loins
and without them your work will always carry hints
of half-assery instead of whole-heartedness, the latter being
just another poetic way of saying love.
I think I have projects and paintings that fall into this category.
Pamela Plowden Rawson, ASID Pulliam Morris Interiors 906 Harden Street Columbia, SC 29205 (803)799-4744 (w) (803)479-4928 (c)
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This is very Jungian:). In the best way. So many gifts in the dark, waiting.
Allowing for the whole man…
You know that shadow self stuff is pretty dang real. And important. Personally, I’d love to see some of those mal-formed offspring. There’s bound to be beauty/intrigue/puzzlement/goodness there, too.