March 1st- The 2009 Protagonists' Diary

Dearest protagonize journal,

It is actually march 2nd as I write this... but my entry belongs just as well to yesterday, so I will leave another the task of playing catch up.

I want to share with you a challenge and a poem.

I've working through an essay called "Poetry and Ambition" by Donnald Hall.  (You can read it, {at least some of it} here: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/16915).   The first sentence of the essay is "I see no reason to spend your life writing poems unless your goal is to write great poems."  Read that again.

"I see no reason to spend your life writing poems unless your goal is to write great poems." 

It can, of course, apply to any form of writing.  And I think he might be right, in a terrifying sort of way.  So I'm asking myself: do I want to spend my life writing poetry (or stories, etc)?  Because if I answer 'yes' it is indeed going to ask my life of me.  What are you asking yourself?

 

And the poem, which I wrote this morning. (If you read the above mentioned essay, you will see that the author of that essay would be very much apposed to me posting this here and calling it a poem... but I don't care today--I haven't decided yet to spend my life writing poems, and I wanted to share this moment with you.):

 

 

Cold February wind knocks its hollow

knuckles against my windowpane in March.

I tuck my hair behind my ear again.

It seems to think it is still as it was

just an hour ago.  Dancing on that wind,

rudely blocking my sight in its revels.

The mug of hot tea perched on my stomach

knows nothing of that cold thing called winter.

The End

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