last night felt great. was up till 1:00 a.m. reading and writing, not manic, but feeling that perhaps bad shit passes and there might be good stuff to be had. so i wanted to write to everyone, open letters, postcards etc. etc. i love correspondence but often feel there is never time enough. and once i do sit down to write, it is either poems or blog entries. why not do all of it all at once. and yet, i'm a rather private person.
i do think poem-postcards/letters to fellow poet is, in the words of the great vulcan, spock, fascinating. not a new idea, i know. a project something like geof huth's letters to a young visual poet, where the subjects are writing and the life of writing. but a bit personal, sure. i've long loved reading bios and poet notebooks because they are personal, and lead into the life of reading/writing. i recall a poet i greatly admire telling me that the only biography he'd be interested in writing is one that tracks the development of the poems itself. yes, but since those texts were written by a flawed human being, one with passions, loves, who eats, shits and is cranky like the rest of us, i want to read about that person, the person who thought thru the writing of the poems, too.
i'd consider it a summer project. it'd not be terribly biographical, and certainly the texts would not contain anything told to me in confidence by a friend. but like postcard entries, or if i may carry a poetic conceit, like ol' tu fu and li po sharing a bottle of wine and writing poems on leaves to drop into the current of the river.
still thinking about it. and thinking about opening a new blog for it. we'll see how it goes. it may suck big donkey dicks. who knows. i said yesterday that i think all poets are my brothers and sisters, whether they are living or long dead. such a goofy conceit, i know, but i believe it. i don't distinguish between major and minor poets, such dichotomies are, for me, utterly useless. but there are some damn good, and very great, poets. sometimes they hog the bathroom, too.