Okay, so maybe it's not a great idea to write a blog evoking Shakespeare's lines when they are these:
It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury
Signifying nothing.
Am I an idiot?! Will my work signify nothing?
Next question, please.
All I meant to say is that while there may not be a "fury" to my writing practice, there is sometimes a kind of ferocious concentration and stubborn determination to fight the good fight and maintain a habit even during what feels like dearths.
And always, there is sound. I can start with only sounds on a page, word after word that sounds good in the order in which they are coming to mind, and before I know it, that warm-up has led me to writing something more substantive. Sounds determine the mood of the poem, the syntax, the meter. I am always amazed whenI read allegedly "great" poets whose writing has no sense of sound or meter. Even if the content is profound, I remain disinterested if it doesn't sound right.
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