Thursday, January 30, 2003

As a rare winter sunset paints the bare trees red through my window, it's dawning on me that my post of yesterday was nearly incoherent. Do I contradict myself? Is the function of a blog to celebrate incoherence or only tolerate it as the price of doing business? Certainly it's a celebration of process, but which process exactly? Does this kind of writing at all resemble the other kinds of writing I do—poems and academic writing? It's far more rigorously shaped than any other notebook I've ever kept. Of course this notebook is kept in public, and as many as forty people a day are peeking at it with my invitation. It's been a fantastically successful experiment thus far—I feel immersed in a dialogue about poetry much larger than any I've found in classrooms or bars, plus it keeps my sense of myself as a poet alive after wearing my PhD hat all day. Perhaps I should begin posting actual poems. What I'd be most interested in putting out there are the poems from my unpublished manuscript Fourier Series, but they are formatted in a way that would be difficult to reproduce with my extremely limited knowledge of HTML. Perhaps the next time I have a spare hour I'll try it.

There are issues of substance to engage with, but right now I have to go to Target and buy some corduroys. A warm blogger is a happy blogger.

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