My favorite job title is Poet. Why? No license, no union, no credentialism. If you can learn, you will. If you can’t, you won’t waste my time. I grow regardless.
Forgive me my vanity, but I want to dig into the idea of writing-as-thinking, using my own writing as an example. This is a love poem I wrote nearly two decades ago, for
The Unfallen:
let’s make love like velcro baby
it’s the best thing we can do
you stick to me like strapping tape
i’ll stick to you like glue
i’ll cast my anchor in your harbor baby
thrust my shovel in your earth
cling by claws to your cavern walls
take me test my worth
love’s just a hint baby
love’s just a scent
just a sniggling squiggling clue
could it be me
could it be me baby
could you be in there too
let’s make love like velcro baby
let’s do it ’til we die
grab me grasp me clutch me clasp me
hook me with your eyes
This is fun, first, simply because it’s such a goofy idea. The word play itself is fun, but, even before that, it’s fun because it’s such a clumsy, clinical premise for a love poem, the polar opposite of the sunsets and silences and solitudes of the sonnets: Let’s make love like velcro, baby.
The poem is built from very simple stuff. English words, not stuffy Latinate polysyllables. Active verbs, along with nouns and adjectives rich in imagic particularity. This is what Conrad was talking about, writing to the senses, writing actions and events that feel to the reader like actual experience. This again contrasts with the more expected form of a love poem, which usually will be about impressions and emotions, abstract ideas expressed in passive or even prostrate forms.
And yet every one of these activities is a metaphor for love, with each metaphor building on the last to become steadily more intimate, graphic and ultimately clinical again — all in a way that would glide right past your kids if they were to sneak out of bed and peek over your shoulder. (Watch the verbs: Glide, sneak, peek — active, particular, imagic.)
Like this: