poem – Page 82 – don't confuse the narrator

poems and pints

One of the things that struck me – and some of the other participants – at the poetry conference last week, was that one of the readings and the Q&A session were held in a coffee bar.

I had the temerity to question this, and was told that it was an American poetry conference and that that was the way they do things; I wasn’t to worry, though, as there would be drink available on the final night.
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prose poetry II

I said yesterday that I might post something I’d written at the American Poetry workshops in Nottingham, and then it seemed presumptuous to include what is no more than an initial workshop draft in a post where I mention so many recognised and respected poets, so I didn’t.

Here, though, is a piece from the prose poetry workshop that I may come back to and try and see where it leads. The words in italics are from a piece by Charles Simic.
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prose poetry

I’ve just been in Nottingham, at the university, attending a series of poetry workshops and trying to re-connect to poetry. I’m not sure I’ve achieved that, but since the blog hasn’t been updated for a week, it seems appropriate to post something about the weekend, and, maybe, something I wrote while there.
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alternative medicine

I went for a massage today for the first time in many years. I chose to have a shiatsu massage, and as I lay face down wincing with the pain and visualising tomorrow’s bruises, I remembered my experience with acupuncture years ago, and the poem that it inspired.

If I can take time out to return to the masseur on a regular basis, I may even find the mental space to write something new. In the meantime, here’s something old:
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self-fulfilling prophesies

I always check the stats page to see what people are searching for that leads them to the blog.

I already commented in pictures of pigs that I get a lot of visitors looking for “pig slaughter” – some of whom I hope go away satisfied that they’ve seen butchered swine on several pages, although, as yet, I’ve not actually been present at a matanza. (I do love the fact that Spanish doesn’t seem to distinguish between the idea of “slaughter” when it applies to approved animal killing for food, and “massacre” when applied to B-movie horror, e.g. La Matanza de Texas.)

Note that I’ve not been an eye-witness, but I have heard: there has to be a pun about “pigs’ laughter” and “squealing”, but I’m leaving that for another day.

Recently, though, there have been more searches for “science and technology poems”, and I think I am failing those potential readers. So I’d better do something about it (hence the post title).
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