i think i don’t really write a ‘prize-wining’ sort of poetry. hard to say why. i guess i see prize-winning poems as much more considered, crafted, & some other quality i can’t put into words. my poetry is definitely publishable, but to hold one of my pieces up & say ‘this is the best in the book’ would seem strange. i like the imperfections. the disruptions.
so for one thing, the piece i’m reading tomorrow uses ‘like’ in that most un-poetic sense. i’m thinking like, this is probably like, something that counts against a poem? the interjection of abject un-fucking-certainty? but rather than go back & edit out imperfections i keep them – the poem sorta stays in amongst language then, if that makes any sense. not like wordsworth & his ‘language that men really speak’ (man he went on about ‘men’ & his place amongst them, i suspect there was some sort of anxiety lurking there) it’s more a language that is in touch with contemporary usage, but can still gesture towards utter complexity when i feel like it. sometimes i do. sometimes i don’t.
so i suspect i shall add to my list of accomplishments: ‘shortlisted for best poem in minor australian lit. mag’. that’s cool. any melbourne readers i shall see you at the queen of tarts cafe tomorrow, 3.30.
& yeah, latex. like, to be continued.
