Writer's Conundrum

I’m still getting to know the writer in my inner community, the one both affirmed by and butt-kicked by the extraordinary eloquence of poet David Whyte, the virtuosic Horowitz of both eloquent language and the human psyche. Many familiar ideas in the weekend poetry retreat I just attended re-expressed to keep penetrating the shield we carry to deflect the Soul’s rigorous demands. Much that I would like to re-express in my own language so they soak in yet deeper. But the writer demands three things:

 

1) Something worth saying. The blank page and writer’s block sometimes team up to stop the flow. But that’s not my problem at the moment.

 

2) Too much to say. Bingo! Wrestling it all down to the mat of coherence and pinning it to the page is another sort of problem altogether from the one above. It needs…

 

3) Time. Here at the airport on my way to Italy will not work. (Not to mention the growing number of key on my computer that refuse to type!).

 

Over n out!