Friday, December 10, 2004

poetry

Didn't know people still write poetry... publicly (Read this). Apart from established poets of course. Me? If you ask me to show you my poetry or early writings, I think I'd just squirm and die. Feels like opening up a raw wound. No, it's not like I used poetry as a tool to escape from some dark, abusive past or any such thing, but I'm just embarrassed. Of what? I don't know. Maybe the way it was written, maybe the thoughts, I really don't know. Haven't confronted that thought yet. Amazingly, when I go back to those scribbled pieces of writing and the notebook, I am unable to read all of it myself. Do others have these thoughts too? On poetry, would love to attend a performance poetry session we are having this evening with Patrick Neate. But go to rush for a reception, so will miss what should be a "mesmerising" session (as said by someone who has heard him when he visited India earlier in the year).

2 Comments:

Blogger writer-in-egg-style said...

Any confession of consequence takes self-confrontation.
You choose how much of your innerself you reveal,
What you really believe in. When, how & to whom.
If err you must, err on behalf of courage, not fear.


Hey, that's 4 lines--is that a stanza or something?

16 December, 2004  
Blogger writer-in-egg-style said...

Non-verbal, aye-aye tis well understood,
NonSelfConscious-'Me' be as you should.

10 March, 2005  

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