busy busy busy here... & I will be away until Sunday.

Struck again last night by the realization of just how odd, distinct & elliptical has been my experience of making poems. Distinct from other kinds of thinking & doing, I mean.

It was the NY School poets back in the 60s who created, for me, an encouraging atmosphere for such activities (amid other kinds of encouragement, from teachers, etc.).

& some of the long poem projects have started out more or less consciously from such a slant. The mind going into new sensation, or memory of old sensations. Deliberate immersion, away from reasoning & pondering & discourse, into "imagination" or a kind of sensorium of feeling. Is this "negative capability"?

Stubborn started out this way. Deliberate babble & fragments. July - the analogy of "goin' into country", Huck Finn-like, sinking into the middle river. Poem as vagrancy.

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