I haven’t been writing much poetry lately. Yes there have been distractions – plenty of them actually. But that hasn’t stopped me before from waxing poetic or at the very least trying to. At times in the past, I’ve even been a furtive poet - when I couldn’t for the life of me find the time to sit down and write. It’s sort of like having sex with one’s partner when the children are constantly around – you’ve got to be an opportunist if you’re going to get anything done. So what’s different this time?
Well this is one of the first times that I haven’t been involved in a poetry workshop. This activity in and of itself usually was conducive to the conditions that I needed to write poetry. I guess I thrive on the camaraderie and competitiveness that we associate with these venues. Blogging has taken its toll on whatever poetic predisposition that I can muster at any one point in time. You see I suffer from a poetic handicap. I do not work well in a vacuum. I should and I know that many of you seem to flourish on your own, but I don’t.
There’s no one for me to measure myself to. There is no benchmark to reach or supercede. My problem entirely – I know. Which leads me to the following question: Why is it that intent and occasion seem to be negatively correlated? When intent is present – occasion does not present itself; and conversely when you’ve got nothing better to do you couldn’t write a real poem even if your life depended on it.