Let me record a few poetry ideas, before they slide away.
--A. E. Stallings tweeted: Poetry prompt: Apollo, god of plague and poetry, contemplates attending AWP
I retweeted with a thought: I love this idea! And of course, my brain goes to Jesus, Buddha, Satan (either Milton's version or a different one). They could fly to Texas on Super Tuesday . . .
--As it was clear how badly Elizabeth Warren was getting beaten on Super Tuesday, Wendy tweeted: I just can’t anymore, so I am going to read 19th C British Literature which isn’t all that far from 21st century America, but at the moment is more soothing (and what I’m teaching tomorrow).
I retweeted with a thought: And suddenly, my brain shifts a different direction: how does "Jane Eyre" inform our present moment? And maybe a self-help book: "What would Jane Eyre do?" Let's write it! If we all write a few pages, we could have it done by May 1.
--Tuesday, I made this post: I've traveled across half a continent. I sit in a different location, grading research papers. Statement of fact, but perhaps the beginning of a poem?
A Wednesday morning post:
--I am here in San Antonio with a Fitbit that's set to Eastern Standard Time and won't communicate with the app on my computer that could change it to Central Standard Time. I also brought a watch, which is set to Eastern Daylight Time, which I can't remember how to change. This situation seems to be a potent metaphor/symbol for something, but what?
A Friday post:
--Early delight of the day: drinking a large peppermint mocha and finding out that it only costs $1 to refill the cup with regular coffee.
Saturday morning posts:
--I'm in the lobby of the Marriott Rivercenter in San Antonio, and again, the question of the morning is, "Must this music be so loud?" I can hear it through my headphones when I'm streaming something else on my computer. It's the kind of singing that has warbling at high registers that is supposed to signify longing and wistfulness (think Sade or Enya, but less talented). To make matters more difficult, there's different music coming from the coffee shop behind me and yet a different music from the upstairs convention area. And it's 6:30 a.m., Central Standard Time. I'm trying to be grateful for small mercies. At least the 6 huge screen TVs are muted.
--Overheard lyrics via coffee shop: "To say we're in love is dangerous, but girl I'm so glad we're acquainted." Barrista tells me the group is The Weeknd (spelling corrected after Google search). I go away saddened at the state of romance in modern music.
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