Monday, December 27, 2004

mera blog

After blogging daily for a week, I posted nothing yesterday. It’s back to one of those existential moments:

What is the purpose of this blog? What do I want to make of it? A record of my “poems”? Or also “ramblings” and “musings”? When does a piece of writing become one or the other – especially when most of my poetry is confessional? But poetry wants to veil and hint, not bare. If this blog, then, is to contain my poems, how can it be a notebook/journal at the same time?

What prevents, you ask, from it being everything? Nothing but an inclination for stubborn puristry.

A., is it true that all words hide more than they reveal? I don't know. I know that as a poet - when writing good, that is - I fence more often than when I write "mere" prose. There is a deviousness I associate with this craft that often allows me a voice I don't take in "real life".

In a perfect world I'd be able to post a perfect poem (and only poems - in whichever form!) on the blog, everyday. Unfortunately, what daily fare I produce doesn't often get as polished as I think poetry ought to be - what with the relentless diurnality of a weblog. This is what I'm struggling with. Not a new poem everyday, so "musings"? (Yes, I have once in a while given in to the temptation to ramble, but ) What a horror! How can my "everyday" life be allowed to encroach upon my "art"?! ;-)

Dear M.. Art remains largely in the realm of perspective and experience. Otherwise A could have painted Guernica with as much ease and pathos. We are impacted, and some of us express differently. Our expressions reach others in certain forms. We call one of those forms poetry.

Poetry is not designed to hide, veil or even tease. Think about ee cummings for instance. Or almost violent beat poetry. Poetry is an expression of the self. Poetry is constantly reinvented. On reading your blog today morning, self ended up writing something. http://nehasri.blogspot.com/2004/12/to-despair-of-bloggeria.html

Do not judge your state of mind. Do not evaluate it. Understand it... maybe. But most of all, live it. Because in living, poetry flows. I know the periphery of what you feel. I cannot claim to feel the same way, or to even know entirely what you feel. But the birth of musings does not imply the death of poetry. Do not judge your words emotionally. Judge them if you will with objectivity. And since that is a foolhardly option, just stop judging okay.

Sorry for the Gyaan tone. Not meant to be like that. Just concern... And a little plump ego.. You know what I mean?:)

Dear M.. Art remains largely in the realm of perspective and experience. Otherwise A could have painted Guernica with as much ease and pathos. We are impacted, and some of us express differently. Our expressions reach others in certain forms. We call one of those forms poetry.

Poetry is not designed to hide, veil or even tease. Think about ee cummings for instance. Or almost violent beat poetry. Poetry is an expression of the self. Poetry is constantly reinvented. On reading your blog today morning, self ended up writing something. http://nehasri.blogspot.com/2004/12/to-despair-of-bloggeria.html

Do not judge your state of mind. Do not evaluate it. Understand it... maybe. But most of all, live it. Because in living, poetry flows. I know the periphery of what you feel. I cannot claim to feel the same way, or to even know entirely what you feel. But the birth of musings does not imply the death of poetry. Do not judge your words emotionally. Judge them if you will with objectivity. And since that is a foolhardly option, just stop judging okay.

Sorry for the Gyaan tone. Not meant to be like that. Just concern... And a little plump ego.. You know what I mean?:)

Interestingly.. it was a parallel process. And yet, needed something to jolt it out of me. Thankings for your wordings dear! Or I would have mulled in my my own muck. But you know how the mind is.. it'll generate its own stories. Hope the 9 to 5.. routine, keeps the spirit alive in you. Sigh. Now I really know why I left my job!

About Me

Monica Mody is a poet, writer, and cultural theorist from Ranchi, India, currently living in San Francisco. Kala Pani, her book of cross-genre writing, is out from 1913 Press. She received her Bachelors in Arts and Laws from the National Law School of India University, and her MFA in Creative Writing from the University of Notre Dame. Monica trained in indigenous technologies from the West African Dagara tradition with Dr. Malidoma Some, and continues to learn from poets and healers in multiple borderlands traditions.