It is interesting to me now how the journal form (& now the blog) renders up - or can - the geological under-scape of an artist's life - the slow, meandering, the lost parts, the inner-boilings and sufferings without form, so many vague shadows on the wall - all of which precede the formulations found in the well made poem and/or the release of a sequence.
What struck me first was his description of the "geological under-scape" of a poet. god what a wonderful thought. There is something about his writing, his poems which I read infrequently, and blog entries like this one, that catches me. This is such a true, tender look. Reading it, seeing "the lost parts, the inner-boilings and sufferings without form," there was a moment of tears. Nothing maudlin, please. The words touched a some-thing that is unintelligible, that I cannot take from the moment of being and make into the moment of seeing. There's such tenderness in the words, and in the understanding that prompted the words, that I want Stephen Vincent to be a woman.
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