I remember almost nothing about writing this poem. It would be from 1973 or 4, probably written in Wivenhoe, Essex, England. I took my older son out in a stroller there for walks, I guess! I wrote the poem, I typed it up from a handwritten version. I do remember liking it. I just didn't know where it fit inside of how I was working then. But I kept it, until now.Alice Notley on "Two for November" |
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An Interview with Dong Li
"Only in silence can I listen most attentively and catch that echo of what’s trembling inside me and wants to get out. Yet, the echo often contains multitudes and commands collaboration with other mediums and means. In my case, there is always an enormous resistance on the page when I try to position words into order. I have to trick-or-treat them and use everything at my disposal."
via THE CHICAGO BLOG |
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What Sparks Poetry:
Marianne Boruch on "So we get there just as"
"Words came later, by accident in a silent room at a desk. But back there, one afternoon in that desolate expanse my husband and I and a stranger, the three of us came together over that creature stricken by a fellow human we desperately wanted to disown, a driver hot to desecrate the planet. I can’t tell you the rage in me as that car grew smaller and smaller then slipped into nothing’s pure distance." |
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