The Swing of Things

I’ve not writ­ten any po­et­ry in quite some time. I did man­age to get an A in my Advanced Poetry Writing class, but I’m not quite sure how I feel about that. Over the se­mes­ter I felt my­self be­com­ing less and less fresh and cre­ative, in­stead the po­ems be­came steadi­ly more like mass-pro­duced ob­jects with as­sign­ment com­ple­tion as the goal rather than qual­i­ty.

All my po­ems took on a sort of ar­chaic, un­con­tem­po­rary feel to them, some­times be­cause of my word choice, some­times be­cause of my sen­tence con­struc­tion, some­times be­cause of my sub­ject mat­ter. Perhaps my most cre­ative po­em that se­mes­ter, Fiat Tabula Rasa, was al­so the deep­est em­bed­ded in­to med­i­ta­tions of ar­chaism and moder­ni­ty.

The point is, I need a fresh new di­rec­tion, some Muse to sub­mit to, a bit of spice in my life.

Much of my po­et­ry of late has dealt with end­ings, must I now write about cre­ative stag­na­tion? I’d most cer­tain­ly rather write about pep­pier things.

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