I found a blog that goes well with hot chocolate, feety pajamas and a liberal arts degree. Pearl Pirie, creator of Humanyms, is now part of my bedtime regimen. This is what pulled me in:

midnight bathroom trip
Intruder noise! Popcorn?
My own footbones!

Ah! Poetry! I remember poetry! I'm accustomed to blogs full of politics, blogs that are messy, like a boy's room, with items and links strewn about like unput toys. Pearl slides open like a well-ordered sock drawer. Plus, she "goes naked," and posts her first drafts.

How about this then, my first draft, of M-hmm

Hm.
M-hm
nh-uhn,
M-hmm

Mmmm
I live inside your sounds
Press into the waves
That don't make it past
The cave's mouth
May I be your constant forever
inarticulate black angel
on the ceiling of your mouth?
May I hang by my soles,
dig my toes in your alveolar ridge,
Arch with your arch, quake,
Cling to your every non-word?

See, now, that I get. That I like. I can understand that, which, for me, is profound. People have been writing impossible-to-understand poetry for so long that I just finally gave up and assumed it was me. Reading Pearl makes me think: Maybe it's them.

My own love of poetry began with Dr. Seuss (which ended recently with the help of Mike Meyers and Burger King — thanks, fellas!). From Seuss it was Ogden Nash, the world's first unabashed good bad poet.

I met my dark side in Poe, searched for years to find a better word than tintinnabulation, or just a way to use it in conversation.

After a little bit of pot I discovered Bob Dylan, Dylan Thomas and Donovan Leach but was too stoned to realize that only one was a poet and the other two idols.

Article Author: CW Fisher

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