Somewhere in the years that followed I discovered a whole other poetic world. Why didn't anybody introduce me to Ginsberg or Russell Edson or Rexroth back then?
I'm thinking that the poetry/seasonal link has to do with the "weight of the year." No matter what the year, the weeks and months leave their residue behind. That stuff can get awfully heavy as the holidays approach. Nine months of stuff — it's heavy! My mind wants to slough it off, to relieve the building tension by indulging in bits of writing that distill down to simple thoughts that allow the reader to (temporarily) exit the moment. A kind of literary meditation.
Greg Brown wants a weekend full of "slow food." Me too. And some words to go along with it...and some crusty bread...and...
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