Friday, October 20, 2006

lost chicken eggs. damn.

Does another poem about loss ever need to be written after Elizabeth Bishop so aptly handles it in her poem? Do other poems become redundant? If the point of poetry is to elucidate the human experience, how many ways do we need to explore what a particular aspect of humanity is like before we throw in the towel and retire the jersey number?

Obviously, I have been thinking about loss.

About being omitted from the lives of others.

What exactly is it about loss that humans fear? Perhaps it is the loss of control (already another loss), or the idea that loss is irreversible. Maybe then, every poem is inherently about loss, whereas previously (and while in a better mood) I had contemplated that every poem was fueled by the concept of love. Intense love for life, powered by the (ta-dum) loss of it. A chicken and egg quandary. Every art should have one.