Home on a Friday Night

Felt like staying in tonight, and just pulling the hermit thing again. From the sounds of it, Justin’s got some bad ex-girlfriend mojo going on right now. And I wonder if that’s not the thing that had its hand on my shoulder last night.

We were talking a bit on the phone, and I found out he’s going out to a show. I half-meant to ask if he needed an ear to bend afterwards, but his phone died out and I couldn’t reach him after that. Part of me wanted to go out and commiserate, but a bigger part of me wanted to stay in, and be quiet. I half-expect to see him on my doorstep, later on this evening.

Most of tonight, I’ve been sipping on scotch and reading poetry. For a good while, I was just standing in front of my poetry bookshelf, pulling random books, reading a poem or two, and putting it back before grabbing another. After that, I’ve been at my desk, reading some Ted Kooser, some Sharon Olds. I’ve looked over old stuff I’ve written, and I’ve debated trying to scribble something new down.

I thought about posting a few poems I had written a while back, but then remembered that I just made an entry today about the Poet Laureate of the United States, for chrissakes. What kind of egotistical maniac am I that I’d throw some of my own work up here, in this context?

I doubt I’ll do much of anything productive tonight. But in looking back, I’m really happy to have been reminded of Kooser’s work again – it’s really like a breath of fresh air. In many ways, I admire Kooser in much the same way I admire Billy Collins – the clarity of language, the overall accessibility of their writing, the friendly voice that makes the poem sound like a conversation, like someone telling a story. I want very much, I hope very much that my writing someday attains these qualities.

The poets I admire the most make poetry normal. Their work is not pretentious, and the poems emphasize clarity over glamour. In my mind, I’d like to think I’m always writing poems for people who don’t necessarily like (or read) poetry.

I really need to start writing again. I want to, but something just hasn’t clicked yet. I love my job and all, but I really need to start writing again.