The Literary Pursuit

Write So Right

29 May 2010 Leave a Comment

by nylusmilk in Poetry

I love this poem about writing. I’m not sure if I could put it this eloquently but I loved reading what the poet feels about the act of writing.

Writing
by Charles Bukowski

often it is the only
thing
between you and
impossibility.
no drink,
no woman’s love,
no wealth
can
match it.
nothing can save
you
except
writing.
it keeps the walls
from
failing.
the hordes from
closing in.
it blasts the
darkness.
writing is the
ultimate
psychiatrist,
the kindliest
god of all the
gods.
writing stalks
death.
it knows no
quit.
and writing
laughs
at itself,
at pain.
it is the last
expectation,
the last
explanation.
that’s
what it
is.

I feel I write best when the words are tumbling out of me. Sadly, I have not felt like that in a long time. Often, my writing is forced, like my daily bowel movements. Okay sorry TMI!

so you want to be a writer?
by Charles Bukowski

if it doesn’t come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don’t do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don’t do it.
if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
typewriter
searching for words,
don’t do it.
if you’re doing it for money or
fame,
don’t do it.
if you’re doing it because you want
women in your bed,
don’t do it.
if you have to sit there and
rewrite it again and again,
don’t do it.
if it’s hard work just thinking about doing it,
don’t do it.
if you’re trying to write like somebody
else,
forget about it.

if you have to wait for it to roar out of
you,
then wait patiently.
if it never does roar out of you,
do something else.

if you first have to read it to your wife
or your girlfriend or your boyfriend
or your parents or to anybody at all,
you’re not ready.

don’t be like so many writers,
don’t be like so many thousands of
people who call themselves writers,
don’t be dull and boring and
pretentious, don’t be consumed with self-
love.
the libraries of the world have
yawned themselves to
sleep
over your kind.
don’t add to that.
don’t do it.
unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would
drive you to madness or
suicide or murder,
don’t do it.
unless the sun inside you is
burning your gut,
don’t do it.

when it is truly time,
and if you have been chosen,
it will do it by
itself and it will keep on doing it
until you die or it dies in you.

there is no other way.

and there never was.

Maybe that’s why I don’t feel like I would be a good writer. Because it just doesn’t come bursting out of me?

Nonsense Poem

09 Apr 2010 Leave a Comment

by nylusmilk in Poetry

This poem is apparently written in the style of what is called a ‘nonsense poem’. An adult reading it might find it as nonsense, but if you read it from a child’s mind it’s actually fun! I can totally see a picture book made out of this poem.

Let’s Marry Said The Cherry

“Let’s marry,”
said the cherry.

“Why me?”
said the pea.

“‘Cause you’re sweet,”
said the beet.

“Say you will,”
said the dill.

“Think it over,”
said the clover.

“Don’t rush,”
said the squash.

“Here’s your dress,”
said the cress.

“White and green,”
said the bean.

“And your cape,”
said the grape.

“Trimmed with fur,”
said the burr.

“Won’t that tickle?”
said the pickle.

“Who knows?”
said the rose.

“Where’s the chapel?”
said the apple.

“In Greenwich,”
said the spinach.

“We’ll be there!”
said the pear.

“Wearing what?”
said the nut.

“Pants and coats,”
said the oats.

“Shoes and socks,”
said the phlox.

“Shirt and tie,”
said the rye.

“We’ll look jolly,”
said the holly.

“You’ll look silly,”
said the lily.

“You’re crazy,”
said the daisy.

“Come, let’s dine,”
said the vine.

“Yeah-let’s eat!”
said the wheat.

“And get stout,”
said the sprout.

“Just wait,”
said the date.

“Who will chime?”
said the lime.

“I’ll chime!”
said the thyme.

“Who will preach?”
said the peach.

“It’s my turn!”
said the fern.

“You would ramble,”
said the bramble.

“Here they come!”
cried the plum.

“Start the tune!”
cried the prune.

“Altogether!”
cried the heather.

“Here we go!”
said the sloe.

“NOW- let’s marry!”
said the cherry.

“Why me?”
said the pea.

“Oh, my gosh!”
said the squash.

“Start all over,”
said the clover.

“NO WAY!”
said the hay.

N. M. Bodecker

Found this while blog surfing, as it is now National Poetry Month is the US of A.

Books as Romance Strategy

15 Mar 2010 2 Comments

by nylusmilk in Poetry

The poet offers a dating tip that will guarantee you have a reason for your next date after the first.

Lending Out Books

You’re always giving, my therapist said.
You have to learn how to take. Whenever
you meet a woman, the first thing you do
is lend her your books. You think she’ll
have to see you again in order to return them.
But what happens is, she doesn’t have the time
to read them, & she’s afraid if she sees you again
you’ll expect her to talk about them, & will
want to lend her even more. So she
cancels the date. You end up losing
a lot of books. You should borrow hers.

Hal Sirowitz

I might just do that some day.

Reading Every Day

23 Sep 2009 1 Comment

by nylusmilk in Poetry

A short and sweet poem that echoes what I feel about reading, taken from here.

Everyday I read,
I see the world through someone else’s eyes.

Everyday I read,
I learn, feel, and experience something new.

Everyday I read,
I live a life I might not have otherwise known.

Everyday I read,
I learn to refine, and redefine myself, my beliefs and my ideas.

Everyday I read,
I see the changes in history, I see what stays the same. I feel a love for humanity and sometimes I feel shame.

Everday I read,
I laugh and a cry with a family that is not mine, but one I am still connected to.

Everyday I read,
I learn to be brave, to be inspired and most of all, to always stop and appreciate all the wonder that surrounds me.

Nari