The Flight of the Rocketman

I'm a child running
With open scissors.
My eyes are bandaged.
-- Love Poem, Charles Simic

Since I've finished with the novel, I've decided to start reading poetry again. I think I've lost whatever poetic language I've accummulated over the years in college and a little bit after. My world has been filled with regular speech; the better to re-create actual dialogue for writing scripts for television and movies. And I don't see myself writing songs ala Tori Amos or Bjork where the language remains in the level of poetry. When you begin, I suppose, it is always easier to write songs like Shania Twain where the lyrics are more conversational; easier to digest, to understand. I think I'll attempt to enter the realm of the lyrical later on when I've somehow become more comfortable with the creation of melodies.

But I miss writing poetry. I miss creating analogies and thinking in the figurative. I miss that whole range of thought where everything is one. I can still recognize symbols and decipher them in film and books; it's a part of my training that I never let go of but I miss being able to put it into words. So I'm off entering the world of the lyrical -- back to the world of Mary Oliver, Rumi, Louise Locke-Broido and Robert Bly. Back I go to my little envelope where I kept dozens and dozens of A Poet's Choice written by Robert Bly and Rita Dove. Or was it Poet's Corner? Whatever the case, it's there and I will be going back to it.

There really is some sort of magic towards poetry and words and how you can twist them to your desire. There is a level of the magickal when you can write about what thing and someone reads it and understands it for being about something else entirely. It really amazes me.

Today, I couldn't find an empty computer to work on so I left work early to wall-climb at Power Up. I was to return after when some people have left and I can find an empty terminal to work on (which is where I am right now, as of writing this entry). It was exhilirating to be so high up in the air and the idea that it was my own physical exertion and effort that brought me there. I love the strain on the body, the pull of my arm muscles and the push of my leg muscles. Wall-climbing is definitely something I can get my hands into. I love the effort, the physicality that is required and the mental aspect of having to ignore the fear, the very fact that you are so way up high and the only thing that will keep you alive if you fall is a thick cord. And also, the mental aspect of having to choose which rock to grip on and which rock to put your foot on. It's knowing your capacity and knowing how much higher you can go.

It's great being an active person, despite my family culture. Most of the members of my family are thinkers, creative people and talkers (charming bastards, really) and not many of them are physically active. They get tired just watching me walk from one place to the other, dance and tire myself out with work. But I love it. I love the movement of the body. I think it's poetic, a body in motion, it's a lovely thing to see.

And climbing that wall, one foot pushing the rest of the body upwards while the hand constantly gropes upwards, finding its place, balancing the rest must be a sight to see. I can already set it to music.

I'm definitely going to wall-climb more.