I still think everything I have ever written is crap. But I have this confidence that sometime soon I'll write something that is not crap. This is a pretty good place to be, productivity-wise if not sanity-wise. And I'd rather write lots than be overly sane anyway.
Which well-known poet once briefly worked for the company that made Richard Simmons' infomercials and used to answer the phone when it was Richard Simmons phoning pretending to be his assistant Marcia? No, it wasn't Olga Broumas nor was it Robin Becker.
(I was laughing almost to the point of tears hearing that story though I'm not quite sure why.)
This business of taking some "ring of finality" last lines from a poem and starting off with them is incredibly productive for me. Like, holy cow productive. I also hit a point this morning where I was just writing and writing and not worrying about making "a poem" out of it which is just where I wanted to get this week. I have a bunch of pages and somewhere in there I think is at least a poem.
The doorknob that may or may not turn
The door that may or may not stick
The head hairless and revealed
The chance of being caught
The dark, the light, the dark
The known, the strange, the stranger
The unendurable beginning, the unendurable end
What quickens us & brings us to surrender
The breath from which our bodies come
The eros of just being alive
The door we push at & finally fall through
(class notes: things that are erotic)
"Poems are written by bodies : they're not written by minds."