Coming to a Close

© Kylee Parks 2016
© Kylee Parks 2016

Summer sauntered. Autumn arrived. Winter wept.

So…it’s been a while. While I want to write regularly, it’s difficult to find the motivation to shout into the void (particularly when I post on Twitter instead). But as the end of the year draws near, I think perhaps I’d like to document my midnight thoughts.

I finished my fall semester with an A in each of my classes and what I hope are interesting term papers. My doctoral applications have been submitted (save one) but I still need to work on my summer research application. I’m currently fielding conference invitations to share the research that I am neglecting in order to finish the chapter manuscript due at the end of this month. I have one semester left of my program before I am officially considered a “Master.” Hopefully I know where my future leads by the time I graduate.

Sewing is at a standstill. I have numerous unfinished costumes and yet I continue to come up with new ideas and projects. Sometimes I imagine that a dedicated craft space would result in more finished work but more likely it would mean an even larger fabric stash and more half-sewn garments.

At the beginning of the year, I gave myself a fairly modest Goodreads challenge and I’m happy to report that I read more than my anticipated goal of twenty books. As of right now, my count is 37 books (though three are textbooks I did not finish but of which I read a great deal). I read fifteen collections of poetry and am especially fond of the wise words in Lang Leav’s The Universe of Us. There are seven books in-progress, two of which were nearly finished for my medieval literature class. Currently stacked on my desk are seven books I hopeto finish before my next semester begins. They are as follows (in no particular order):

  • The Four Loves by C.S. Lewis (in progress)
  • Horse Latitudes by Paul Muldoon (in progress)
  • Fixing English by Anne Curzan (in progress)
  • How to Read a Poem (And Fall in Love with Poetry) by Edward Hirsch (in progress)
  • Four Romances of England edited by Herzman, Drake, and Salisbury (only dear Bevis left to be read)
  • Insular Romance by Susan Crane (briefly skimmed)
  • Milk and Honey by Rupi Kaur (not yet started)

Of course, I’m also reading A Storm of Swords and I wholeheartedly blame my sudden interest in A Song of Ice and Fire on Game of Thrones Book Club with Practical Folks. If you haven’t yet seen any episodes, there’s a special guest on AGOT episodes eight and nine (hint: it’s me).

I travelled frequently this year, primarily to Seattle but I also explored Portland, Orlando, and more of my home: southern California. While in Florida, Kylee shot a fine art series titled “Whispering” which can be seen in full at Colfox Photography. The featured image at the top of this post is from that series and I am always blown away by Kylee’s work.

I hope to put together a chapbook of my own poetry next year, featuring what I consider my best works of recent years. I’m caught between spatial experimentation in my newer works and the emotional weight of my older ones. Hopefully working on a small collection will help me to bring that distance together. I’m slowly becoming more comfortable sharing my poems because, while sharing my poetry is hard, pretending I don’t want to is harder.

I have little else to say and I have started most of these sentences with “I” so, as it is now nearing the end of the midnight hour, good night.

(re)Discovering a Penchant for Poetry

I don’t think of myself as a creative writer. Every so often, I take out my leather bound journal (a gift from my mentor) and scrawl out whatever seems to fit the occasion. My poetry is rarely shared, predominantly because I don’t feel that it’s very good. And I’m right because most of it is garbage.

In 2014, my friend Grace and I were discussing poetry (and specifically my poetic voice):

C: I’m jumbled words and half-formed thoughts that resist form and convention.
G: You have a voice and it’s yours and no one else can tell you what it is or whose rules to follow in speaking it (or writing it).

Still, two years later, I don’t often share much of what I’ve written. While I know that Grace is right to say no one but me gets to decide my own voice, I feel compelled to fit my works into the grander tradition of “good poetry.” In comparison, my words are juvenile, poorly written, and, above all else, extremely personal. I’m not comfortable unveiling the vulnerable words inspired by my emotions.

But I started writing poetry again. What I didn’t realize is how my newer poetry is far more representative of what I told Grace two years ago than my older works. This poetry absolutely resists form and convention. Experimental. Frenetic. Volatile. When I’ve shared these works, people are interested even when they don’t understand.

For the first time, I don’t feel like I’m competing with other poets, both living and dead. I don’t feel like I’m trying to make my words fit into some idea of what poetry ought to be. I’m just writing what I want to write and I like it.

Even though it’s still my words and my feelings, the experimental style feels more detached. I’m not afraid of sounding foolish or childish anymore, just in sharing something interesting. Of course, trying to explain exactly what makes these poems more interesting to me is incredibly difficult to do without actually sharing said poems, but they’re still in the editing process.

For now, I’ll share with you a favorite line from a poem I’m working on, so you can get a sense of why feels so weird to me: