The story of that poem is that Coleridge was in full flow, and somebody knocked on his door and he answered it and forgot the rest of the poem when that person had gone.
But isn't it interesting how some poets don't write poems - they 'arrive'. So our task is not to allow them to escape, if we can possibly help it. But having no pen, Paul, is not a great excuse!
Yes, we'll call Paul 'The Poem Hunter'. Can you imagine how much money he'd make if we put a bounty on each poem? He'd catch at least one every day and break Emily Dickinson's total in no time.
I don't know about trapping poems. They're pretty elusive and don't often show themselves and my eyes aren't what they used to be. What sort of trap could I lay to capture one?
It is like me walking into a room and forgetting why I am there. It usually takes me a minute, but I comes back to me. Paul, please keep a pad of paper and a Mont Blac near you at all times. I so enjoy your poetry and don’t want you forgetting any piece of it.
Paul, I don't know how many words, how many ideas, have been lost because I didn't write them down or recorded them in the moment. Good thoughts here, thanks, Paul.
You are such a prolific writer, Paul, I have to presume it came back once a pen was found --or at least I hope it did.
There are times when a poem arrives wanting to be born and I'm at a soccer game, or at the grocery and I just write on whatever I can find (probably like most poets), napkins, menus, or my hand or arm. Yes, I do realize how pathetic that sounds ... (sigh)
But it's economical, right? And it saves your work for...well, as long as you keep that napkin or don't wash your hand. So, don't wash your hands before your find a sheet of paper that longs for your words.
Words dance on the threshold of creation, fleeting as sunbeams or persistent as rain. Yet without the vessel of ink, even the most brilliant verse may slip away, unwritten.
It is somewhat like that, although there are other moments when I can feel a poem in the air, I know it's there, waiting to be taken down, and it stays out of sight and continues to circle, and passes over once or twice, then it's gone.
Terrific, Paul. Possibly your own 'Kubla Khan'.
The story of that poem is that Coleridge was in full flow, and somebody knocked on his door and he answered it and forgot the rest of the poem when that person had gone.
But isn't it interesting how some poets don't write poems - they 'arrive'. So our task is not to allow them to escape, if we can possibly help it. But having no pen, Paul, is not a great excuse!
I know, Martin. I should always be a good Scout and "Be Prepared."
Oh fantastic I triple love Samuel Taylor Coleridge ! ! !
I'm feeling ancient today, but I'm no mariner, Geraldine.
I don't write a lot of poems and now I know why.
Ohh nooo! I hate when that happens!
I'll have to buy you a pen, and Paul, too, This is a sad state of affairs. I always knew there was no money in poetry.
I try to keep my phone with me at all times to avoid "missing out" but sometimes I forget that, too.
I always try to have something but sometimes...Thanks for reading, rena!
Perhaps it was looking for answers? And when you didn’t have them, it said, “I will have to write my own.”
I can't imagine a poem would come to me for answers. Poems are usually the answers to my questions!
Love this! At least now poets can verbally record their thoughts with apps!
Would you lay a trap and capture them before they fly off? Would it render you less a poet and more a hunter?
Yes, we'll call Paul 'The Poem Hunter'. Can you imagine how much money he'd make if we put a bounty on each poem? He'd catch at least one every day and break Emily Dickinson's total in no time.
I could do a TV series: The Poem Hunter. There would probably be an episode where I tripped on an iamb and injured myself
To be revived by a sonnet
Oh, bliss and oblivion!
A hunter who also glows (unfairly maybe) as a magician - doves come to him as they’d seek his outstretched hand.
Doves called poems and the odd hawk we can't quite figure out.
I don't know about trapping poems. They're pretty elusive and don't often show themselves and my eyes aren't what they used to be. What sort of trap could I lay to capture one?
I think sunflowers, they might approach to watch birds gather on your threshold for a feast.
It is like me walking into a room and forgetting why I am there. It usually takes me a minute, but I comes back to me. Paul, please keep a pad of paper and a Mont Blac near you at all times. I so enjoy your poetry and don’t want you forgetting any piece of it.
Mont Blanc? Won't a BIC do or a Ticonderoga Number 2?
Seriously, Monica, Thanks for the suggestion and for your support!
Showing my age. I did love a fountain pen, but a #2 pencil works great too.
My penmanship sucks, even when I print
May all your pens be Meisterstucks with gold nibs.
Thanks, Doug—I'll make a note!
I love this.
You must have had one or two ,form in a cloud. Only to be blown away by the wind.
Paul, I don't know how many words, how many ideas, have been lost because I didn't write them down or recorded them in the moment. Good thoughts here, thanks, Paul.
Thank you, Steve!
Perfect !
You are such a prolific writer, Paul, I have to presume it came back once a pen was found --or at least I hope it did.
There are times when a poem arrives wanting to be born and I'm at a soccer game, or at the grocery and I just write on whatever I can find (probably like most poets), napkins, menus, or my hand or arm. Yes, I do realize how pathetic that sounds ... (sigh)
Oh well ...
I'm sure it will be back soon. It's hot out there and I have air conditioning (Wink)!
Not pathetic. The initial spark lights a candle. When it burns out all you have left is smoke.
It happens to me despite my precautions.
That’s another way to look at it, Malcolm, and I thank you. At my age, sometime I get tunnel vision! 😁😁😁❤️
All of us!
Looking for the light at the end. Same here.
Amen, Malcolm!
But it's economical, right? And it saves your work for...well, as long as you keep that napkin or don't wash your hand. So, don't wash your hands before your find a sheet of paper that longs for your words.
Hahahaha, yes, Carol. But I usually copied it onto paper, or put it into the computer the first chance I got.
I do try to keep my phone with me so I can dictate or write in Notes. Sometimes I leave it at my desk when I should pick it up and take it with me.
Good. Preserved for posterity.
Terse and powerful.
Thank you, Frederick
Words dance on the threshold of creation, fleeting as sunbeams or persistent as rain. Yet without the vessel of ink, even the most brilliant verse may slip away, unwritten.
It is somewhat like that, although there are other moments when I can feel a poem in the air, I know it's there, waiting to be taken down, and it stays out of sight and continues to circle, and passes over once or twice, then it's gone.
Sometimes, if we’re lucky, we catch them by the tail!
They can be slippery, Jamie!
Poems plucked out of thin air and words found in the woods, embedded in atmosphere.