I Have Always Wondered...

[billy]

my mum said "a woman will never trust a man who can't quite put their finger on it son" 

we all...well i do i think. store experiences and find beauty in the least noteworthy of places. not being equipped to put such stuff down on paper i temper it with imagination. i think "of course we write about life" it's all we know and all we have to measure else-where's beauty by. whether we want to or not. we gain from every second we live. good bad or ugly, we grow. the problem arises when your beauty is my horror or your love my hate. [not you personally of course] often a poet gives away beauty he doesn't posses. that's the real beauty in poetry. the ability to show someone else the beauty of themselves. ....it's what i think anyway.

I think what I meant buy "beauty"...well...when I was growing up, long before I discovered poetry, I kind of lived pursuing the "beautiful".  I can't quite put my finger on it now, what I mean by that, but it had something to do with something being revealed to me through the course of the decisions of my life, and those decisions were considered odd or off-kilter by those who comprised the regularities of my life.  There was some experiential insight I was after, and I would do almost anything my heart told me to do to find it.

It was just how I lived growing up.  Accumulating these experiential insights, experiences.  And sometimes they happened.  I was waiting and ready for them.

I don't know.  But I do know that's about all that interests me concerning poetry.  The re-creation of those moments, the beauty inherent in those moments.

Best I can do.