Posted in Art, Poetry, quotes

Iron Sharpens Iron

timid soul sparks light
a feeble space to wonder
sharpen iron words

And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter— they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long.

Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

Posted in Poetry, quotes

Advice

We all need advice if we are honest with ourselves. Criticism is another beast.

I doubt my poetry. Like children needing maturity in order to survive the school teacher’s eye, they languish.

 As Tennyson said, doubt is not always bleak. It can prove to shape us in countless ways we otherwise may never have considered.

Cleave ever to the sunnier side of doubt.
–Tennyson (1809-1892)

Sylvia Plath was very self-critical. In her letters, she edited and revised her poems, with a stern approach. She doubted. Her stated purpose in writing was to “evoke certain attitudes, feelings and thoughts for the reader” and in doing she recognized her trouble with “too much subconscious clinging to cliches and downtrodden combinations. Not enough originality. Too much blind worship of modern poets and not enough analysis and practice.”

And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt. –Sylvia Plath (1932-1963)

What seems to be a paradox, is actually a double-edged sword. For those who can be creative while criticizing yourself, you have a leg up on you. She confessed to never being doubtful but her own words contradict so.

Posted in Memoir, Poetry, quotes

Tip of the iceberg

Alice quietly took a path..
and never stopped walking, wondering, “Why just the tip…see the whole. We are not parts, dissociated.”

Growing up we become broken
storing away dreams to visit
once we cross the bridge.

The best gift i ever gave myself was to see a therapist.
He helped me see myself. All the parts. The ones forgotten.

I slowly bring the puzzle,
sorting pieces,
matching edges,
looking at my whole.
Being, a beginning.
I am alive.

Not absent of pain but forging through darkness.

An ever lingering landscape.
Fear and denial still escape.
Haunting my happiness.
Feeling both at once.
Falling into Alice’s rabbit hole.
The rabbit always late.

i need time…time is all i have.