~le sang d’un poète~

December 24th, 2006

Greetings from day two of what will be three weeks off from teaching with a slight interruption (teaching).
I woke up cranky yesterday–which given that I survived another six-week class and have all my holiday bidness behind me—seemed odd and out of character. Ali and I “got passionate” (that’s eye-talian for “yelled”) about coffee grounds in the sink first thing in the morning and that led me to ponder what the devil was bothering me. True, I more than most do not enjoying being “told” anything, and Ali is a notorious “teller”, but this is not a new dynamic, so what gives?
I felt kinda like this:


I realized much later that ah! It has been a month since I wrote a word, and that is just not good.
It makes me goggle-eyed and murderous.

Writing is not like filmmaking for me, it’s more like listening.
I have to slow down and tune my ears to thin, ghostly frequencies.
It’s a special kind of listening that does not involve internet, teaching, family responsibilities, writing invoices, designing your new website or dvd, or writing the next grant application.
Or even writing for your blog, though at least that is in the right direction.

How to translate that cabin in the woods with a lunch basket feeling to the borough of Brooklyn with the BQE? One thing I’m thinking about is getting a studio. A room of one’s own, as it were. Another thing I’m thinking is simply that I have to defend my time to write as if it were about my health, because it is.

Being a new writer, I am very interested (read: anxious) to see where the book takes me.
Finding out takes time, big uninterrupted chunks of it. My holiday gift to myself.

I changed my desktop picture this morning to a still from Cocteau’s Blood of a Poet:

I love this scene—the willingness to be swept away, dive in, cross over to the other side. Here we go!
This is what it feels like when the writing flows: sockless and splashy.


I watched the video for Bohemian Rhapsody yesterday and it made me teary-eyed. I don’t know why this song has taken on such significance for me. Just reading about the weeks of old-school tape splicing and looping it required to get that sound is endearing. For a long time the title of the track was just Fred’s Thing.

Freddie M. was notoriously coy when discussing the meaning of his lyrics, and there is much speculation that the song is about coming out as a gay man, but I think it’s about coming out as a Bohemian, an outsider in the largest sense. And digging on it in a tight, white, satin jumpsuit.

Lilly’s parents were from Bohemia.


I leave you with a few of my favorite bohemians:



Beelzebub has a devil in mind for me!
Pass me the champagne and have yourself a decadent holiday.

2 Responses to “~le sang d’un poète~”

  1. Habib says:

    That picture of you is another memory that will flash before my eyes when I go.

  2. Iline Harrington says:

    You are the soul of Bohemia…

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