To write poetry, one must waste a good deal of time, one must simply “be,” one must wander around with no particular aim, and it is precisely from such a lacuna that poetry arises. It is hard to explain, like most important things. But in today’s world it has become harder and harder to waste time. Artists are desperate for the simplest thing on earth: being.
— Mary Ruefle
I have finally tapped into the defense of all my bad habits. It is simply peculiar to my profession, this wasting of time. Not self-indulgent. Not self-justifying. Not slothful, lazy, or indolent. Not even divergent, distracting.
Not even slow.
Now, it is the point to be beside the point. I will now proceed to waste time. With impunity.
Ironically, in today's technologically assistance world it's become a battle for more free time.
ReplyDeleteTsk, tsk. You're not wasting time, remember. You are being, and you are, thus, doing your work.
ReplyDeletelots of folks feel that way about the arts "a waste of time" I know, they tell me.
ReplyDeleteI tried this one on my boss and was curtly informed that although as an engineer he considered geology as a science a sort of cousin of poetry, he would not be willing to explore the possibility that spending time musing over the silky texture of silt versus the tackiness of clay would make my geology deeper and richer in quality.
ReplyDeleteDamn.
And, for the record, I apologize for neglecting your blog. Your posting caesura during your pre-publication period inculcated some bad habits in me, and not checking your blog was one of them...