Tonight I've been sifting through my books of poems, All by others, Looking for titles which sound like band names. It's hard finding a band name to which you're willing to commit. We have a few reasonably good ones but I can't help but feel that there's some more meaningful name that's hiding somewhere. I've gone to the pages of my favourite books of verse to find names suitable. It's also a nice look back at the poetry I've read and so admired. There is so much great poetry out there, and I've only a little bit of it.
There are many great titles too. I've a few great titles that I would love to use as band names already. It's hard to decide on one, but I'm just sending any that sound mildly good and letting my bandmate sort through them to find if they're any good. The name for my other band just fell in our laps. We call ourselves Exactly. It's a word I use often, to elbow into conversations. It always works, likely because of the force of my personality, and my ability to just jump in on conversations. The name that seemed obvious for this unnamed band isn't quite as good. It's somewhat clever, but not enough so to make it interesting over a long period of time.
I'm enjoying the reading of my old Langston Hughes, and William Butler Yeats, and Robert Frost, and Seamus Heaney, and Walt Whitman, and Friedrich Holderlin, and Allen Ginsberg. It's nice sorting through verses that aren't mine and that are all so well wrought.
I haven't really written poetry in a long time. I've focused more on these posts, and on the stories and essays I write on an average day. The poems I used to write are, in retrospect, rather trite. It helps that I was so young when writing them that I thought my sorrows were the worst of the worst. I've not written poetry about my mental state, and I suppose I should. I remember making a good turn of phrase as being such a rewarding thing. I'm sure it still would be, I simply haven't taken the time to in so long.
Besides this realisation that my poetry has been lacking (as in non-existent) in the last few years, I've also fallen back in love with all my piles of books. This happens periodically, when I've gotten over how in the way my stacks of books are. I fall in love with all of these lovely, useful artefacts that fill my shelves. I went through my books finding these books of poetry, and it felt so good.
Being able to sort through piles of good books, read and unread, and reread and never to be read is just a great feeling. It's like being part of the lives of all of the authors. The joy of a good book is something I very much intend to engender in my kids. My parents gave me a love of books, and I can't think of many things they've given me that have been more rewarding. I can't say that the mental illness or tooth problems have been appreciated inheritances. But this love of books is quite great. I have my piles and they are all so pretty and useful and lovely.
I find myself speechless surrounded by so many words. So many great words as writ by saints and scoundrels. As I'm sure you can tell I'm rather infatuated with these items, these books.
Here ends my little love rant to books and poems, and my little bit of woe at having such trouble finding a band name. I'm sure there is more in me to write, but perhaps it will be saved for later, or put into one of my many other writing projects.
good night to you all.