Joanne Merriam › “That’s 400 years on the breasts. Think how boring that would be. At some point. 15 or 20 years in.”

“That’s 400 years on the breasts. Think how boring that would be. At some point. 15 or 20 years in.”

Saturday, September 17, 2011

Today was the second half of Vanderbilt’s Saturday University class with Billy Collins, “Under the Hood: The Mechanics of Poetry.” (I wrote about the first half here.) The bulk of the session was devoted to the kinds of “turns” a poem can take—that is, the developmental moments in a poem which turn our attention. In [...]

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No such things as distractions.

Sunday, September 11, 2011

I attended the first half of Vanderbilt’s Saturday University class with Billy Collins, “Under the Hood: The Mechanics of Poetry,” yesterday. He started with the premise that the process of writing is a series of negotiations between the will of the poet and the waywardness of the poem, and that poets are the kind of [...]

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NaPoWriMo poem & prompt #3

Sunday, April 3, 2011

Listen to “Taking Off Emily Dickinson’s Clothes” by Billy Collins. Then write about getting undressed somewhere besides the bedroom or bathroom, or follow one of the other prompts at Big Tent Poetry.

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“Fiction writers have to be interested in people. That’s not required of poets. Poets just need a deep interest in themselves.” – Billy Collins

Saturday, November 13, 2010

I saw Billy Collins reading this morning at Hume-Fogg High School here in Nashville. He read a lot of my favourites (but not “Weighing the Dog” or “Hangover“): “Ballistics,” “A Dog on his Master,” “The Death of the Hat,” “Feedback,” “Forgetfulness,” “The Golden Years,” “The Lanyard,” “Oh My God” (“The past tense of ‘Oh my [...]

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“That’s 400 years on the breasts. Think how boring that would be. At some point. 15 or 20 years in.”

No such things as distractions.

NaPoWriMo poem & prompt #3

“Fiction writers have to be interested in people. That’s not required of poets. Poets just need a deep interest in themselves.” – Billy Collins

NaPoWriMo Inspiration #27

dressed perhaps in the sleeve of a plaid shirt

The dead are always looking down on us, they say…

in what was once your house

the bottoms of my feet appearing, disappearing

after which each child would be quizzed/by me then executed by drowning

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