water gurgling through pipes ...

Continuing to live with Making Your Own Days, I'm fascinated by Kenneth Koch's approach to the inner workings of a poem and the writing process. His writing is extremely helpful – nuts & bolts.

On reading other poets: “… the feeling that there is something there in some other poet’s poem, that will make you free, enable you to find things in yourself, and in your poetry, that you had no idea was there.”

In answering the question ... “How is anyone able to write poetry? … there is a situation that invites doing so and a certain human capacity for carrying it out. There is a great deal in the world and in our thoughts that has never been mentioned or, if mentioned, hasn’t been talked about in a satisfactory way…. Rivers invite bridges, tall buildings elevators, and an exciting an unexplained world invites poetry.”

On inspiration: “Chance inspirations can be deliberately courted. Like Leonardo da Vinci, spattering a brushful of black ink on a sheet of paper when he wanted an idea for a landscape, poets may open books or newspapers at random, with the idea of going on from whatever they find there. The feeling, the theme , of a poem may be already present in the poet, but in need of some chance spark to ignite it into the language of poetry.”

On writing: “Poems may start from very strong and even clearly understood impulses or feelings. On the way to being completed, these encounter two strange collaborators, unlike them and of a different birth: the language of poetry (and the up-till-now history of poetry that’s contained in it) and the chance perceptions, whims, and sensations of an August afternoon or of an hour after seeing a friend. Poets learn how to position themselves to be ready to maneuver what they are saying through all this.”

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As for writing, I’m amazed by what I take for granted but so desperately need – the glimpse through a doorway, the early morning sound of a chickadee outside the window, a muffled song on a radio in another room, water gurgling through pipes inside the walls of a house, the growl of thunder late at night, rain thumping on the roof. If I don't have these moments, how can I write? They're the real stuff – the kick in the head.

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Take care how you lean against the counter.

How the cup touches your lips.

Air whispering through the vent.

A penny, in closing circles, rolling over the hardwood floor – then rattling – still.

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Paper and pen aren't optional.