Rumors of Water
The same image plays in my mind every time I think about writing this post. Pages full of exquisite words bound with the cover that wears a certain girl’s delicate floral designs are mangled beyond recognition by rough, heavy hands in a scene that calls to mind Of Mice and Men.
Like Lennie Small fretting that mice are so easily broken, I ask too many times if she’s really sure she wants to entrust her book to my clumsy hands because I’m just certain she shouldn’t.
Enduring my doubts, L.L. Barkat answers in her best George Milton voice, “You get another mouse that’s fresh and I’ll let you keep it a while.”
::
The book club discussion of L.L. Barkat’s Rumors of Water: Thoughts on Creativity and Writing begins this morning over at the Tweetspeak blog. To read the rest of the post — including, perhaps, irrational fear of toothless purple moths, and a glimpse into the kind of beans I keep in my own cupboard, stop by and join (or just enjoy) the discussion. The full post is right here.
Not commenting over at TSP, cause I’m not really part of the poetry tribe. However. This was just too good to let go by without subjecting you to some of my blather.
“…hands that see regular lotioning.” Girl, where did you learn to put words together like that? And, I wonder if I will ever learn.
Oh right. I’m supposed to work with what I’ve got. Doing the best I can with my limited abilities to the glory of God. Maybe that’s my new tagline.
And, somehow, I don’t think you’ve got it in you to work the F-word into a piece of poetry. Gypsies and beans, maybe. But you’re much too classy (and midwestern) for the other.
2012/04/04 at 12:53 PM
Careful what you wish for, Nancy. Not so long ago I was not part of the “poetry tribe.” Working with what you’ve got is quite plenty, my friend. You string the words together with your well lotioned hands quite nicely if I do say so.
Two times I’ve allowed a swear into a post. But in neither case, the F-word. It doesn’t roll of my tongue so easily. But got you to check and see, no?
2012/04/04 at 7:44 PM
Of course, if by the F-word you were referring to “Franson,” then, by all means, go ahead and write a poem about me.
You know you want to.
2012/04/05 at 10:47 AM
poetry tribe?
oh great. i’m a poetry tribal crasher.
2012/04/05 at 1:13 PM
You did it. I never doubted.
2012/04/04 at 6:49 PM
Your undoubt on my behalf goes a long way for me, Deidra. I thank you.
2012/04/04 at 7:45 PM
Oh heavens, what in the world is a poetry tribe?
That’s not what’s happening at Tweetspeak, so much as *words*… amazing, funny, thought-provoking words.
This is the problem with poetry as it has been: too many people feel like they have to become part of a secret society to join the conversation.
Miss Nancy Franson, you must come and see for yourself that no one is chanting sonnets over there. And that you’d fit in just fine. Gosh, today there are chimps, a rodeo clown, and a purple moth with his dentures out.
Not to mention a bunch of writers’ bedrooms that are a whole lot cleaner than mine 
2012/04/05 at 5:40 PM
Yeah, what Laura said. Nancy, the fact that I horse around with this stuff is clear evidence that there’s no protective glass shield around it. I believe I’ve broken it already.
I really could use a few more tall women, you know? And you already have the pink boa. It would look lovely in a limo….
2012/04/05 at 8:23 PM