For women, then, poetry is not a luxury. It is a vital necessity of our existence. It forms the quality of the light within which we predicate our hopes and dreams toward survival and change, first made into language, then into idea, then into more tangible action. Poetry is the way we help give name to the nameless so it can be thought. The farthest horizons of our hopes and fears are cobbled by our poems, carved from the rock experiences of our daily lives. --Audre Lorde
I am having such a frustrating week- the chilly, dark weather only dampens my spirit, the family issues of several people close to me, my impossible-to-maintain schedule, my fretting over money and loans and funding...all of these complexities culminating in my Wednesday night class where harsh language and obtuse instruction only serve to put me under some kind of thumb. Good news is- all this depression is shaping itself into a new poem. It's easier to write when you're unhappy. I've also been thinking alot about where poetry "belongs." Write it for yourself or others? Publish it on your blog, online journals, print journals, post-it notes on the public bathroom's mirror?
"What fresh hell is this?" is a quote from Dorothy Parker, which kind of sums up my week so far.