And Madras Week comes to a close. One exhibit, seven readings, a spoken word heritage walk, a fisherfolk song drama.
I’m exhausted, and Chandroo is taking off for a whole week. So pix, etc, will be up in September.
Last night and today, it finally happened. What nobody tells you is just how much and just how many varieties of fear come with publishing a book of poems. A book book, not a chapbook. Among my fears was that just as it was going to print, I would write something new. Something good. And that that something would have to wait a long time, stuck in some creation limbo, before it found itself between pages.
Last night and today, I wrote the first two new poems that will not be in Witchcraft, although I could actually put them in. They will not be in because in spite of being good pieces, maybe even better than some in the book, they just come from a different place. They are new work in every sense. They will come to belong elsewhere.
The journey, I’ve found, is full of letting go.