Showing posts with label memoir. Show all posts
Showing posts with label memoir. Show all posts

6.04.2025

my life

So many poets who think their life stories are important.

3.03.2020

life stories

Many people want to write poetry only if they’re allowed to tell their life stories.

10.15.2019

near sighted

It was all close-to-home writing.

3.05.2017

scenes from my life

Was that a book of poems or a verbal scrapbook of family vignettes?

10.05.2014

intermittent narrator

The journal is only the form of memoir I can abide, being piecemeal, fragmentary, sequential only in fits & starts, like life.

12.26.2013

sales and tales

The poet was a memoir monger.

5.30.2012

noble sentences

He [Carl Sandburg] worked for ten years on the Lincoln book. I know that at the end there was a kind of desperation that something might come between himself and getting it done. You can understand if you knew the labor of it. For example, Lincoln was assassinated on a Friday night and he read 300 American sermons delivered the following Sunday—just to search into how the country felt. So you can see behind each sentence in that Lincoln book there was search, search, testing for accuracy and truth into the past then distilling all that chaotic ocean into clear, musical, noble sentences.

Another letter says: “I have reached 2 o’clock in afternoon of Lincoln’s last day…”

—Brenda Ueland, “Carl Sandburg,” Strength To Your Sword Arm: Selected Writings (Holy Cow! Press, 1993)

5.03.2011

memoir broken into lines

Apparently you believe your narrative history merits my attention, but I come to poetry for more than memoir broken into lines.