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Tony Grist

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Insomniac [Oct. 11th, 2007|10:32 am]
Tony Grist

I lay awake last night trying to remember the texts of poems I wrote 15 years ago and of which no known copies survive. 

Not an activity I'd recommend.

Not at all restful. Not at all a good way of getting to sleep.

Certain lines remain. You'd think I'd be able to reconstruct the surrounding text from these markers but I can't. Even where I know the general sense the actual words elude me. In some particularly frustrating instances I know the grammar and rythmn of a line but one or two key words have fallen out. Come on, I wrote the originals; surely my mind stll runs in the same grooves, this ought to be child's play. But it doesn't and it isn't.

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[User Picture]From: sovay
2007-10-11 05:30 pm (UTC)
Come on, I wrote the originals; surely my mind stll runs in the same grooves, this ought to be child's play. But it doesn't and it isn't.

I can't reconstruct my own work from scratch. It's why I write everything down—if I don't catch the words, they disappear.
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[User Picture]From: poliphilo
2007-10-11 07:38 pm (UTC)
Some poems I know by heart. They're mainly the very old ones, the ones I've lived with for decades.

I had a bonfire a few years back. I had boxes full of first drafts and stuff and I ruthlessly burned the lot. I regret it now.
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