It's the poetry that I miss most. I thought perhaps everyone I knew found simple pleasures in words ... but I was wrong, and it was an interesting realization.
Friday night at Shannon's I was shown their new Sandman find, and reading through the preface I was smitten by some quotes of Wallace Stevens'. There were also a few other sentences that I snatched up as divine, but upon reading them to Shannon, they were recieved with a blank stare.
I was confused at her lack of interest or enthusiasm and asked if, when reading, she was ever infatuated with words -- ever came across a line so brilliant that she thought, "Now this ... this is what writing is supposed to be!"
Again, the blank stare.
Again, I felt like a brainy little nerd that might prefer being lost in a library to ever seeing the light of day.
And truly, that would probably be just fine with me.
Still, it always makes me feel a little silly that words make me swoon.
In any case (I obviously don't have much of a point here other than a need to ramble a bit), I've decided to hunt out a half price books today and reintroduce myself to poetry.
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