Yesterday’s entry was lame. I was tired and did not give the words any of my near-spent energy. So I would like to write about writing now and how I believe my work is developing.
I live a quiet, family-centered life. I try to create a serene home for my husband and daughter. Writing keeps me sane. Creating elevates me emotionally, mentally and spiritually. The way to self, for me, is through writing. The page is the gateway. The process, for me, is prayer and the path to enlightenment itself.
To speak of my voice, I would say that it is more prescient, clear, honest and intentionally jarring. What I am striving to do is explore the perhaps unknowable wilds of the interior, and to grasp something of the ferocity and beauty of the world through language. I am less concerned with being “accessible” as opposed to writing what is true and poetic.
I am often concerned with the subconscious realm and the dreamscape. I am in “pursuit of the image.” To me, the image is the fruit of the imagination and to draw out scintillating, complex and startling imagery is most desirable. I believe that I am uniquely gifted with being able to impact the reader’s sense through my imagery. I am certainly always intrigued by a poet’s skill with images as a reader. I would say that for me it takes precedence but cannot stand alone as poetry.
I am taking time to allow the poems to breathe. I am taking more calculated steps to shape them. I am approaching the poems with more seriousness and heeding their urgent whispers. I have a sense of urgency within me to produce—and to produce the best work possible. I wholeheartedly believe that I am getting better and better at the craft and the creative groove is deepening within me.
I still feel all that I am saying is surface. I should let the work speak for itself. To conclude, I offer a poem of mine which I am especially proud of which is no longer accessible online. Not sure what happened to the magazine in which it first appeared.
4-WAY STOP AT DUSK
Little birds, little pirates plotting
murder on the wire
crave bloodwine—their flight
impresses a watermark
on my soul, dusts
sunset with silhouettes.
Twilight is a pearl
crushed in a raptor’s claw.
The kestrel’s razor wing
bleeds the field.
©2006 Clare L. Martin
First appeared in Farmhouse Magazine, May/June 2006 Issue , and also appears in Best of Farmhouse Magazine Anthology, Fall 2008