In season, I try to make good use of the atmosphere of autumn to write and think of ideas, harvest words and images that are heavy with the vibe of drama, filling baskets with poetically ripe apples.
I recently had a daydream conversation with a semi-stranger, being he was on a television program years ago. It felt safer to speak with a semi-stranger person, a friend type with intriguing contrasts and a mature balance of attitudes.
We were looking at the ocean at high tide on chilly morning under an overcast gray sky of flat light with a moody, drama, soul searching vibe. We spoke slow with pauses between our paragraphs. I put forth most of the words because is it my daydream. I wanted to talk to somebody. I put him there, as a prop, a mirror, an echo chamber creature.
He told me he is impressed, taken by my asking him what does he think when he looks at the sea because nobody has ever cared to ask him that question. He asks me what I see.
And there in my daydream, I speak a poem of more than a dozen lines that feels as smooth as a slow moving wave. Our silence is long as we absorb the sea the images we create. My words. His reaction.
He then tells me he feels the same.
And did I immediately write down the poem? No, I did not. I became distracted as we began walking along the shore talking about life in general until I got up and made lunch in real life.
The point is always have an idea notebook, a journal handy to write down ideas, poems you recite in your brain voice. A photographer has the camera. An artist has a sketchbook. A poet needs that Idea notebook.
