A long time ago, I used to read and write poetry. During my undergraduate degree in English, through the M.F.A. in Creative Writing, and into the early years of the Ph.D., I would read and write poetry on a daily basis. But the pursuit of the Ph.D. changed that; my reading shifted from poetry to academic theory, and as a result my view of the world took a dramatic shift.
I’ve often thought about getting back into poetry. I’m glad that I write this blog and that I’m working on books of creative non-fiction. These mediums are enjoyable, probably because there’s an audience for them. I can look at the statistics for this blog to see how many people read it, and I can email my publisher to find out how many people are buying the book online. If I were to write poetry again, it would pretty much be for an audience of one: me. And that would probably be enough.
Those old poems were often about outdoor landscapes. There were a ton of poems about snow and how snow silences landscape. I thought of those poems this morning when I went outside and took a photo of the Christmas lights on our house. The moment was worthy of a poem.