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Poetry

I wrote a few German language poems in my late twenties, some more much later, around 2003, when I lived in America for a year. And then I started again last year when I met my husband. “Write a poem everyday for a week and I will improvise on my piano and post it to my blog” is what he said the day after we met… that had me hooked.

I enjoy discovering and playing with the English language. The act of writing itself is an urge and a finding (Wallace Stevens catches it superbly, see below) and the process a mix of planning, thinking and intuiting. What I love about poetry is that it is not politically correct, can be nonsensical and unashamedly seduces mind and senses.

Wallace Stevens

An Ordinary Evening in New Haven

We keep coming back and coming back
To the real: to the hotel instead of the hymns
That fall upon it out of the wind. We seek
The poem of pure reality, untouched
By trope or deviation, straight to the word,
Straight to the transfixing object, to the object
At the exactest point at which it is itself,
Transfixing by being purely what it is
A view of New Haven, say, through the certain eye,
The eye made clear of uncertainty, with the sight
Of simple seeing, without reflection. We seek
Nothing beyond reality.

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