SUBJECT: Another 1 of those days
Cyberpath, it's going to be another one of those days!
He spent most of last night
tumbling and tossing in bed
like a load of towels in the dryer -
wrestling with the muse he calls it.
I call it something else ;)
but I've learned to sleep through it,
the mumbling and chanting,
the counting on his fingers in the dark ...
He wants the computer now
so he can put all he wrote in his head
into the word processor
before he forgets it.
Finally. He's stuck (blocked)
so he's lying on his back now
on the white couch in the living room
that I don't allow him on
unless he's working on a poem.
You should see him:
his right arm dangling
and touching the floor,
his legs crushing the cushions,
his belly a little higher than it was
for the last poem
and his eyes staring at the ceiling
even though they're closed -
I don't know what he can see there.
you would think he's dead,
except his lips are moving.
and every few minutes
his fingers start counting again.
He'll be like that for about a half hour
and then he'll turn sideways
into his fetal position which means
that he's breaking through the "wordjam"
(as he calls it) or that he wishes
he were in the womb again,
or both. :->
It looks like I have at least 15 minutes
so let me tell you the latest ....
SUBJECT: I hooked up the laptop
I might not have been able to reply today.
Three hours ago he exploded from the sofa
and has been at the computer ever since,
either keyboarding like crazy
or staring stony-eyed at the screen.
Now and then he yells out "Yes!" or "That's it!"
as if he's announcing basketball or baseball,
the yelling is followed by keyboarding,
reading of the latest entry and clapping
that grows louder and louder as he get closer
to the end of the first draft;
soon there will be a long quiet
and then I will be called in
to become, in his words,
"the first human other than the poet
to experience the poem."
In the meantime, I've read
the E-mails you forwarded me,
and I enjoyed them, especially ....
SUBJECT: BAK to Planet Earth
Cyberpath, Congratulate Me.
I am the first human other than the poet
to experience "As Through A Prism Darkly".
It really is a good poem, one of his best,
although as usual he claims
it needs about ten rewrites
before he can let a human
other than the poet and his wife read it.
Thank God, everything is back to normal.
I've straightened out the cushions on the sofa
and taken his socks and mocs
out of the living room.
He is totally spent now,
just like he is after u-no-what,
i.e. when he can squeeze in u-no-what
between stanzas ( I hope your E-mail is secure).
As I am keyboarding this E-mail,
he has just come in to ask,
"What's for dinner?"
I remind him that I've asked him about that
several times today and then I tease him by replying
in my best gruff imitation of poet-at-work,
"Don'tbothermenow well done with baked poetato."
he is startled for a second and then we both LOL
(laugh out loud).
Now he is telling me tenderly,
"It must be tough to be a poet's wife."
"At least half the time," I joke, LOL+
(laughing out loud again)
He kisses me
but now he is mumbling
"poet's wife, poet's wife,
poet's wife as metaphor, irony",
OMG, (Oh my God)
the "Yes!" and "That's it!" look is coming into his eyes,
he wants the computer back,
another poem is coming -
and guess what it will be about this time?
TTYT (Talk to you tomorrow.) Pw3.