The Writing Life

I have this book on my pile, “The Writing Life”, by Annie Dillard. One of hundreds of books in my house that has so far stayed on my mental “want to read” list. I just opened it up to a paragraph that mentioned Wallace Stevens, which might be a good sign I should read this book now. I learned about Stevens in a poetry class in college which I think was just about Wallace Stevens and T.S. Eliot’s the Wasteland. The professor was a very funny guy - because he was so very serious, heavy in body and in mind, and he read poems with a slow drama that was intriguing to me. I loved reading the poems line by line, uncovering the references and appreciating how mysterious and brilliant poetry can be. One of my most lasting memories from the class was learning that Wallace Stevens, first of all, worked full-time in an insurance company his whole life, a very staid kind of business world in which to dwell, for such a creative mind… and that he walked 20 miles (I think that’s how far…) across West Hartford to and from work every day. That is important. Walking is a kind of religion for some people, often feels like that for me.

That reminds me of one of the most memorable exhibits I’ve been to, at some NYC gallery for Jewish artists. I stopped there alone many years ago, and saw many small paintings and drawings by one artist, which were mostly on the theme of walking. They depicted a lanky character with a very loose, carefree step, arms and legs swinging like spokes on a wheel. Jaunty, I’d say. The images stay with me, like the image in my mind of a pensive Wallace Stevens walking to and from work, gathering images for his poems. Images, images, imprints on the imagination.

I’ve been feeling kind of bogged down mentally, and physically, and emotionally and any other -ly you can mention. I think the problem is that I can’t see a future. It’s hard to walk with a swing in your step towards nothing? Isn’t it? Well, maybe that’s not true. I guess walking is really the point of itself, not getting somewhere. But walking is also very good for exercising the mind, and inevitably we encounter all the things we were avoiding in the house, this time with stronger legs to stand on!

Back to the topic of writing: I haven’t been writing songs these past few weeks. And now I wonder, what is appropriate to write about now? Former themes don’t seem right. Former ways of describing the world aren’t applicable. Our world has changed, people have changed. If we want to write now - and I think whether you are a “writer” or not, we all have a voice inside us at this moment which has something to say…., if we want to write because there’s a lot swirling in our heads….. well…. How? I finally tried working on songs today, and it was painful. I picked up song after song which are about half-finished, from a nice, long period of inspiration over the past several months. I was working on a new album and had a lot of ideas and song-starts coming to me. Working on them bit-by-bit was fun. But today I faced them again after having not played much for these last few weeks at home with my kids all the time around me… And I couldn’t focus; or if I did the things I’d been trying to say before just aren’t what I want to say now. And singing a song from that previous time seems irrelevant.

So my question is not even what to write, but whether to write. And yet I’m writing this blog. I want to communicate. I want to get deep into the philosophy of this with someone.

I went for a walk to the cornfields last night. That’s what we call the spot up the hill from the house, where there were cornfields for the first two years we lived here, but for the past two springs no corn has actually been planted. The fields are tan and gray with the stubble from long-dead stalks. It’s very peaceful there, away from the busy road we live on, suddenly birds are singing and clouds are passing overhead, and distant hills and forests are on all sides, with horse barns and swallows and all the works. It’s wonderful.

That world is just the same. And I had a nice phone conversation while i walked, with Jefferson, a musician who has been sort of my muse for the past year (in that I discovered his songs & singing, was excited and inspired, and it made me want to write songs again). He and I were talking about how or whether to make music in this changed world. What do people need and want to hear now? What would reflect how they are now, vs. how they/we were a few months ago? Our selves, our perceptions, our needs are so altered. Would it be jarring to perform old stuff? Would we hear it and think - “Oh, that’s a song from the world before Coronavirus, I can’t relate!” But we don’t want to just write about Coronovirus-times. Or if we did want to, are we ready for that? Is that even necessary? (Should I write about getting out of bed wondering whether today will be in any way different from yesterday? About the big questions I face, like: Is it worth putting on pants? Bathing? Looking in the mirror? Now I’m way off-topic, but these are issues we have to grapple with!)

Ok, I’m done writing now. That’s my take on it for today. Write to me and tell me what you think about writing. Love, Naomi