Last night I went a little coo-coo and took half of the poems from my manuscript. It is more cohesive without these poems ... I think I feel renewed after having my friends here with me. It is weird how life seems so big, lonely, and confusing until one is surrounded by that unconditional respect and love of friends.
My big project tonight is to add my handwritten poems from my journals to the manuscript. Then the sprawl shall begin ... my living room floor looking alive and breathing again with the strewn paper crawling upon it. Then, final revisions to the poems. Does anyone remember the anecdote about William Carlos Williams and revising? I seem to recall him laying out the poems and placing a pane of glass over them to facilitate careful reading before the beautiful, crossed-out violence of revision. I don't have a pane of glass, so I am thinking I tying my hands behind my back and reading them ... or maybe just hiding my pens.