Siggy's Blurbs: Siggy's Edge of Country …

Every once in awhile I think about our house and what will happen to the things in it when we are both gone. Clearing and sorting through my wife’s Moms’ stuff after she died was a major task.  In fact, we had to make three trips to Texas to accomplish to that job.

I told my wife someone one day will have to do that to us.  You can’t take your things with you when you are gone.  That fact does not make any difference to her.  More things keep coming in our house.

I look around our house and know when the time comes someone will have a major task in front of them.  And a lot of things that are here and we would not get rid of will just be trashed.

I do not want to say my wife is the only one that collects things.  I collect music–CD’s, LP’s and cassettes.  I also collect books and they are practically in every room, some still in boxes so I am part of the problem too.

I thought what might be valuable if both of us are gone and would like to pass on:  my journals, my wife’s writing which is scattered–not much.

Even the value of those am not sure I will have any say over.  From dust you come and dust you will return.  I have to remind myself of that.  And maybe consider what truly has value.

Tags: can't take it with you, cassettes, CD, clutter, collect books, death, from dust to dust, God, LP, music, my journals, my wife, stuff in our house, things in our house, what truly has value, writing
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When I worked on a poem, it was the most important thing in the whole world.  Until recently, practically all my poems were generated from my journals.  When I wanted to convert an entry to a poem, the time I spent working on it was the most important thing in the whole world.  I would lose myself in the poem.

Time would disappear.  I would first want to get it (the particular experience I wanted to capture) all down.  That was the function of my journal.

I was not afraid initially of being redundant.  I knew I could go back and eliminate the repetition.  Then I would go back, condense it, shape it, get it to the point I could not do any more with it.

Then I would read it to my wife and listen to her reaction and any suggestions she may have.  And go back to it.  This may happen the next day or whenever I had time although I did not want to lose interest in the poem.

I would again look at, refine it and polish it, see what I could eliminate, what got in the way, see if any phrase needed rearranging, if the timing was wrong.  I did not want to tamper too much with the original.  I would work with the poem until I could not do any more with it again.  I would have my wife hear it again.

I was very attuned to how it sounded out loud.  Did it need emphasizing here or there, did I like the way a word or phrase or line sounded to my ear.  At some point I considered the poem finished.  A lot of this was done by instinct.  Some poems I am never happy with.  And others I simply discard or look at some other time in the future.

Down the road I may venture to read it in public.  That takes a lot of courage.  Many do not make it that far.  Few get to the keyboard.  I have to feel the entry has possibilities.  That is somewhat the process of my poems.

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