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Writing Wendl...

I really did want to write a light-hearted tale in case this one turns out to be my last novel (assuming it yet becomes a novel), but it's headed currently toward the shadows. I thought I knew Wendl Von Trier pretty well, having trekked with him through my previous book, The Winged Child .   There, Wendl presents as an elusive solitary, moving above all worldly fray while at the same time nudging events and characters toward a satisfactory conclusion. Sharp and intimidating on the outside and tender and motherly on the inside. A friend to the world, something of a trickster, but in all things working for good outcomes.  That is how I saw Wendl VonTrier. A  púka, mischievous, but essentially harmless, even benevolent, capable of presenting in whatever form or gender the moment required. Wendl seemed the ideal candidate to carry readers off into the literary sunset in good spirits after an exhilarating romp through a fantastical fiction. But all along, it seems, there were depths to

Screen on screen...


 

I've been reading a fair amount of poetry lately in anticipation of writing more of it over the summer. Although I read poems in digital format, unlike prose, where I don't really have a preference, poetry I prefer to read on paper.

A poem is an artifact. It has a shape. The placement of lines and words on a page affect one's perception of the work's character. One reads a poem in some ways rather like one would read a painting.

A poem is also a performance. I prefer to read poetry aloud. It needs to be heard to be fully experienced. Hearing poets read their own words does help to get inside the work. Poetry is as much music as literature.

 

Henry's books.

Comments

  1. You were already one of my favorite poets, deliberately or not. I hear it in every line of the books a d stories, and blog posts I have read of yours. Thanks

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