Dirt and Sweat and Pickaxes.

Usually when I post poems I like to begin by posting an apology and explanation (like this one). Normally I go with explaining that most of the stuff on this blog is VERY FIRST DRAFT-Y.

Today though, instead of doing that, I am going to play with a metaphor.

I’ve previously said that good poets (i.e.: not me) are like diamond cutters. Poetry is about making tiny gestures with words and space and the lengths of breaths. They have to consider the clarity, the cut, the color, the setting. Poets will agonize over a single line. A single word. Drive themselves to desperation over a syllable. I admire them a lot.

Obviously though, I ain’t one of them. As a writer I am more like a busted water main. But if I’m going to learn how to be at least a proficient diamond cutter, then I am going to first need to go mine some diamonds, and remember, a diamond ain’t nothing but a chunk of carbon.

And just remember, there are no diamonds without dirt and sweat and pickaxes.

 

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