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Poesi er som LEGO med pinde der er linier

Fra interview med den amerikanske digter Patricia Lockwood, som vi ikke kan få nok af på Redaktørens blog:

Rumpus: That reminds me a bit of your interview with HTMLGiant last year, in which you said both tweets and poems “repay obsessive thinking-about.” What’s interesting to me is that your poems are often extremely long and complex, and they build on themselves in ways that tweets can’t really do. Is there a difference in the obsessive thinking-about that you use to approach each form?

Lockwood: I write tweets pretty quickly, because the longer you work over a tweet, the worse it is. If the elements don’t arrive at you all at once and lock themselves into place with an audible and satisfying snap, a lot of times those pieces don’t want to fit. I write lines and images quickly for the same reason. The difference is that a tweet is a discrete object, and a poem is a discrete object that is made of other discrete objects. So when you’re writing a poem, most of the time you spend is seeing how all the Tinkertoys you’ve assembled around you fit together and interact, and which parts are moving and which are stationary. That’s where the majority of the thinking-about is spent with a poem for me, whereas with tweeting you’re more likely to see the obsessiveness emerge in the form of resurfacing themes and ideas, subjects that I return to again and again, like a pet pig to its favorite bone.

Rumpus: In that Tinkertoy metaphor, are moving parts elements of a poem that “work” while stationary parts don’t? Or are they just elements of a poem that function in different ways? Could you give me any examples (recent or otherwise) of moving and stationary parts?

Lockwood: Relevant information: I just realized I have never even seen a Tinkertoy! I’m looking it up and I guess it’s Lego, except with a bunch of shitty sticks. A poem is also Lego except with a bunch of shitty sticks, and each stick is called “a line.”

What I mean is this: some parts of a poem are there to provide stillness and some parts are there to provide movement. A long, pinwheeling tumble of language might launch itself off a short, declarative sentence, or a description of the weather, or an abrupt stanza break. The stillness is often in the setup, and the movement is often in the reveal.

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Forside og billedkunst i Hvedekorn 4 2018: Kirsten Justesen. Hvedekorn er støttet af Statens Kunstfond hvedekorn.dk af One Million Monkeys