Day 8 Night - A Question of Poetry

After having found so many of my first drafts, the raw material of poetry that was never forged into finished work, I have been working on the poems. The question is whether I should include my own poetry in this blog. I am being pulled in different directions in my own head. The first argument tells me that this blog is about my Hepatitis C and how I am dealing with the process of entering into and going through treatment. It is silly to include my poetry in such a blog. The second argument tells me to ignore the thesis of the first because my poetry is the essence of who I am and the most authentic expression of my voice. Not to include the work I am currently revising and new poems written would be a major mistake.

Okay, I think I am going to side with the second argument and stop arguing with myself. Plus I am tired after two straight hours of revisions, crafting four new poems out of those raw materials. And hundreds of pages await me in the future. It is like a rediscovery of myself. So before I sign off and slip into the comfort of my dreams, here is a short poem I wrote in a junkyard in Voula in 1997, a southern suburb of Athens where my Greek family lives. Not my blood family, but a family of artists, musicians and architects who adopted me in 1987 when I was backpacking through Greece. I have been close to them ever since, and they have opened their home and their lives to me many times over the years. So here is a short poem that expresses a theme that I hope characterizes the volition of this blog...


and

sitting on an abandoned car,
looking for the evening star,
and the world is perfect.

Although this is not that car, it is the closest I could come to the feel of that crepuscular hour. And forgive me for using that word when twilight or sunset or in the gloaming would have been perfectly fine. God only knows I have been looking for an excuse to use crepuscular for years now.