A poem called “The Lobster” by Noah Michelson gave me a sudden fascination with endless-seeming, wrapping lines, barren of full-stops. It does not appear to be available online, unfortunately, but I liked it so much I had a go at reading it aloud myself (hopefully Michelson won’t object greatly).
The deluge of style exhibited in that piece filled me as I sat down to write one day. I was trying to come to terms with my feelings about those who travel the world experiencing amazing things, and my own lack of opportunity to do so.
The piece that emerged was, in part, a celebration of earthly exploration, but jointly an affirmation of the rootedness that is possible in familiar places. As I wrote, I discovered a conviction in the power of art to produce direct and meaningful experience. The poem was all these things.
It begged to be performed, lived, as direct experience in itself. Something about the piece has made it memorable to me, rather like the homely places it speaks of. Reciting it is physical, not cerebral.
Today, I tried an experiment with video camera and microphone. I am not certain I have the two sync’d quite right but the result is enough to be going on with.
