A Capella



One of my older poems is posted in Loch Raven Review's Spring issue - This poem was inspired by "Late" - a Cecilia Woloch poem - which I admire very much. As I began learning poetry - I followed the advise of a wise man - who told me to choose work I felt connected to somehow and practice typing those pieces - in the same way I practice a piano song - He said -eventually, that music will find its way into my fingers and hopefully begin revealing itself in my own work. "A capella" is a poem written after much typing practice of "Late". Looking back now, I see that I may have followed my inspiration closer than I would now that I've removed my training wheels, but I must say- for me - this poem was a transition into a stronger personal voice and the exercise worked - I'm proud of this poem for how it represents the music that inspired it and for the growth I was able to see in myself as a poet. I'm also proud, that I no longer need to practice typing poems like I used to, but have begun to develop a true sense of who I want to be as a poet - what my voice will sound like and how much fun it is to use all the colors in the crayon box.

Thank you, Loch Raven Review- for publishing this poem!

http://www.lochravenreview.net/2009Spring/ray.html

Comments

Kristin Fouquet said…
I just read this over at Loch Raven Review and wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed it. I see that you consider this to be an older poem and not representative of what you do now, but I thought it was very strong. Thanks.
May 9, 2009 at 9:09 AM
Paula Ray said…
Thank you, Kristin - I appreciate your comment very much - it made my day!
May 9, 2009 at 10:37 AM
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Cleaning the Attic

Image
Renovating my blog has been a bit like cleaning out the attic. I remember being the one who had to go up the attic stairs to bring down the holiday decorations. Sometimes, I would sneak up there and play with old toys or thumb through things I made in grade school and laugh at how clumsily they were made or how poorly they were written. I cherished the things I had saved for sentimental reasons and took great care when handling them. It never failed, everytime I ventured up into the attic, it always took me longer to get the job done than I anticipated, because I was so easily distracted by memories. Well, I discovered a feature on blogspot that allows you to create pages for your blog and I thought this would be a good thing to do and move my poem and story links to their own page with more room for descriptions and possibly teasers. I started this endeavor...thinking...oh, this will be a snap...I'll knock it out in a jiffy. Oh no, I discovered I have links that no longe...
Read more

# Friday Flash - 2

Image
Speck of Light By: Paula Ray 848 words “The thing is: you’ve got to write something light during dark times. Everyone’s sick of hearing depressing news. What people want is an escape.” “I don’t write fluff.” “It isn’t fluff. It’s a gift.” Steve leaned forward in his executive chair and turned a family photo around so Stella could see it. He pointed to an old man in a fishing cap. “See that man?” “Yeah.” “That’s the smartest man I’ve ever known, my grandfather. He had a saying that has stuck with me for life and it’s true.” Stella rolled her eyes and sighed then cocked her head to listen. “People will always be happy to see you. They’ll be happy to see you come or to see you go and it’s up to you to decide which kind of person you want to be.” She smiled. “That’s pretty good.” “Yes, it is.” Steve gave her a toothy grin. “I think the same philosophy applies to music.” “What do you mean?” “The world has enough songs about how hard life is. The songs that often...
Read more

Childhood is a Shadow

Image
I wish I could stab my childhood with my finger and poke it in the chest...tell it to go to its room and not come out until it's ready to apologize and mean it, but instead I sit smack dab in the middle of my NOW (adult life) and watch it run around me like a hyper puppy...as if I'm a coffe table collecting dust and empty bottles and it's pissing on my carpet and chewing the legs on my furniture...teething...always teething. How long will I give my past permission to ramble through my trash and string it all over the floor and bark at all my guests before I put it outside? Show it who is boss once and for all. Every time I turn around I'm tripping over it. It's stays on my heels. When is it going to grow up and lie on the porch and let me scratch it behind the ears and feel some sense of comfort in the act? This week...I hit the wall...you know the proverbial barricade of memories that boxes us in on all sides. I'm too old for this...I should be stronger t...
Read more