12/13/2014 0 Comments Christmastime.The season has brought with it its usual melancholia. It is a difficult time for me, the air laden with silver and gold blurs, dripping with charms and colored lights and promises while a strange emptiness settles in my bones. I ache to return to photographing dolls again, whose presences appear constantly in my poetry. One of my first self-made chapbooks, the predecessor to The Lost Girl Suite, featured a doll image with each poem. I remember lace hemlines, diminutive hands, the shadows of tiny eyelashes, all seen from behind a purposefully hazy veil. I am possessed by dolls in black Mary Jane's. My mother has one as such, the feet so very delicate, fragile-seeming.
I must be candid in saying I have sold few copies of the books thus far. Writing them was a natural high; when I am working in this capacity nothing bothers me, my usually morbidly sensitive nature grows a thicker skin, and I am filled. It is the marketing that is so difficult, and in this phase I have crashed, spiritually and emotionally. Yet I cannot desist in my determination and desire to be heard. I shall keep working at all costs, and attempt to begin my third book. For this strange yearning burns in me and I can do no less. I am still trying to find my own ultimate voice. I emulate certain modern poets whom I admire so greatly, and I do this rather unconsciously, without thinking. A friend of mine once said something akin to that good writers steal. I am unsure as to whether this is true or not, but I know ultimately I need to find my own language of expression. This is a definite goal of 2015. This marks the first official post of my blog dedicated to the two poetry collections I have written so far--In a Candlelight Palace and The Lost Girl Suite--along with what will become errant entries like this... I said this once in a group forum, but I'd like to repeat it as I believe it suits me well. For me, poetry is a map of the passion within, which I have always felt to be too great for my body to contain. It must find its release somewhere. Poetry is that location. I appreciate all who read my blog. May you be blessed with joy and prosperity this holiday season.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorToni Scales is currently lost in childhood reverie. Archives
March 2017
Categories |