Us writers are dualistic and we know it:
Half the soul searching for all that is.
Then adventurer transforms into a poet,
And alone the other half writes instead of lives.
The trouble is one cannot write while living.
Neither can life unfold in the author's den.
But one can't write a line until one's lived it
And I've found life not worth living without a pen.
And a classic call to writers by Goethe, traslated by George Madison Preist:
"Why talk of waiting for the mood?
No one who dallies ever will it see.
If you pretend you're poets - good!
Command then, poets, poetry!
What we're in need of, that full well you know,
We want to sip strong drink, so go
And start the brew without delay!
Never is done tomorrow what is not done today
And one should let no day slip by.
With resolution sieze the possible straightway
By forelock and with quick, courageous trust;
Then holding fast you will not let it further fly
And you will labour on because you must."
And with that i beg you, wordy brethren, write on!
And find my book of poetry here:
They've been flying off the shelves. Books are back in, y'all, and just in time - for revolution!
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Love,
Amanda