On writing

Today I removed all the ornaments from the tree in preparation for packing them away. As I placed a couple of them on the table, I was reminded of one of my favorite titles: “The Circus Animals’ Desertion.” My poor tree must feel like all its pretty ornaments have abandoned it.

“The Circus Animals’ Desertion” is the title of a later poem by William Butler Yeats. I won’t explicate the entire poem here, but the circus animals are a metaphor for the characters in an old poet’s earlier works. He has found himself unable to write, and is looking back as a way of understanding or even rediscovering what once inspired him.

Some poems, as beautiful as they are when we’re young, have a far deeper meaning as we get older. This one should resonate in particular with writers. However, I’m going to be honest here and say that very often, when I read or hear writers go on and on and on and on about their craft, I wish they practiced a poet’s economy of language.

In particular, I love the last lines of the poem, and I don’t always agree with how they’re interpreted. I find them brutally honest but still hopeful–and that, right there, is why I always say we interpret what we read through our own personal lens. Brutally honest but still hopeful: It’s who I’ve always tried to be and what I wish my writing would be.

Those masterful images because complete
Grew in pure mind, but out of what began?
A mound of refuse or the sweepings of a street,
Old kettles, old bottles, and a broken can,
Old iron, old bones, old rags, that raving slut
Who keeps the till. Now that my ladder’s gone,
I must lie down where all the ladders start
In the foul rag and bone shop of the heart.

If you’re interested, you can read the entire poem here.

In the photo above, that Yeats collection rests atop a journal given to me by Lynne, who said simply, “WRITE.” I think I am exploring the rag and bone shop of my heart in the Legacy Writing project. Maybe it’s a journey toward finally getting all the fiction in my head on paper.