Killing Clowns

Empty pages are freakish. Too beautiful to touch, to
sully, to fingerprint so casually. They are whole, and
the essence of words, writing,
/ breaks that
/ like speech breaks a full silence.
/
… I live my life breaking things, so why am I so afraid of killing clowns?
/
/
c. Kate Gough 2017

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‘If the Furies Should Take…’

‘It is widely rumored, and also true, that I wrote my first novel in a closet. Before I get all rapturous and carried away here, I had better admit to that. The house was tiny, I was up late at night typing while another person slept, and there just wasn’t any other place for me to go but that closet. The circumstances were extreme. And if I have to — if the Furies should take my freedom or my sight — I’ll go back to writing in the dark. Fish gotta swim, birds gotta fly, writers will go to stupefying lengths to get the infernal roar of words out of their skulls and onto paper. Probably I’ve already tempted fate by announcing that I need to look upon wilderness in order to write. (I can hear those Furies sharpening their knives now, clucking, Which shall it be, dearie? Penury or cataracts?)…’

~ Barbara Kingsolver, ‘Knowing Our Place’, Small Wonder

Idiolalia Poetry Collection Now Available!

Hello all 🙂 Thank you all so much for your support.Click here to buy from Lulu --->

Idiolalia is available straight from the printer now at 3 GBP or 5 USD each (or a cheaper PDF ebook copy).

If you order from Lulu through the link provided here it should be sent straight to your house, super-easy.

The price may change in the future, but for now it’s a steal 😉 so if you’ve appreciated any of the poetry on my blog and might like to have an accessible 25-30 of them for yourself, please support my work.

Please let me know if you have any questions or special requests!

Always,
MKG

PS. I’m currently working on a new collection titled Faith & Forces

Click here to Purchase some Poetry… 

http://www.marykathryngough.com/

my ink_

i.

my ink Grows
greenly
in the deep blue Sea of
(V a s t, this)night,

sending roots
down deep, tendrils
up and out
— a r OUnD

in anticipation of the break
(ing of soil,) of dawn and
s w e e t a i r —|

but for now, Rest.

Satisfied in soily blackness; Rest,

swept by weeping curtains of —    —     —Rain
this night in the reservoir.

~*~**~*~

ii.

you see,

you must understand: a river
runs, maze-like
within my flesh– R – u – S – h
– e – S in, between, t Hhr OU
gH, over and around my
Veins(sTrAinInG

(–but not to bReAk–
capillaries coping, coping,
coping) with aged, Sorrowing Salt:
insidious. Deathly.

…vein-deep blue
is my color yet. and BlaCk…
like the night of a sightless embryo
adrift in a windless sea.

——-

iii.

my ink Grows
with an Invisible
hue; its living color
fades into nightly
black-and-blue
Pain.

…feels like all the
growth is in
Vain.

c. Mary Kathryn Gough
3/2/05 1.52 pm
edit: 5.13.06 10.36 am london
edit: 5.13.06 5.39 pm london
edit: 4.23.12 7.13 pm wales

Old Work —

>brain <
It seems I am doing an awful amount of catch-up. Not only for when I freeze blogging, but also for all the years I was too frightened to put anything online. Because all my work is like a labyrinth of my mind, puzzle pieces for me to build with and ponder and plant for periods of time, it never works to begin posting today’s work. It is forever bouncing off everything else in my heart, chemically forging new substances — except when isolated. The very act of finding and posting old work brings new things suddenly to life. I may never write from a blank every day, but if I do it will not be now, when I have the privilege of peering through evidence and circumstance so clearly.

I’ve got a few poems on the go at the moment, peeking at a series I’ve had on the brain for some years now. I’m excited, but I know I can’t rush it; it’s there for me whenever I’m ready, developing, and that contents me (to some degree). The poem, for anyone who’s interested, is about feet. Yes… feet. 🙂 However at the moment I can’t lasso the subject to my liking. I’m still writing too much around it. I’ll get there tho. The impetus is so worthwhile I have to keep trying.

Apparently without vision, the people die. It’s an old quote from somewhere that’s literally branded into my soul. Pretty sure it’s the Bible — Isaiah or something? I feel that it’s a very important thing to grasp — especially the communal and national aspects, as they are always more than the sum of their parts.

I wonder about vision. We can get so wrapped up in it that it is no longer a good thing, yes. That’s a sort of dementia we are all prone to. But what IS it, when it is good? Don’t we know it in our souls, when a vision walks that thin golden line that shines — doesn’t it glow inside us from the soles of our feet to the crowns of our heads moment by moment as we follow it, each moment new(boththegoodandthebad), worthwhile?

Don’t we recognize vision, still?

Find your vision. Share it.

Without vision we wither piece by piece, each part separating from the others and falling away, drained and brittle. Without memory.

And in these days of heady philosophic dis-integration
every flower wants a barren field of its
own.

Share it. Wrestle with it. Fight for it, if you must. Shape it, mold it, teach it, colour it, mend it, accompany it, and let it
grow in exponents & dimensions.

We cannot do it all alone.

Writer’s Quotes

“I was working on the proof of one of my poems all the morning, and took out a comma. In the afternoon I put it back again.” Oscar Wilde

“One can survive everything, nowadays, except death, and live down everything except a good reputation.” Oscar Wilde

“Even in literature and art, no man who bothers about originality will ever be original: whereas if you simply try to tell the truth (without caring twopence how often it has been told before) you will, nine times out of ten, become original without ever having noticed it.” C. S. Lewis

“Words, once they are printed, have a life of their own.” Carol Burnett (1936 – )

“Maybe that’s just what happens; you start out wanting to change the world through language, and end up thinking it’s enough to tell a few jokes.” David Nicholls, One Day, 2010

“Better to write for yourself and have no public, than to write for the public and have no self.” Cyril Connolly (1903 – 1974)

“A classic is classic not because it conforms to certain structural rules, or fits certain definitions (of which its author had quite probably never heard). It is classic because of a certain eternal and irrepressible freshness.” Edith Wharton (1862 – 1937)

“The man who writes about himself and his own time is the only man who writes about all people and all time.” George Bernard Shaw (1856 – 1950)

“After being Turned Down by numerous Publishers, he had decided to write for Posterity.” George Ade (1866 – 1944), “Fables in Slang”, 1899

“The cure for writer’s cramp is writer’s block.” Inigo DeLeon

“A writer is a writer not because she writes well and easily, because she has amazing talent, because everything she does is golden. In my view, a writer is a writer because even when there is no hope, even when nothing you do shows any sign of promise, you keep writing anyway.” Junot Diaz, O Magazine, November 2009

“The reserve of modern assertions is sometimes pushed to extremes, in which the fear of being contradicted leads the writer to strip himself of almost all sense and meaning.” Sir Winston Churchill (1874 – 1965)

“Advice to writers: Sometimes you just have to stop writing. Even before you begin.” Stanislaw J. Lec (1909 – 1966), “Unkempt Thoughts”

“I never feel that I have comprehended an emotion, or fully lived even the smallest events, until I have reflected upon it in my journal; my pen is my truest confidant, holding in check the passions and disappointments that I dare not share even with my beloved.” Stephanie Barron, Jane and the Unpleasantness at Scargrave Manor, 1996