Poetry is the primary language for the interpretation of all I sense around me, and all that I can sense within me. All written expression comes to me in poetic form first, then, the best way I can apply those bursts and blips of language determines genre, usually.
More often than not, I don’t do anything with the music of poetry running through my mind, except tweak myself toward framing an emotion, observation, thought or impulse into something written down. When that happens, I make a commitment to translating that first thing into something else that I might see, hear, share. What I love most is the coming of the first word. That love drives me forward, back into the compost of the voices I hear in my head. The tune is kept by a thrumming heart.
– Gary McLouth
* * *
There seems to be no pattern
In the unraveling of a man’s life
Except in looking back across the tableau
Of midnight sky
He sees each star wink like a firefly
Of prediction in a constellation
Of the unimaginable
How that old collaborator night
Now illuminates the dusty bones of his self-deceit
He does not know
But there is a terrible simplicity in graven images
Like the tapestry of his life
Giving a fitful shake as it turns to ashes
In the burning air
* * *
Gary McLouth is the author of two story collections, Natural Causes and Do No Harm. He holds a Doctorate of Arts in English from SUNY Albany, New York where his collection of stories, Death and Other Frustrations, won the President’s Distinguished Dissertation Award. Gary is Professor Emeritus at The College of Saint Rose (Albany, NY), and teaches composition at Edison State College in Fort Myers, Florida. He was recently appointed President of the Gulf Coast Writer’s Association (Ft. Myers, FL).