oct 10, 2022 / 6.05 miles / 51 degrees
Reading through this entry on October 10, 2023, I found a word that I’d included: bombinate. It was very fitting for my experience right after my run. Heading back through the neighborhood, I couldn’t avoid the leaf blower bombinating.
word of the day: bombinate
I follow Merriam-Webster on twitter. Had to make note of today’s word of the day. “To bombinate is to make a sustained, murmuring sound similar to a buzz or drone.” I strongly dislike anything that bombinates. That low-lying, ever-present rumble that unsettles. I do like saying the word, though.
oct 10, 2019 / 6.2 miles / 55 degrees
Reading through this bit at the end of my entry, I’m thinking about experimenting with forms that allow for more breathing room. As many other poets have mentioned, I don’t like thinking of it as blank space more than white space, which can be racially coded. What would a poem that embodies a clear, open view look like? How can I keep pushing my writing to reflect my changing vision and ability to read?
Earlier this morning, encountered these wise words from Maggie Smith on twitter:
Think of the white space in poems—the breaks between stanzas; the part of the page untouched by language, an open field. How can you make room for white space in this day? In each day? Slow down, pause for breath, allow for silence, then continue. Keep moving.Maggie Smith
As I work on the final haibun for my running route map project, I’ve been thinking about how important empty space is for breathing and how much that connects with open fields and open, leaf-less views. The green of spring and summer is sometimes too crowded/suffocating for me. I want fresh, clear, open air and open, uncluttered, far-reaching views. If I write a tightly packed prose poem about this idea, am I undercutting the value of white space? Should I try another form for this poem? Yes!