The world is never quiet, even its silence eternally resounds with the same notes, in vibrations which escape our ears. As for those that we perceive, they carry sounds to us, occasionally a chord, never a melody.
When we study Shakespeare on the page, for academic purposes, we may require all kinds of help. Generally, we read him in modern spelling and with modern punctuation, and with notes. But any poetry that is performed – from song lyric to tragic speech – must make its point, as it were, without reference back.
When I write notes in my journal, I’m just trying to scribble down as much as possible. Later on, I decide whether to follow some of those first impressions or whether to abandon them.
Often as a poet I find that I am somewhat outside an experience I want to hold onto, consciously taking mental notes or writing them down in my journal – for fear that I will forget. It’s not unlike being on a trip and taking pictures, your face behind a camera the whole time – the entire experience mediated by a lens.
A tablet replacing an exercise book is not innovation, it’s just a different way to make notes.
Music was my refuge. I could crawl into the space between the notes and curl my back to loneliness.
A poet never takes notes. You never take notes in a love affair.