Cold and Confusion

I'm sick...not really sick, just sort of sick, but sick enough to be a little more brain dead than usual. The good news is that I've finished my grading.

Now it's on to drafting up my ideas for a seminar paper on Cather. still reading O Pioneers, which is almost as awesome as The Professor's House. It actually bares many disturbing similarities to a novel I was writing about Nebraska... odd... tis the season for odd...

Confessions

Today in Women's Lit we talked a bit about confessional poetry. This makes sense as we're reading Anne Sexton. I used to really enjoy Sexton and Plath, but to be honest I've lot my taste for confessional poetry. It seems juvenile to me, and I am frankly not interested in hearing people whine about their troubles in poems. Ironic since in life I enjoy listening to people and trying to offer guidance, but when it comes to poetry I think it seems gratuitous. Sorrow and grief have a place in poetry but for me confessional poetry seems more interested in shock value...blah. 

We're also reading through The Woman Warrior by Maxine Hong Kingston. I am having mixed feelings about this text. While I enjoy the quality of the writing it seems as though I am turned off by most women's lit from the 1970's and 80's. I haven't really pinned down what it is about it that irks me.

Lately I've been thinking about my own writing. I'm considering working out a few confessional poems of my own that explore only joy and contentment. I've also been thinking about my book, Oxbow Infamous which has been on the shelf for over a year now. I want to work on my fiction but it doesn't seem practical right now. At least I get the opportunity to work on my poetry in the company of some other poets.