A certain cuddly, honey-loving sage once said: “Poetry and Hums aren’t things which you get, they’re things which get you.” And they do. Sometimes a hummy or poetic tendril tickles the inside of your ear or the back of your eyeballs, and if you are the more adventurous sort and you have some time on your hands (luckily, this often happens to me while I’m driving), you may follow the twists of that tendril on toward a bloom or two or fourteen. Sometimes it unfurls into a song or a revelation or an idea, but wherever it leads, I like the muselike meandering. This blog will be, I suppose, made up less of true poems and songs (although I don’t doubt they will make appearances) and more of these musings. It will be a home, however temporary and digital, for these mental wanderings. How Pooh Bear kept them in his head, I cannot fathom (being a Bear of very little Brain, you know), but mine must be written down in some capacity.
Something I’ve noticed in poetry and blogging in general, is that in writing down these hummy thoughts, words on a page or screen have an effect similar to that of first hearing a recording of my voice – it’s weird. It’s even a bit uncomfortable, knowing that the lovely tempest of thought looks like THAT in unyielding font. But comfort is never the goal, is it? I don’t know of any artist who presented their labored-over piece and then stated “Well, I certainly hope that made you all comfortable.” And even less so does the great Artist. So who am I to balk at a lack of comfort, at a little weirdness? Better to embrace it, I think.
Now to get a jar of something sweet and muse on further tiddly poms.