On Poetry and Culture Shock

Something is still stuck

Five months ago, when this blog had a different location and an fussy, ugly template, I made this list of things I wanted to write poems about:

1. a haiku about flying over olive tree groves. The familiarity of landscapes from a plane.

2. a haiku about winter that is very sunny, very cold, very green. The coldest makes the light brighter.

3. A poem (is this idea too big for a haiku?) or even a short story: do we want to stay friends after having broken up without hard feelings?

This last idea intimidates me because I haven´t written half-decent prose since June 2004, and I haven´t written decent prose with a plot in a year or a bit more. In my experience, even having a complete plot from beginning to end doesn't mean I can write the story. Patience, patience, it will come back, it has to come back.

It scares me a bit to realise I'm still not writing prose. Since then, I have written four microstories, and bits and pieces that don't get anywhere, just wee little sketches. I've written nothing on the first idea although I'm sure that when my plane lands on Spain in July I should be in the right mood for it. I had forgotten about the second idea, which shows that it wasn't interesting enough.

And I have one haiku for the third one, showing that no, it was not too big.

Like frozen flowers (paralysed beauty),
the friendship of ex-lovers.

Como flores congeladas (belleza paralizada),
la amistad de antiguos amantes.

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