If the poetry world celebrate its female stars at the true level of their productivity and influence, poetry would wind up being a largely female world, and the men would leave.
Eileen MylesRead
I made myself into a poet because it was the first thing I really loved. It was an act of will.
Interpretation
This quote emphasizes the power of personal choice in pursuing one's passions.
Eileen Myles expresses that becoming a poet was a deliberate choice driven by a deep love for poetry. This highlights the importance of passion and the active will to shape one's identity and career based on what truly resonates with an individual.
In practice
In a graduation speech to inspire students to pursue their passions.
If the poetry world celebrate its female stars at the true level of their productivity and influence, poetry would wind up being a largely female world, and the men would leave.
The poet’s life is just so much crenellated waste, nights and days whipping swiftly or laboriously past the cinematic window. We’re hunched and weaving over the keys of our green our grey or pink blue manual typewriter maybe a darker stone cold thoritative selectric with its orgasmic expectant hum and us popping pills and laughing over what you or I just wrote, wondering if that line means insult or sex. Or both. Usually both.
I kept starting 'Anansi Boys' as a movie and stopping, and eventually wrote the novel and was happy.
I think what really stays with me is the idea that you can write music about the texture of a wall, and everything is in some way connected.
As nearly as possible in the spirit of Matthew Salinger, age one, urging a luncheon companion to accept a cool lima bean, I urge my editor, mentor and (heaven help him) closest friend, William Shawn, genius domus of The New Yorker, lover of the long shot, protector of the unprolific, defender of the hopelessly flamboyant, most unreasonably modest of born great artist-editors to accept this pretty skimpy-looking book.
I feel that if I can show my demise artistically to the public, I can somehow cure my own legend.
I put things down on sheets of paper and stuff them in my pockets. When I have enough, I have a book.
Charred bits of black silk swirl into the air, and pearls clatter to the stage… I’m in a dress of the exact design of my wedding dress, only it’s the color of coal and made of tiny feathers. Wonderingly, I lift my long, flowing sleeves into the air, and that’s when I see myself on the television screen. Clothed in black except for the white patches on my sleeves. Or should I say my wings. Because Cinna had turned me into a mockingjay.
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