« rough cut | Main | And Back Again »

April 12, 2011


James Redd

"Energy, for my writing, comes from the land I'm in, the animals and other life I share the land with, and culture. All of these things add language, the material I work with, they direct my attention beyond the bony shell of my own, limited skull, and they excite the chemical-electrical wilderness of my brain. Plus, a bit of focus."

Terrific philosophy. Hard to escape the land beneath our concrete floors, but we know its there, and when we go outside, press our shoeless feet against it, feel it sink, or resist steel-hard against the mutable flesh of our feet, we might wonder if there is language enough inside of us to bring this place into another mind's eye, but language is all we have, and the truth is, it's beautiful when we sustain the energy to admire its shortcomings, tinkering with the last word we chose until it glows like a thousand lightning bugs after a warm rain.

Enjoying your blog,

The comments to this entry are closed.

Poetry Collection

My Publisher

And Also Here

Blog powered by Typepad