Posts tagged ‘creative drought’

July 5, 2010


by jhon baker

 I am not concerned that it’s four thirty and I’ve written nothing here yet, and I am unconcerned that I don’t really have any ideas of what to write here. Trimming my unconcerned fingernails, thinking my unconcerned thoughts and contemplating one particular medication I’m on.

This is the thing about all creative people we will have intense periods of creativity, steady periods of creativity and then nothing. There are days, weeks and sometimes months where we are simply useless. Depression usually kicks in if it hasn’t been what you’ve been feeding off of, personally I hate to write when I am too depressed as everything comes out of self pity then, like writing when you’re drunk too often. My preference is to have the ideas arrive at great pace where I don’t have time to consider if I am depressed or happy, a mess or about to get laid.
Now (when I am mired in creationless oceans) is when I like to study other poets or read things that are not in my normal line. Right now I am studying the life of Georg Trakl, the short life fraught with madness, drug abuse and incest (unproven but think along the lines of the Royal Tennanbaums without the adoption). I find a lot of his translations lacking a poetic quality that is present in the German version and am happy to report that a new translation of his complete body of work is being worked on but in the meantime I may find myself reworking some translations to reflect his poetic style. I don’t speak German well but I do write poetry so I have an up there. I did a similar thing with Lorca’s poetry years ago and never really did anything with it as I will probably not do anything with Trakl if I do re-translate. Translating syntax in the poetic method is difficult no matter who you are and you are almost writing an entirely new work when you do it, but one you cannot rightfully take credit for, just the translating part.
This has been a ramble brought to you by the poet Jhon Baker.

three poems fitting harmoniously together

third rate diner

writing poems on
paper napkins;
inadvertently blowing my nose into
the most recent.

modern medicine

modern medicine is always a marvel
no matter the year
until we need for the end
then it’s simply horrible.


such good loving
such good nurturing,
such good loving,
such good fucking.

 – Hoc Scripsi

June 4, 2010

I know of no exceptions

by jhon baker
“Every writer, without exception, is a masochist, a sadist, a peeping Tom, an exhibitionist, a narcissist, an injustice collector and a depressed person constantly haunted by fears of unproductivity”- Edmund Bergler

 I am forced to take today off from the typewriter and do other things. Don’t take this as complaining, my distractions are human and interesting, thus may yield something fruitful when I do sit in front of the typer and write. I only comment on it at all for the simple reason that today I wonder if the creative drought has ended like I thought or does it continue even to now? I’ve certainly had greater periods of output and quality but isn’t this getting into the semantics of what I mean by creative drought?

my eyes sting and are watering making it hard to concentrate.

I quoted the above as this fear of unproductivity that haunts me even at this very moment.  Should writers be defined by their shared concerns and malady’s, reading the above assures me that I am a writer – I will gladly admit to any of those and more!

at the track

I don’t go to the track and so this
poem cannot get

neither do I run (cannot)
or watch horses and dogs
chase rabbits or carry little men
and women.

however, should I need,
there are countless OTB
establishments around and a track
not too far away
in Arlington Heights, Il.

 – Hoc Scripsi

I live in Elgin so there is also a gambling boat nearby where I could go and blow my dividends or jerk off to the losing of heaps of cash while I witlessly hope I can win and become addicted to gambling. Another thing that can be added to the list is that most if not all writers have the addictive tendency, I mean this with much affection toward other writers and hope that they see the truth of these things and are not lying to themselves, but are these 100, truly without exception? Probably only 99 though I know of no exceptions.

May 20, 2010

not titled yet

by jhon baker

 befuddled and stuck in this mire of wordlessness – or words that do not want to connect coherently in the best order. At this point I know that I am making too much of it and need to stop thinking about this estrangement from the muse.
This started with the composition of an excessively verbose poem – far too heavy handed but it doesn’t want to get rewritten – I mean what I said and it sucks, or at least caused this ripple of drought to infect my very being. It’s dramatic and drastic without being dynamic or interesting.
but here it is anyway and I am only putting it out there because I need to either own it or shoot it. Possibly both.

not titled yet

susurrous dissonance playing on in our heads through
voices obfuscating true thought.
no action, reaction; no alleviation but pressing pressing pressing and
drinking to augment the medication, an ill-advised admixture.

sudden cessesation and eyes open
heart thump bump thump bump
really going on and on and on
fear sweat wetting hair and outer shirt
body shivers from breezes.


light low.

powder burns and night now.
feet cold and uncovered by a short
green blanket.

 – Hoc Scripsi

next week this goes to the range for a few holes in it to see if that offers the proper way in.

May 17, 2010

slowing down also known as writers block

by jhon baker

a creative drought and slowing down. I’ve always hated the term writers block because I am not blocked by anything – especially writers. More than that I am simply not writing well lately which this triggers the fear that I will not write well ever again and have I ever written well. My version of writers blockade is that the ideas may come and there are no words to accompany it, no way in so I bite my bottom lip and try but even the typing is off and uninspired.
the last poem I wrote – the last thing of any value that I had written was a short poem that talks about fingering the muse – maybe I’ve offended the inspiration by thinking too much of my work and not enough of the source. Today’s poem is not that poem. Today’s was written at a point of high creativity – when the muse was working overtime and would wear me out daily, like a good lover or construction labor.

too lax to title

fuck you.
I’m tired, 

it was nthing
or something
                           I forget
Like I said
Fuck you,
I am not working anymore tonight
not for you or anyone
I’m too god damned tired
and sore
I can feel the plate
it’s sickening
watching you squirm when
I type out –
you’re wearing the wrong
size underwear

I will not write
           for you

   I am too fucking worn
from the day.

pt. 2

of course I lie.
I’m tired
like a man after a days
and you know whatitslike
all fucking day

   so, goodnight love.
xxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxx
Let’s do it again tomorrow.

April 29, 2010

not on today – or an off day where maybe I ought to go back to bed

by jhon baker

Really seem to be off today. I am sitting and writing at the typer and waiting for the real inspiration to come out, maybe I am just thinking about it too hard. The inspira may have found me in this first draft which is now about 2.5 pages long or about half the length I imagine it at the end – might as well shoot for the stars –

ad astra per aspera

expecting too much form the muse puts a damper on the relationship and this doesn’t work the other way around.

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