A Writer's Notebook, Day Three-Hundred-And-Thirteen
While I am still puzzling through what it is that I see happening in my work lately, I am stuck by the consideration of a certain irony, one that is not original to my thinking, but which I don't believe I truly understand before. This is to do with the idea of voice, and with many of the ideas I have been discussing recently, and is fairly simple to explain. In my recent experiences, I found how difficult it is to escape one's voice, even when handicapped by found material, or otherwise limited in a way that would seem to stifle that quality, it still remains. It is impossible to get away from it. Of course, as a writer, particularly as a poet, my goal is to go past what I can do, and to expand my voice, in a deep sense, but that becomes a contradiction, of course, when one cannot escape that aspect of identity. So, in a certain sense, a writer is a prisoner of their voice and can never get beyond it, but within that, when one really discovers it, their is a l...