Thursday, January 13, 2011

My inbox was full of magic this week

A book of poetry will be always unfinished, words are butterflies that fly away and bounce back.

A book of prose should bring you to a level of hate, rejection, nausea.

It all depends: some will just feel that it is over, others will feed a continuous grudge, they will reject it, they will despise it.

Theoretically one never finishes anything, but there will be the day that you will know that the relationship with that novel is over.

What is left is just memory.

Once an actor finishes a movie he needs some time to put asleep the character.

I guess you will need some time to wean.

But soon your book will be over and you will get over.

The above was poet and novelist Corrado Paina's answer to these two questions (posed by me via email earlier this week): "How do you ever finish a book? How do you really know when it's done?"

I forget about the wordy magic of poetry sometimes, so I love that some people -- most often poets, and even more often Italian poets -- use it like an everyday language. Makes me want to write my trouser apples off.

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