Does anybody else get literary hangover? You know, when you finish a major piece of writing and you get sick/exhaustion/brainlessness/depressed immediately after for a period of about two weeks? When I was a playwright, I’d unvaryingly get struck down with tonsillitis the day after every closing night. I just finished writing the last chapter of my verse novel. My studio is filled with late DVD rentals and OK magazines; the TV has been on rather a lot. I’ve discovered 2 for 1 packets of Doritos at the local servo and my couch has developed a bum-shaped indent that wasn’t there before.
Is this me burning out? Or am I just in recovery mode?
On the upside, the new Ashbery is bliss, like I’m walking around his streets with him every morning after my coffee and before my regular writing session. My poetry feels his influence, the lines are unabashedly growing longer, caesura are breaking the rhythm, there’s a meandering balance evolving in the stuff I’ve written since picking up the book. Lowell sits beside the bed, waiting for me to get to him. And I will.
If you want an example of my latest Ashbery inspired poems, go to: http://taramokhtari.wordpress.com