From “The Lost Weekend”

December 12, 2015

“When he was a kid–fourteen, fifteen–writing a poem every night before he went to sleep, starting and finishing it at one sitting even though it might be two or three o’clock, that bathroom mirror had come to mean more to him than his own bed. Nights when he had finished a poem, what could have been more natural, more necessary and urgent , than to go look at himself to see if he had changed? Here at this desk, this night, one of life’s important moments had occurred. Humbly, almost unaware, certainly innocent, he had sat there and been the instrument by which a poem was transmitted to paper. He was awed and truly humble, for all that he must look in the mirror to see if the experience registered in his face. Often tears came genuinely to his eyes. How had it come about–why should it have been he? he asked himself in humility and gratitude. He read the poem in fear and read it again. Now it was fine; would it be so tomorrow? He raised his eyes from the scrawled re-written sheets and listened to the night. No sound whatsoever..”

Charles Jackson, from “The Lost Weekend”

(Yes, that “The Lost Weekend”)


One Response to “From “The Lost Weekend””

  1. Jodine said

    This is EXACTLY how it is, expressing in words how we feel. I know it’s how I do it. I found it a lot harder to write about beauty and love and all things positive, but it does come. Words, understanding, vocabulary, age, reading, all helps hone our writing skills. Lovely post. Jx

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