Over the past few weeks I've been trying to get my head around writing. Even saying anything with meaning attached is difficult. Perhaps it's the ol' writers' curse - writers' block and it has hit me hard at the beginning of the year. Being wordless and speechless isn't ideal, a strange, awkward feel to it, but it's not all bad. Reading is my salvation and has become a new discovery of sorts. I read and listened to Chris Emslie's found poetry, Poem Written on Christmas but Not About Christmas taken from Heather Christle's, ‘Trying to Return the Sun’ and Emily Pettit's, ‘Red Wings Collapsing’. What I thoroughly enjoyed about this piece was the audio cutting and snipping of both Christle's and Pettit's poetry. It takes on an entire life of it's own.
I've been reading Palestine by Joe Sacco. I don't think I've read a book at such a slow pace. It's a very hard slog. Joe Sacco's dark humour is all over the book and it's easy to see how his humour has developed over the years. One thing that's really getting me is how futile life seems especially if you're living in Ramalah or Gaza. It's depressing. What makes it harder is that Sacco is in pursuit of providing very real lives and events. This is a very real, hard hitting way to write and gets the idea of realism across far better than a newspaper or a history book - in my opinion of course. There's a different type of involvement to be found in this book. You laugh, and cry with the characters and you feel the emotion in the lines and sketches, and in the silence. And that brings me back to why I may be lost for words, perhaps this book is crushing me. But it's not to reflect negatively on Palestine. At the moment I'm more than happy to be crushed.