A Note From The Backroom

I love this thing that we call poetry. I guess it's the point of not knowing what your going to come up with when you start, a line comes into your head from something you're looking at or thinking about and you write it. From then on you could be sitting there for half a minute or half an hour, just feeding off the moment your in. Sometimes when I read something back to myself I'm blown away by it, it seems extraodinary in a way. Occasionally I write a piece that comes out fully formed, sometimes I may only use a quarter of it but most of the time the writing in my journal will end up there, in my journal. It's mainly the novelty of knowing that the essence behind the words sitting on the pages seem to have come out of knowhere. To me, it comes from a part of the mind that lays dormant in our everyday world. The uncontious "backroom" of the self, it's something like that anyway, I wrote that in a poem called "To Us" while back. I'll put it in my next post. I was curious about it at one point so I borrowed a book called "Man And His Symbols", which talks about the work of Carl Jung. The first chapter was writen by Jung himself, and the rest was by his colleagues and students. I know this is off the point of poetry but if you want to understand a bit more about the whole uncontious creative part of the mind I can assure you Jung is a good place to start, it explained a hell of alot to me. By Mark Shackleton