ashbery-voice

January 16, 2025

I don’t know what the voice of my poetry is. I suppose it’s mine but it is a part of me that I’m only in touch with while I’m writing. I don’t see it as like my conversational voice or like anybody else’s voice that I know. It is a voice that occasionally intrudes in my ordinary thinking. Suddenly a line of what appears to be poetry will pop into my mind and I will have no idea where it came from.

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Thought:

“We were Poor. I’m spelling it with a capital P. …We were on the bottom of the ladder looking up at everyone else. Nothing below us ‘cept the ground.”

Ray Charles

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