So, I was thinking today that I can’t avoid the choice of which style of language I can write in. Once you realise that you are using a closed set of words because you have assumed them to be the ‘acceptable’ ones, or the traditional ones, or the cool ones or whatever, then it’s hard to stick to them without feeling that somehow you are not using fresh thoughts, because the words are so bound up in the thoughts.
It also can feel artificial, though, to take a whole new set of words off the peg. I mean, then what does that do to your identity as a voice? It changes it of course – and that’s the dizzying power of words. They’re literally the bricks of thought. LITERALLY. Ok, literally is debatable….
I really can’t remember why I was thinking about that just now. Could be one of several things. I’m starting to try to read Marx’ Das Capital for a reading group and realised quickly how many of his terms have entered the language – that was one thing.
What’s the alternative to sticking within the comfort vocabulary? Using every trick in the box? Then do you end up with word soup, as my friend the poet Sam Walton terms some poetry? I can’t help but think that words embody much more hidden freight in them than most people suspect.
I’d like to let the words in my poetry steer me and my thought sometimes, as well as me trying to herd them.