I haven't gotten my next Book Club book yet, so I started up with The Anthologist again a few days ago.
Paul Chowder, the fictional narrator, is a sometimes productive (often not) poet trying to write the introduction to an anthology he's put together, Only Rhyme.
The writing is so fantastic, I often find myself reaching for a pencil to underline huge sections. It will totally get you in touch with your twenty-year-old intro-to-creative-writing self. Here's an early passage I fell in love with:
It's hard to hold it all in your head. All the different possible ways that you can enjoy life. All the things that are going on. The different rug patterns. The different car designs. The different radio shows that are coming and going. The new ads. The new crop of famous people.
And then there is, of course, always, and inevitably, this spume of poetry that's just blowing out of the sulphurous flue-holes of the earth. Just masses of poetry. It's unstoppable, it's uncorkable. There's no way to make it end.So lovely, right?