Welcome to the 3:15 homepage for Elizabeth Simson|
Read from the following days:
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This was my first year doing the 3:15 experiment.
I wrote some poems from my house on Mt. Hood, some while camping near the summit of Marys Peak in central Oregon, and the rest at my girlfriend's house in Portland where the train rumbles by a dozen times during the night. I wrote in a notebook, on the back of junk mail envelopes, and over the top of my crossword puzzle.
I'm still trying to track down the first week of poems, which I carefully transcribed the morning after, deciphering my scrawl, and then set aside in a safe location. I rarely turned on a light and only sometimes opened my eyes, so some of the words I had to guess at when typing them here.
This was more inspiring than I guessed it might be, and while I've readily lapsed back into sleeping the whole night through, I hope I'll do this again soon. The poet as insomniac is a familiar stereotype (Ahkmatova, for one), but the poet who wakes from a dead sleep and a loud snore just to write is some other kind of creature.