Mixing poetry ingredients in my brain

I am getting the hang of Berryman, and appreciate his peculiar wordings more and more. I don't know if I can toss of any insight into them which is especially profound at this time though. So be it.

I've recently ventured into other new (to me) poets since our last class. I've read some of Celan and found him powerful. I sampled sections of Spell by Beachy-Quick and pondered them, though not as much as Berryman of course, lighting up at times to them. Besides these two, I've greatly enjoyed Galway Kinnell, or at least his longer poem The River, which runs Southern life in the early sixties under the lens of underworld/inferno/dream vision.

While reading these, I've sometimes scribed a couple words or three which I think resemble the styles here and think of ways to spin these out to longer bits... but so far, I have just the short segments sitting on paper like an unassembled earthworm unable to glide.

I remember the fountain behind the Eyrie in Albertsons Park--which I spent some time in this weekend. Somehow, that held my attention, with the sky, and with the people near me whose voices were almost buried under that downpour (not literally). Somehow that will fit in my writing on the road ahead.

There is always so much more. Life experienced outside (beyond the skin interacting with within) and inside (internal states independent of sense experience), in past/present/conceived futures, life observed in others... It seems almost absurd to select and write on these fragments out of the whole. And when there is so much to draw on, to write, it is (paradoxically) often hard to set down anything. Yet I will--or people will puzzle at my poems of blank pages!