Every Poet Needs a Typewriter

and other flights of fancy

My new typewriter. Courtesy of the author.

I’ve been wanting a typewriter for a long time.

There’s something romantic about the idea of a poet having a typewriter. Of writing my sonnets not by hand — I mean, that was good enough for William Shakespeare, I guess — but having to clunk out every last letter one at a time. Slow. Deliberate. Methodical.

Poetry is such an old-fashioned thing after all. Or so people like to tell me.

Maybe there’s something romantic about the notion of having a typewriter — of being able to take poetry on the go. Of being one of those people who can set up a clapboard table and offer to sell sonnets on the spot. I see photos of people who do that — at fairs or on the street or whatever — and I have dreams of doing something like that. The only kind of busking I could really do, unless I want to take after Amanda Palmer and buy a wedding dress.

But honestly, that wouldn’t work with my frame. And it would scare the children.

I’ve been keeping my eyes peeled for good deals on a working typewriter for quite a while now. And this one was the right one, I think. It came with a guarantee of working, and in my quick tests so far, it definitely does. And it comes with a carrying case, which is even better — in case I actually do get the chance to…