Sometimes a life-long devotion to the word doesn't seem worth it. It's hard to create continuously and receive very little reward. It's not money we crave, but readership, some sort of response to our calls out into the universe. Writers usually can spot other writers, so even if, like me, one is not well-published, most writers probably know a writer or two who are. That was true even for Emily Dickinson. That helps. If we can't get recognition by the masses, at least we receive a little recognition by others recognized by the masses. But, writers are all so busy writing and promoting their own calls out into the universe, even that is limited.
Sure, we should be satisfied intrinsically. We know when we've written something profound and when we haven't. We know that magic moment when we say, Damn, the world should hear this. Or the empty feeling having spent nine hours to produce nada. But we're human. We get angry, jealous. At least, I know I do. So, there are times we want to give up. Perhaps some do.
But all that disappears when we come across language that touches to the core. Then, the self, and all the fears, desires and jealousies that go along with it disappear. We don't care who wrote that poem, just that it was written at all. Once, in my undergraduate program, I won a poetry contest at the college, and a weird thing happened. I was disappointed. Not because I won, but because I had a friend who had written a better poem, which didn't even receive an honorable mention. I didn't so much feel bad for her; I felt bad for her poem. I knew it was so much better than mine and yet the world--or that small slice of the world that was our creative writing department--had failed to recognize the profound need for that poem to be heard.
It is at such moments I realize that being a poet is worth it no matter what the psychological costs are. I can't explain it, but words do matter. They carry the weight and grace of God.
For weeks, I haven't been able to work on my blog. The only thing I seemed to need to say is F-you! And rap artists fulfilled that need decades ago.
And then tonight, while browsing facebook in order to avoid writing, all that changed when I came across a video on Bill Moyers page of Stanley Jasspon Kunitz reading "Touch Me."
Even though Kunitz was the 10th U.S. Poet Laureate, I'd never heard of him. But, wow!--that poem reminded me of why I write. The universe needs poetry. Not everyone does. And if it does nothing for you, fine. But existence is not the same without small things said absolutely perfectly.
Sure, we should be satisfied intrinsically. We know when we've written something profound and when we haven't. We know that magic moment when we say, Damn, the world should hear this. Or the empty feeling having spent nine hours to produce nada. But we're human. We get angry, jealous. At least, I know I do. So, there are times we want to give up. Perhaps some do.
But all that disappears when we come across language that touches to the core. Then, the self, and all the fears, desires and jealousies that go along with it disappear. We don't care who wrote that poem, just that it was written at all. Once, in my undergraduate program, I won a poetry contest at the college, and a weird thing happened. I was disappointed. Not because I won, but because I had a friend who had written a better poem, which didn't even receive an honorable mention. I didn't so much feel bad for her; I felt bad for her poem. I knew it was so much better than mine and yet the world--or that small slice of the world that was our creative writing department--had failed to recognize the profound need for that poem to be heard.
It is at such moments I realize that being a poet is worth it no matter what the psychological costs are. I can't explain it, but words do matter. They carry the weight and grace of God.
For weeks, I haven't been able to work on my blog. The only thing I seemed to need to say is F-you! And rap artists fulfilled that need decades ago.
And then tonight, while browsing facebook in order to avoid writing, all that changed when I came across a video on Bill Moyers page of Stanley Jasspon Kunitz reading "Touch Me."
Even though Kunitz was the 10th U.S. Poet Laureate, I'd never heard of him. But, wow!--that poem reminded me of why I write. The universe needs poetry. Not everyone does. And if it does nothing for you, fine. But existence is not the same without small things said absolutely perfectly.
(This is a different reading, introduced by Garrison Keillor, not quite as powerful, but still amazing.)
