Recently, I've been visited by another wave of depression. I'm on my meds, but this could also be brought on by alcohol. So I'm wrestling again with my substance abuse. Drugs of choice? Alcohol, caffeine, sugar, and maybe my prescription capsules and pills too, if you consider that the docs may have made an error in judgment.
I'm reading James Frey's A Million Little Pieces. The narrative is so strong, so shockingly blunt that the effect of it is like mainlining a strong dose. Yes, reading for me is another drug, another mode of escape. I flit between different dimensions of reality and surreality.
I am close to finishing Donald Hall's sketches of memoirs and interviews, Their Ancient Glittering Eyes. And I finally got around to reading an interview with Li-Young Lee, published in The Sun of August of last year.
One thing struck me from the interview, I felt I had to share with you all:
Kaminsky and Towler ask Lee: 'Many of your poems seem to be addressed to an unseen God who is nonetheless tangibly present, a physical force. How does your dialogue with this presence inform what you write?'
Lee replies: 'I feel that the poems are addressed to an 'all.' the stars, the trees, the birds -- everything. When I'm writing a poem, I feel as if the whole future of the universe depended on that poem. Of course, I laugh as I say this, but I do feel this way. Somebody asked Gerald Stern after 9/11 if he could write a poem for the occasion. He responded: 'I already did. It's all I have been doing.' In a way, every poem is written at Ground Zero.
'Yehuda Amichai said,''Every poem I write takes all of human history into consideration, all the atrocities, all the good stuff, and it's the last poem I'm going to write.' So there you are, writing at Ground Zero all the time. The audience is everything: birds, trees, stars, women, children, men, grandmothers, aunts, uncles. Everybody is listening.'
After the end of the daylight, I find myself sitting at the back corner of the greasy spoon, drinking coffee and reading my latest acquisitions, an American Poetry Review, current edition, and The Sun. The cook, K., is rapping me one of his latest compositions. I'm his audience. This is art, in the process, rough presentation, art in the flux, being made, being delivered. I try to encourage him. Time will tell.
Back in December, I composed a Christmas poem to thank the city staff, including the dispatchers and clerks. One of the council persons liked it so much, he came and shook my hand after the meeting. The Mayor asked for a copy. Who knows what this will mean, but every little action in pro of the art, perhaps will add up some day. The poet is looking to create a legacy. Reminds me of something Donald Hall was writing or discussing in the above mentioned work.
And so life goes on, the little dog keeps barking, stage left, beyond the penumbra of the street lamp, in the shadows of the house across the street. And the dish sits quite still with the spoon.
Recently, I've been visited by another wave of depression. I'm on my meds, but this could also be brought on by alcohol. So I'm wrestling again with my substa
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Thank you for sharing this with us. You have said something here that is resounding with in me. There are so many points made in what you said in this post. What motivates the birds to sing? Where does the music come from on those nights when all is quiet? Where does compassion come from? These questions are my reply to the things said here. I have asked these questions and the answers led me to understand things outside of my limited intellect. The envisionment came through in a conversation with someone that was staring up at a star in amazement at is ever changing appearance. We and all the its and thems are all part of a ever changing rhapsodic symphony that we call at times reality. Rich.
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I don't usually read articles and would normally skip them and find a shorter poem to read when I visit a poet, but I did start and keep reading this and found it quite interesting and am glad I stayed to read it! Wishing you all the best!
Kimberly G.
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And here's to you too, Mrs. Calabash
We are glad to read that you're writing. In case you're wondering, this is not the royal we but my wife and I.
Relief is a good thing in its proper dose. Don't get too comfortable. May I add, I hope you are honing in on targets to whom to send the manuscript when it's ready. You DO have or have access to a Writer's Market, or a Poet's Market?
Thank YOU for sharing here, and being a part of the author-reader interaction. I owe you one (view, or reading).
Aloha and good night! -
Good
I too feel very, very depressed. And over the last three months, I've been writing like hell! That's one thing that has helped me to find some relief. And now I've decided that through my life, I'll be doing things related to music and poetry - try to stay strictly as an artist. Thank you for sharing this at Allpoetry. -
Hi, I was touched by your honesty, you speak from the heart with no frills or padding, as to the question who do we write for? my own opinion is just write as you really feel some will like it but you cannot please everyone and I feel only a fool would try,loved your write all the best, I hope your deprssion passes quickly it is a beast that is hard to conquer but I feel you will as you know your enemy, all the best, hugs Di
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Wow.
Amazing. Easily the best column I've ever read on AP. Thank you for sharing this--I think it may have just cured my writer's block.
Though only time will tell....
This was really a perfectly wonderful way to start my day! You have presented something for me to consider and ponder over all day. Thank you for putting this together. Perhaps it sounds silly (though I don't think it will to you), but reading this has changed me.
It's good to see you again. I've been missing in action myself for several months now...but, as I said, I think this article may have inspired something.
Kudos to you for writing a column that was not only an informative article, but a piece of poetry in and of itself. Not many people can do that successfully. You leave the reader with a feeling of completion, and the poet with a sense of dignity and purpose. I might just have to promote this...
And now it is time to end this slightly rambling, but glowing comment. The library and college homework calls.
Until then,
Sim.
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Thank you, blue eyez
I'm through it, blue! Back in the mix, babe.
How are you?
café -
I keep coming back because...
I don't think I was conscious of this until I read it in the Kaminsky-Towler/Lee interview. Yes, I do feel this way. At some point in my life, I learned to commune, oh I hate to put it this way because the verb has such trite associations, but yes, with nature, with what was around me. Not just nature but the asphalt, the concrete pavement, cinderblocks, steel and glass structures of the urban surroundings, or the vast suburbia that I realized was sprawling around us, even back in the eighties.
I have to feel this way, for being a mostly unpublished poet, I must find something to sustain me until and beyond the point of getting published "where I want to be."
I was also struck by the synchronicity of the allusion, the place name, and the nick I had chosen as far back as 1983, when "no one" could have predicted what transpired the fateful day of 11 September 2001. Finding this in the interview, which for some reason not then conscious to me, I had kept open to the first page and title of the article, was a "magical" time for me. -
I'm intrigued with all of this, and what this means to you. You wrote out these quotes, so you must, in some way, personally identify with them. Do you feel this same way about your poetry?
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Awwwwwwwwwwwwww cafe you are so talented and wise it is only natural to get down at times! I hope you are all fine and well though! I don't know what I'd do without you to talk to! Keep your head up honey!
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