Category: Blog

The Grandaddy of Poems

Ok, I’m gonna attempt this again, only this time I am going to inform you that the Grandaddy of us all is talking directly to you:

Fine and dandy: but, so far as I am concerned, poetry and every other art was and is and forever will be strictly and distinctly a question of individuality. If poetry were anything—like dropping an atombomb—which anyone did, anyone could become a poet merely by doing the necessary anything; whatever that anything might or might not entail. But (as it happens) poetry is being, not doing. If you wish to follow, even at a distance, the poet’s calling (and here, as always, I speak from my own totally biased and entirely personal point of view) you’ve got to come out of the measurable doing universe into the immeasurable house of being. I am quite aware that, wherever our socalled civilization has slithered, there’s every reward and no punishment for unbeing. But if poetry is your goal, you’ve got to forget all about punishments and all about rewards and all about selfstyled obligations and duties and responsibilities etcetera ad infinitum and remember one thing only: that it’s you—nobody else—who determine your destiny and decide your fate. Nobody else can be alive for you; nor can you be alive for anybody else. Toms can be Dicks and Dicks can be Harrys, but none of them can ever be you. There’s the artist’s responsibility; and the most awful responsibility on earth. If you can take it, take it—and be. If you can’t, cheer up and go about other people’s business; and do (or undo) till you drop.

Well, OK

That last one took more out of me than I would have liked.

I should have known, I was terrified of it from the start—from the moment I saw the thought begin to geminate—the perfect white seed vibrated a little as its coat peeled off—how could you look away from that? Even being terrified to watch it grow. And then it dug in roots.

And that lead to nightmares and a refusal to get out of bed until the after images went away. Eventually I was able to shrug off both hope and despair and muddle myself some coffee. Only to surrender to blankness which will eternally be my craft.

You, I’m telling you Poet, I am telling you Writer, I am telling you Naive and Innocent, that this is what you must go through to Be.

Slowing Down

The slowdown will last a couple more days. Once I’m back I’m going to release a couple new series, some new recordings, and a bunch of excellent poems.