I'm not sure that I'm a poet anymore. I'm not sure of too many things these days. I mean the inkling or creative urge to write doesn't seem to surface much anymore. It seems stifled by the logic that I have very little to show for several years of devotion to poetry. My detractors will be saying at this point that I finally have seen the light and that thankfully I'm not writing poetry anymore. Perhaps they were right all along. I have very little in the way of proof to the contrary.
And although I am sure that a workshop - whether online or real time - would probably definitively resolve the question as to whether I was meant to write poetry or not, I am at a loss as to why I am not participating in a workshop at this time. I was saddened to see that the Gazebo had become a derelict. This has left me with no creative place to go online. I long for a time when I would visit an online poetry workshop and revel in how a writer or reader could completely misconstrue the gist of a poem or worse yet MY poem.
I have been reading about bloggers who are changing directions. I believe that Sandra Beasley is right on when she asserts:
A blog just...waits. Like a plant waiting to be watered. Except if this plant dies, you can't just surreptitiously pitch it down your building's trash chute in the dead of night, swearing to yourself that you'll do better next time. It's a little more public.... Blogs aren't the place for firm conclusions, at least not for me. I see them as organic structures, plants with dirty, messy, unstoppable roots. You can feed them, or tear 'em out by those roots when the time comes.
Yes...no argument here. I've tried to tear this blog out by the roots but have been unable to destroy what has now turned into a four year labor of love???? There is a part of me in every post and yet I'm no longer that person that wrote this blog four years ago when I could barely keep up with responses to the blog or ideas for another post. Turning to Facebook hasn't worked for me. It hasn't reignited my interest in poetry. That lack has been translated into my recent posts and I get the feeling that people come back to this blog out of a morbid curiosity and no longer to read what I have to say.
The odd thing is that I keep getting invitations to submit my work, but I don't know quite what to say. My shoulders hunch and the air seeps out of my lungs till the last breath.
10 comments:
yikes. if *you're* discouraged, what hope is there for the rest of us?!
fingers crossed for more clarity for you (hopefully back to poetry!)
Nic,
You are too kind. But I'm sure you'll continue to do fine without me.
Hi -- I just found your blog -- linked from someone elses -- I haven't read your work nor do I know your history -- but I suggest you take a break from writing and read -- when I can't write I can still read -- that's one thing poets always do for each other -- read books or online magazines -- not blogs -- you need to read poems. Maybe.
Jen,
Thanks for dropping by and caring enough to post.
I wish I had the words to inspire you to return to poetry. Although I'm focused on fiction right now, I'm still writing poetry. As a matter of fact, I've found poetry coming much more easily since it's not my primary writing focus. I hope you find the spark again, Nick.
Collin,
The only person that I can unequivocally say is happy with the present situation is my wife. She's glad to see me spending more time with her and my two daughters. That's the upside.
Writing took me away from them and into my own little world. My kids were known to say daddy's "being away" even when I was sitting right next to them, because I was frequently so engrossed in reading or writing poetry that I was oblivious to all else.
But I cannot in all truthfulness say that I'm happy with my present condition. My writing was a lifeline. It allowed me to be closer to the"self" that I most closely define myself as. It allowed me to put into words thoughts that would otherwise never see the light of day.
"If my thought-dreams could be seen
They'd probably put my head in a guillotine." .............Bobby D.I guess, however, that its cathartic nature did not necessarily make it good poetry. C'est la vie. Probably when I least expect it, it'll come back to me and if not I'll survive. Thanks for the post, my friend.
funny, within a couple days you and Mary both (http://wordcage.blogspot.com/2009/05/last-poem-ever.html)
re: blogs vs. houseplants. I shoulda just got a plant myself.
no courses offered locally? not to interfere with time with kids but some long distance one or weekend retreat?
hubby finds it nice to have me present but I can only go no-poem so long before my filters clog.
Pearl,
Yup. I hear ya! Thanks for commenting.
"Are you even a poet anymore?"
I think your questioning answered the initial question - would you even bother to ask the question if you were not a poet at heart? I doubt it. Don't stop! Take a short break, spend more time (in the present) with family - but whatever you do, do not stop. You will someday look back and likely regret it - besides, your legacy would have a huge gap no one could ever fill.
Well put! Thanks for the kind words.
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