They talk about po-biz which means to run with the stars,
attend AWP, rub hoodies with the clerks who sort the poetry at Paris Review. You could do all that. And still not get any attention. Or you could be like Emily Dickinson and
write in your little house dressed in white, completely missing the Civil War,
you could miss all that and yet become famous.
But you have to die first. You
have to die with seven poems published. You have to die and then you can be
read. Which might be okay with you. But
probably isn’t. Because some of us would
like to be part of the party. Part of
the conversation around poetry. Part of the
dialogue around words and wordsmiths.
Some of us might want recognition.
Maybe even a job. Yeah, if we had
a job, we could write even more of that amazing poetry.
Kay Ryan wrote great poetry and just sent it out. And her girlfriend Carol helped to send it
out. Maybe you find your own Carol to
send out your work. To be your champion. She’s reading for us on November 11th
in Pasadena
with Dana Gioia and Jane Smiley.
Or, you could be like the young generation of poets whose
performance makes you want to put down your iPhone and listen: Doug Kearney and Camille Dungy, who pull you
into the tongue and groove of their language like a slippery waterfall. You’re in before you know it. You have entered the kingdom. Doug’s reading in Pasadena at Boston Court on November 27th
with another performance poet who combines visual imagery with language,
Nicelle Davis, and that’s moderated by Brendan Constantine. He’s a crowd pleaser; an electrifying
performer who makes your hair stand on end.
He’s reading at the Gerding in Portland
Oregon with Tess Gallager on
October 29th. Which brings me
to my next point, you notice what these active energetic poets are doing? They are making their poems get out there and
work for them. They are not letting
those poems sleep or even lie down and take a little nap. You can’t go on vacation from poetry. You have to feel its alive wild throbbing
while you think and walk around. I don’t
believe in po-biz or in having a poetry career or being mid career or late
career. Poetry is something you choose
to do instead of a career. It’s a life
and sometimes it feels like smashing watermelons, and other times it feels like
waiting for watermelons to grow, but there’s always growing. And you can’t knock water. Or melons either for that matter.