And there was my poetry. I dreamt more and more of literary success. I spent hours staring at the wall in my room, imagining reviews, letters written to me by celebrated fellow-poets, fame and praise and still more fame. I did not at that time know Emily Dickensonâs great definition, her âPublication is not the business of poetsâ; being a poet is all, being known as a poet is nothing.
Writing poetry is like descending a long and winding staircase in the middle of the night. Eyes puffy. Body Aching. Fumbling down while trying not to miss a step. Gripping the railing as the old boards creak underfoot. Then reaching the bottom and finding a swimming pool. Dark and wide. Sink or swim?
Albeit rare, I sometimes read poetry and feel a sense of kinship with the poet â like what they and I are doing are one and the same. More-so when I read poetry I have this feeling of existential dread. I am not a poet. I am a dilettante.
Exhibit A in the case of dread reading. Poemland by Chelsey Minnis. I spent about forty five minutes with this one and I was shook. It is a perfect takedown of poetry and the person vain enough to try their hand at the craft. Tons of great one liners with sharp teeth. I want to see a poem as a massive picture. Full of color and life. Something I can draw a straight line through. This fit the bill. My kind of poetry.
Here are some memorable lines I highlighted from Poemland.
âLetâs go get some smoke in our eyesâ
âIs it a sin to fail to make any money?â
âA great devalued thing is a plain lifeâ
âNow that I am so happy, why do I need poetry?â
âItâs like trying to drink a bottle of champagne in a roadside bathroomâ
âThere is a way to smoke your cigarette and look out the window but youâll never get enough of itâ
âYou pull a knife out of your head and threaten with itâ
âI should have hired someone else to write these poems âŚ
If only I had lived during the 70's I could have smoked at work!â
Poetry should mean nothing. Finding meaning is a fools errand. Read it for feel. Read it once unless it strikes a chord. Keep it moving. I am sure Chelsey Minnis, and all poets for that matter, are trying to say something. Fine by me, but I would rather a novel push me to some sort of vision quest â not a poem.
I want poems to hit me in the gut. I want to scream lines from my porch to wake the neighbors. I want to have the words bounce around in my head as I walk around in circles. I want to get cut by the knife. I want to pencil dive into the pool at the foot of the stairs.
More to come. My next poetry collection will be called Country Songs and I will have it up for sale by the end of the summer. I hope you are well. Peace and love.