I was a frantic young poet, so afraid of forgetting some genius phrase
or other that I carried a piece of paper rolled tightly around a pencil
everywhere I went just so I'd be able to catch those words before
they flew away. (I remember regularly picking papier-mâchéd bits of
that paper out of the clothes dryer.)
Michael McNeilley (poet and friend) would see me like this and say:
"Calm down, if it's that good, it will come back to you." It took a few
years, but I came to realize he was right. What a relief: I could look
around, notice everyday stuff, not have to worry about making poetry
out of every damned thing in sight.
Years later, I said to Michael: "It doesn't all come back, does it?" He said:
"No, but you believed it long enough to calm down, didn't you? Besides,
it doesn't really matter if you lose it, there's always more."
I calmed down again.
Michael died 14 years ago, so I can't say to him: "There isn't always more,
is there?" But I know what he'd say: "No, there isn't; but you believed it
long enough to calm down, didn't you?"
This reminds me of when I first realized what my sister (a photographer) had been telling me for years:
"You can experience 'now' or take a picture of 'now', but you can't really do both."
While criticism is not required, it is sincerely to be hoped for. (Off or On-topic remarks and clever abuse are appreciated as well.)
a brightly colored fungus that grows in bark inclusions
Love. I've never been a frantic artist, letting each craft go when composing it in my mind became enough, amen to your sister.
I've found when there isn't any more there is something else. No worries.
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I would love to say I don't scribble on stuff all the time anymore because I've calmed down, but it's really because I've lost most of the fucks I once had. Like everything in this nasty capitalist world, the actual value has diminished remarkably.
Still, it means that it's easier to recognise when a fuck is important, rather than just a noise in the background.
Obviously, but I didn't want to make milo feel bad.
(12-23-2015, 06:55 AM)ronsaik Wrote: made my day. I'll be re reading this all through it.
Your poems don't come out the right way on a mobile screen - it's all those extra spaces.
Below's a copy with most of the spaces taken out.
Does that work better or is it the formatting in general?
< Calming Down >
I was a frantic young poet, so afraid of forgetting some genius phrase
or other that I carried a piece of paper rolled tightly around a pencil
everywhere I went just so I'd be able to catch those words before
they flew away. (I remember regularly picking papier-mâchéd bits of
that paper out of the clothes dryer.)
Michael McNeilley (poet and friend) would see me like this and say:
"Calm down, if it's that good, it will come back to you." It took a few
years, but I came to realized he was right. What a relief: I could look
around, notice everyday stuff, not have to worry about making poetry
out of every damned thing in sight.
Years later, I said to Michael: "It doesn't all come back, does it?" He said:
"No, but you believed it long enough to calm down, didn't you? Besides,
it doesn't really matter if you lose it, there's always more."
I calmed down again.
Michael died 14 years ago, so I can't say to him: "There isn't always more,
is there?" But I know what he'd say: "No, there isn't; but you believed it
long enough to calm down, didn't you?"
This reminds me of when I first realized what my sister
(a photographer) had been telling me for years:
"You can experience 'now' or take a picture of 'now', but you can't really do both."
a brightly colored fungus that grows in bark inclusions
(12-22-2015, 11:52 PM)ellajam Wrote: Love. I've never been a frantic artist, letting each craft go when composing it in my
mind became enough, amen to your sister.
While my sister's statement reads as a cautionary comment about the alienating effects
of art, she openly embraced using her art to avoid any and all unpleasant social interactions;
or, at least, to try to bend them to her will. She did the photography for her own wedding!
She used us as manikins in ridiculously bizarre tableaux (there were black crepe masks and
baby bottles filled with blood). She even used my other sister as her stand-in for the alter shots.
My other sister remarked: "Do I get to fuck him too?" (Though, technically, since he'd been
her boyfriend first, she already had.)
(12-23-2015, 04:28 AM)Leanne Wrote: I would love to say I don't scribble on stuff all the time anymore because I've calmed down,
but it's really because I've lost most of the fucks I once had. Like everything in this nasty
capitalist world, the actual value has diminished remarkably.
Still, it means that it's easier to recognise when a fuck is important, rather than just a
noise in the background.
Well, yes, while I'd like to claim that my calming is a product of an inner peace derived from a
sublime spiritual centering of some sort, the truth is that terminally-depressed cynics, if not
approached too closely, look remarkably calm. The same can be said of the dead.
(Which reminds me of a Pollyanna "Glad Book" parody: "Pollyanna's Political Prison".)
a brightly colored fungus that grows in bark inclusions
(12-23-2015, 06:32 PM)rayheinrich Wrote: the truth is that terminally-depressed cynics, if not
approached too closely, look remarkably calm. The same can be said of the dead.
Lovely poem, Ray.
I like this quote too. It could be considered a poem as well.....
I was a frantic young poet, so afraid of forgetting some genius phrase
or other that I carried a piece of paper rolled tightly around a pencil
everywhere I went just so I'd be able to catch those words before
they flew away. (I remember regularly picking papier-mâchéd bits of
that paper out of the clothes dryer.)
Michael McNeilley (poet and friend) would see me like this and say:
"Calm down, if it's that good, it will come back to you." It took a few
years, but I came to realized he was right. What a relief: I could look realize?
around, notice everyday stuff, not have to worry about making poetry
out of every damned thing in sight.
Years later, I said to Michael: "It doesn't all come back, does it?" He said:
"No, but you believed it long enough to calm down, didn't you? Besides,
it doesn't really matter if you lose it, there's always more."
I calmed down again.
Michael died 14 years ago, so I can't say to him: "There isn't always more,
is there?" But I know what he'd say: "No, there isn't; but you believed it
long enough to calm down, didn't you?"
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![[Image: stainlessprayerwheels.jpg]](http://wordbiscuit.com/im10/stainlessprayerwheels.jpg)
