First of all, I want to apologize to every one who has ever
private-messaged me, or e-mailed me, or just plain posted
a response to something I posted, --and never gotten a
response back from me. Whatever you must think of me
for that (-and I know it can't be good, because I feel the same way)
-please, at least, don't read into it any kind of
implicit response.
Because it's never that. It's always just plain old writer's block.
As of this moment I have written a 20 page essay
explaining what I mean by "writer's block". And it's
no where near finished. And it's nowhere near
getting close to having even a single a point to make.
But it just now occurred to me that that in itself makes it
an excellent example of exactly what my problem really is.
And so I should leave it at that. Which is just what I'll do.
And that feels really good.
It always feels good to cut out reams of crap from my writing.
Which goes back to something my father said when I was a kid.
He used to read out loud at the table. And one day he read
an article from Time magazine. But he had to keep stopping
because something about it was puzzling him. There was
something about the article that reminded him of something,
and he couldn't put his finger on it. You could almost feel
his frustration as he tore the magazine into molecular sized
pieces and filled the air with it, until you couldn't see two
feet in front of you.
It came to him a few days later. And it was that Time
Magazine's always exasperatingly convoluted way
of getting to the point had reminded him, he said,
of the beauty and grandeur and great literary qualities
of
the King James Bible.
And as an example of that he next proceeded to read, out loud,
and very slowly, straight through, one of the longer "begat"
genealogies in the Bible.
Which was very funny. I mean the way he did it.
Or so I thought. But perhaps only because I was his kid.
In any case, that, and some other things, were no doubt
what's responsible for the great value I have always placed on
getting right to the point.
Which creates a real problem for me. Because it seems
one needs a point to get to, before one can even begin
to think about getting to it.
If you have a point, of course, you can always get right to it.
(And I so very much admire that quality.
"mdidier" for example has that magic touch.)
Or, if you have a point to make, you can always
take the long way around to get to it.
It's entirely up to you what you what you do with it.
But if, on the other hand, you don't have a point to make,
then where can you even begin?
And that, my friends, is where I always am.
Moreover, to have a point to make, you need to know
who you are talking to. And why. Which requires at
the very least that you have previously exchanged
some points with them, or with people like them.
So that it becomes a "pulling yourself up by the boot-straps"
kind of thing. Like Venus in Furs. Moreover, you
need to wonder if your point is really for their benefit.
Or is it just to show off?
Considerations like that drive me up a wall.
Where they stall. And then I fall off the wall.
And if I had a rock, and literary pretensions,
then I'd have to mention Sisyphus at this juncture.
So it's probably fortunate that I have neither.
~~~
Cate asked me something in private that I want to answer in public.
She asked me if, when I post a poem, do I want people to just read it,
and perhaps gag, or orgasm, or whatever they do when they read a poem?
Or do I want them to take it to hell and tear it to pieces?
But that's really two different questions:
1) What kind of response do I want?
2) And how well do I take criticism?
The answer to 2) is clear and definite.
Criticism never bothers me. At all.
It simply merges seamlessly with the fabric of my own thinking.
(I do worry about people who have strong and
persistent
negative emotions about anything that anybody ever says
in a
public forum. I mean, I'm human too. When pricked,
I bleed. But, due to the mega dosages of vitamin C that I
used to take due to Linus Pauling, I heal in less than half a second.
(If you draw and quarter me, it takes a little longer,
- about 2 seconds --to pull myself together.)
I quite enjoy watching it happen in me. It's quicker
than thought. However, I have to be honest about this.
This trick of of seeing everything as water, and myself as
a duck's back, probably has something to do with
Gurdjieffiean training. And my own natural inclinations.
And I have noticed that some people are quite naturally
even better at it than me. But also that some others
never seem to get the hang of it, even when they try hard.)
~~
As for 1), - what kind of response am I looking for?
- I haven't the slightest idea. I don't think I have
any preconceived hopes or expectations about it.
I'm really just happy to start something - anything
- and even when it immediately goes wild.
Or especially when it goes wild afield.
(Which I mention because there was somebody
who got very angry when the conversation
drifted from "the topic" of one of his poem threads.
Which attitude boggled me.)
~~~
I'll cut to the quick now.
The responses that my "poem" here got
go way beyond anything I expected.
And they "tickle me pink" - as my aunts used to say.
I am very pleased.
And everybody was right-on!
Even Jimmy -- with his spam criticism.
(Which is very interesting, for a reason that should become clear in a moment.)
All except for Lizzy's interpretation of "hiding out in the open."
I wish I had meant it that way.
But the truth is that that would be attributing far
more contemporary social conscience to me than I have.
~~
My poem was an exercise in "de-slutting".
I used the artificial-deadline trick to get me over
that writer's block thing I was talking about.
I've used it before a few times.
I think that everyone knows or can guess how it works.
I told myself to write a complete poem in 10 minutes,
after which, whatever state it was in, -good bad or ugly,
- I would post it and never look back. Which is what I did.
I'm not saying that as some kind of excuse for it's low quality.
I did try hard to make it as good as I could.
I am saying that just to show to what extremes
I have to go to, to overcome that "writer's block" thing.
If I don't trick myself that way, I might never post anything.
~~~~
The whole thing evolved out of the "reborn stillborn" phrase.
Which I used once before in a very personal poem,
(which I can't talk about here). I like the phrase, a lot,
and some day I hope to make a good home for it.
(The current "poem" rather follows the current
housing market in that respect.)
~~
I also had the first two lines from before.
They occurred to me while watching "This Old House".
~~
And now, for what it's worth,
nobody seems to have gotten the Leonard Cohen quote -
My friends of that year
were all trying to go queer.
Me? - I was just trying to get even.
---Chelsea Hotel #1
~~~
Incidentally, the word "penis" does not make
me think of V iagra.
(and THIS IS WIERD!)
Quite the contrary. It makes
me think of my mother.
But allow me to explain.
My mother was a registered nurse. And therefore she
subscribed to the theory that it's best for kids to learn
and to use the correct terminology for everything.
Such as "penis" for ding-dong.
(The net effect on me, in this case, was that I
developed a neurotic fear of being sent to a "penal colony".)
~~
And I did mean the title as a spam-like hook.
To be in contrast, specifically, to "Ish-ra-el's Repy".
Because I myself judge --- not whether a poem is good or bad,
--but whether it's likely to be worth my reading it carefully or not,
- strictly by the title and the first two lines.
Which is, as often as not, the wrong thing to do.
However, it is a fact that everybody on earth, and everybody
who has ever been on earth, has written at least a dozen poems,
so there are literally billions and billions and billions, plus one,
of them lying around. And so therefore some kind of triage
is absolutely necessary. .
~~
I'm not criticizing Jimmy's poetry.
But his titles of late, -- eg ---
--- Ish-ra-el’s Reply
--- Heideggeresque in D Minor
--- Colleville-Sur-Mer, Normandy
--- Samhain*
--- Winter - Fort de Soto, Florida.
--etc.
have probably grabbed me the opposite way he intended.
"Ish-ra-el's Reply" in particular bothered me.
As a matter of fact "The Penis that Sticks Out"
was directly inspired by "Ish-ra-el's Reply".
(Peniel -> penis)
~~
And I did look up "Ish-ra-el", - with that spelling, - but I am none the wiser for it.
I think the least Jimmy could have done was to put one of his '*' footnotes on it,
and explain it.
It's very affected. Particularly when the syllables are broken up like that.
What's the point of that? And who is the poem for?
But what really bothered me was his explanation --
Matj and Boss, thanks for your reflections.
This poem came to me as I reflected on the relationship I have with clients, mostly adolescents, who are in trouble, troubled, or who are slipping into dependency/addiction. There comes a point in the process between us, that I hope and pray that they have a 'Jacob' experience; in other words, that they fight with their inner selves and meet the man who will tame them, or break them in. I can only point them towards Peniel, I can't fight for them. I can encourage them to confront 'the man', I can't be the man that 'maims' them.
For boys especially, but for girls as well, I'm sure, it is important that they meet the man who will make a Man of them.
I don't know what Jimmy does, but it apparently it involves some kind of counseling.
And since I don't do anything nearly that good, I shouldn't criticize too cavalierly.
But it bothered me that he refers to the people he says he hopes to help
--as being his "clients". Which may just be an accurate word for what they are.
But it's cold.
When I was a kid in trouble - troubled -and slipping into dependency/addiction,
there were some who tried to push the religious solution on me.
And others who tried to push the Weather Underground solution,
or the Arian nation, or Mexican brown. And I didn't take kindly to any of them.
But there are lots of kids who do, like Konrad Lorenz's geese,
take to the first thing that looks like a mother to them,
- Charles Manson, David Koresh, Osama bin Laden. Leonard Cohen.
And I have a thing against all such pushers. Because they are only in it
for themselves. And their advice is useless.
When all of your advisers heave their plastic
At your feet to convince you of your pain
Trying to prove that your conclusions should be more drastic,
Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?
Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?
Anyway, that's what motivated my poem.
Trying to see the kids as people, with legitimate problems,
--and not as 'clients'.
Any adult ought to be able to help any kid.
Because we've all been there.
But we forget. We become blind.
Or that, anyway, was what I meant by them
"hiding out in the open."
Before I settled on the LC quote ("trying to get even")
that was the line I worked on the hardest, because I wanted
it to say that I know how important these Kleenex problems
- which are just jokes to adults - are to kids.
In fact, in the scheme of things, they are really probably
more important in absolute terms than anything else.
But we forget.
Something happens to adults. It usually begins when they
have to work for a living. They acquire an agenda vis-v-vis kids
-and everyone else. They become pushers, of one thing or another.
And so the kind of advice that I was recommending to give kids
- instead of things like wrestling with imaginary men (-like a man?)
like in the Bible, (- practical advice?)
-was the kind of really practical advice that my aunts used to give.
And the most practical advice I know of to combat depression,
- which I implicitly use almost every day myself,
- is that, no matter how bad things are going for you,
- just remember that there are lots of other people
in the world who are having a much worse time than you.
So yes, I guess that was an "eat your broccoli" kind of thing.
Silly and trivial. But useful. Or that, anyway, was the idea
I was after. Something practical. Vs Peniel.
(Curiously, when I was growing up, it was always
"kids starving in China". So it's "Ethiopia" now?
How about "starving on the Prada runway"?
Would that work better with some kids today?)
(Note: it isn't about being somewhere on the relative-misery scale.
If that was the case then there would have to be the most miserable
person in the world. And who wouldn't think it's them? So it's really rather
that there are an awful lot of
very different kinds of misery
in the world. And that nobody can have them all at once. So that
there's always somebody worse off than you, at least in some
respect. Eg, right now would be a great time to have toilet
plumbing problems, if you must. Because all you have to do
is think about what's going on in the space station right now.
Then you can't help but smile.)
Again -- I don't mean to criticize Jimmy's poem.
Just think of mine as a 1950's "answer song" to it.
Eg, The Shangri-Las' "Leader of the Pack",
-- was "answered" by
The Detergent's "Leader of the Laundromat".