It has been a long minute since I have written any poetry. After a five or six year hiatus, this is the second poem I have written in as many weeks. It really does feel good to be exercising my poetry chops once again. Yesterday, I finished a painting and made a print and started a poem. It was an ideal Saturday. Studio life works well for me.
The return to poetry writing is no doubt a direct result of discovering a very talented poet, immersing myself in the reading and discovery of poetry once again, and going for walks. My mind thinks poetically while I walk. I develop lines, ideas, themes. I discard clutter. And I can’t write poetry when I am not reading it. There’s a synergism there.
Of course, the talented poet I am referring to is Jen Sperry Steinorth. Check out her book, A Wake with Nine Shades. I’ve read it twice, now. Great stuff in there. I’ve also read the Kindle version of her forthcoming graphic poem, Her Read. There is no doubt in my mind that this book will be short-listed in 2021 as a fav by many poetry lovers, thinkers and critics.
(Back to my poem.) This new poem feels right. It’s a look back. Writer’s look back as much as we look forward. We cannot help it.
Enjoy.
I Was Once in the Same Room as Ed Sanders
Twice, actually There was the awards ceremony
& the after party After announcing
the winners……….you read from one of your
histories I was not familiar with it
Doesn’t matter
When you called my name you changed
my life I had no intentions of being a poet
no idea what that meant Turns out it
means different things for different
people……….
At the after party my friend who was
a fiction writer drank one too many beers
& called you out……….I thought his story was
good I probably would have selected
it over mine
That’s not true His abrasive remarks awkwardly
chiseled a gem……….but you handled
it well I was impressed
Everyone laughed I’m still……….laughing Everyone
gazed in amazement as you raised it
toward the light That was twenty-
five years ago
I went on to read your book Tales of
Beatnik Glory It made me insanely jealous
I listened to recordings of the Fugs they made
me mildly jealous Years later
I wrote to you You did not write back
I am used to that I sometimes wonder
how my life might have been cut if you had not
selected my poem
or my story & I had not been at
Diane’s house to witness a wiry-headed poet
deflecting……….the anger of an adoring public
Ed Sanders