E. B. White lived a writing life. From a very young age, he was writing, reading, and dreaming of being a published author. The annoying fact is that White actually began publishing in national magazines before he graduated from high school. He never wavered from his dream.
I live a writing life, too. It's just a different kind of writing life. I'll characterize it as a poet's writing life. I don't really get paid for poetry. My life consists of a bunch of part-time and full-time jobs that support my habit. Yes, I said habit. I am comparing poetry to addiction. I don't make this statement to diminish the seriousness of drug or alcohol or sex addiction. I know how damaging these afflictions can be. My point is that poetry, generally, does not help your bank account or your personal life. It can leave you begging for money from friends and family.
I'm not saying that the poet's life is devoid of merit. Poetry is sometimes the only thing that lifts my spirits at the end of fatally dull work days. Solace in times of sorrow. Poetry expresses the deepest, truest part of my being.
And that's why Saint Marty is a poet.
 |
| This is a crack house, a poet house, or both |
No comments:
Post a Comment