"Yes," he said. "Yes," and shipped his oars without bumping the boat. He reached out for the line and held it softly between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. He felt no strain nor weight and he held the line lightly. Then it came again. This time it was a tentative pull, not solid nor heavy, and he knew exactly what it was. One hundred fathoms down a marlin was eating the sardines that covered the point and the shank of the hook where the hand-forged hook projected from the head of the small tuna.
The old man held the line delicately, and softly, with his left hand, unleashed it from the stick. Now he could let it run through his fingers without the fish feeling any tension.
When you're doing something you're good at, there is no tension in any of your actions. It becomes ballet almost, like Santiago holding the fishline between his fingers, knowing exactly what is happening 100 fathoms below him. If you've watched a master watercolorist paint or a expert knitter knit, you know what I mean. Everything seems effortless.
Only one thing works like that for me--writing poetry. It is true pleasure, each time I sit down with my pen and journal to write or revise a poem. It's like finding a beautiful stone on the beach and polishing and polishing it in your hands until it flashes hot in the sun.
I know people like this. Electricians. Photographers. Writers. Plumbers. Actors. Gardeners. Painters. Musicians. They simply enjoy every part of the process, whether it's installing a toilet or planting a tulip bulb. They're artists in their specific medium.
Tonight at the library, it was musicians. Blues this time. This band pulled up with a trailer filled with speakers ad cables and sound equipment. They spent over an hour or so setting up, and then, for the next hour-and-a-half, they jammed. And it seemed so easy and so true.
That's what we should all hope for--to discover that thing that feeds our souls. Something that makes our lives technicolor instead of black and white. Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg said this once, “I tell law students, if you’re going to be a lawyer and just practice your profession, you have a skill—very much like a plumber. But if you want to be a true professional, you will do something outside yourself, something that makes life…better for people less fortunate…”
That's the difference between a poet and someone who simply writes a poem. A photographer and someone who takes a picture. A plumber and someone who fixes a leaky faucet. Yes, all of those avocations involve putting pen to paper or pointing a camera at a subject. But, the true professional wants to make the world a tiny bit better with their words or images or court opinions. And we would all be in a much better place if everyone followed this Ginsburg credo.
On good days, when I sit down to write, that's what happens, I think. I may not ever know how my words affect the people who read them, but I rest easy in the belief that I have spoken a truth that needs to be expressed. Truth, in poetry or blues or law or plumbing or whatever, can change the universe for the better.
That's why Saint Marty keeps writing.
No comments:
Post a Comment