the poet's reality

ROUSSEAU’S DEBUT


Imagine a child of God,
Curious as the fingers of dawn.
A child with radar eyes,
Who must be taught
That skin is one factor,
Religion and language, others.
That separate.

Alone, he had not considered this.
For him, each vagary was a tapestry.
Lucid, he sheds the taught ideas
As defunct boredom,
Safe boxes for stale cookies.
He likes what he can breathe:
Vast spectrums, chants and patois.

A confirmed safecracker,
He rolls into the world
Where boxes rule.
Oh, what errant hopscotch
He bounces among them
On six dimensions!

He forgets that boxes—
Clumsy as they are—adhere:
Boxes protecting box life.
So when they corner,
With mitre box and slide rule,
This little bravado in the square,
He wonders at their cross wails:
“Rectify him! Rectify him!”


February 1982

The work of a poet is not to fit into some kind of paradigm of a writer.  The work of a poet is to mine the truths of existence; to do so he or she must remain open to experiences of all types.  Although it is possible to shun particular behavior personally, it is not possible for the poet to look away from such behavior as if it doesn't exist.  He or she must look to try to understand the behavior that appears.  This openness is sometimes mistaken as personal preference.

In addition, no one will understand why anyone else would write without guaranteed monetary rewards.  The vast majority of Americans are motivated by money and, if they're lucky, by a career choice that fulfills them.  I have had a variety of interesting careers: (1) high school English teacher; (2) bookstore manager; (3) academic dean; (4) technical writer/proofreader; and (5) college professor.  But like being anchored to a rock in a river, I was--through all the currents of my careers--hooked to writing, which I have pursued relentlessly while doing other jobs.

Some artists have pursued their art to their detriment, albeit the more I read about such artists, I realize that each had some instability that overwhelmend him.  I am thinking of Van Gogh and Caravaggio in particular: two of my favorites.