Poetry is my career. Survival is just a hobby. I have found that there is more interest among people in their thinking about me being a poet than there is about my poems, or anyone's poems.
It seems that what a poet talks about is more exciting than anything he stands for or speaks. What a poet speaks is that, which use to come out of the darkness around the campfire. But the campfire was taken away when nobody was watching. The new light in the darkness comes from the computer screen, the TV or the bedside light (sometimes) .
What a poet is talking about, when he talks about being a poet, is the last in the set of echos from the speaking around that ancient light of the fire circle. It's all about the about. It's the it of it. It's the magic cement that holds the pieces of a panicked mind together in our so desperately denied state of terror.
With the fire so far away now, we know longer know what we're speaking... much less what we're listening to, but we still go for it. You gotta love us.
Talk may be cheap. But talk now is all we have left to speak. But it's so hard to see sometimes the difference between what is horrible and what's wonderful.
Terence George Craddock, Italo Calvino, Jessica Puckett, Carl Dennis, yoonoos peerbocus, Frank O'Hara, Carole Batista Sineni, Anne Pluto and (maybe me) ?
Tell me what you think.
Please.
Out of a joy for process
and its aim
for bettering,
there naturally shows up
...
The beautiful sounds
we make
to speak each name, for this
or that thing in
...
You only have something after somebody else
gets it,
unless in the memory of the things you have had
a now new idea bears resemblance
...