I am resting my inclinations, my aging body
No longer responsive to my inclinations
As my youthful body was
Whenever I wanted to do pretty much anything
Be it lifting heavy rocks on the construction site
Or playfully leaping from boulder to boulder
In a modern art fountain set on the ground of the Harvard campus
Now I want to play my B3, but I can’t
My finger joints are sore, my muscles ache from last night
When the kick playing reached my physical capacity
I had to stop
And now I have to rest, rest my inclinations, restore my body
I may be able to play tonight, want to put in at least some practice time
Maybe, though, not till tomorrow; I have to rest now and I can’t play
My body is no longer responsive to my inclinations
As when I was younger, effortlessly, and everything was effortless
Careless, insouciant, fun, indifferent to consequences I would pay later
RESTING MY INCLINATIONS
22 May 2021 Leave a comment
in Blog Tags: aging, Harvard, insouciant, music, poem, poetry, sore joints, youth
Writing Poetry after Youth
02 Jan 2021 2 Comments
in Blog Tags: alteration, art, criticism, essay, inspiration, maturity, poetry, style, T. S. Eliot, youth
Any poet, if he is to survive as a writer beyond his twenty-fifth year, must alter; he must seek new literary influences; he will have different emotions to express. This is disconcerting to that public which likes a poet to spin his whole work out of the feelings of his youth;–T. S. Eliot, Ezra Pound: His Metric and Poetry
T. S. Eliot wrote this insightful comment when he was 29. He had written The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, but had not yet written The Waste Land. It is a remarkable comment, since Eliot, himself, hadn’t “altered.” His own style was still developing and his arguably best work was yet to come. From my own personal experience, I think that there is something in this observation of Eliot’s.
Some time in my early 30’s my passion for poetry had dried up. Those strong feelings of youth were being replaced by different motivations. As Eliot writes, after 25, the poet “will have different emotions to express.” It is fair to say that in early adulthood/late youth, emotions ruled my life. But as I aged, deliberation and understanding the large question of how the world works and the still larger question of how the map of living unfolds became increasingly important. So the verbal filigree of young passion yielded to more contemplative works.
However, just beginning to tackle different life issues, expression proved a fresh start on language. So my output was inferior during this period. I remember a friend who liked my earlier poetry once exclaim to me, “You’ve lost it!” And I had. I had mostly lost youth.
But as time progressed, I became accustomed to the challenges that life throws at adults and my writing began to mature, too. I was aware of the loss of my muse in my early 30’s. I knew that I wasn’t writing very well. I knew that my friend was right, for then. In fact, I had almost quit writing altogether; I did precipitously stop writing for long spells. But I couldn’t stop writing. A new style developed for the new person I was since youth. Of the poems I’ve published, ¾ are “post-30’s” poems;–that is, poetry I wrote after the age of 30. That which was lost was found!
Eliot’s style underwent quite an alteration as he aged, as well. As a literature major once told me, “The jury’s still out on Four Quartets” (1936-1942—when Eliot was aged 48-52). But the jury returned a verdict on The Cocktail Party (premiered 1949); utter failure. The difference in Eliot’s later work, compared with that of his earlier work, though, is not only a matter of Eliot’s age. He had also undergone a religious conversion and meant to express it in his work. This is a major “alteration!” And even if Eliot’s artistry matched his new spirituality, the critical reception would have been skewed by the counter-religious zeitgeist of the modern age.
Writing poetry is a dance between grasping language, grasping life, and grasping art. All this is likely to undergo revision and rewrites with the stages of living one will experience here, and perhaps, hereafter.
THE MEASURE OF MY GAIT (redux)
09 Jul 2020 Leave a comment
in Blog Tags: age, maturity, pacific, peace, placid, poem, youth
But for my body’s vibrancy
Lost from age
I feel better and better, now in my tranquil maturity
A tree grows high and wide with time
I know heights, now, placid in age
I never knew in youth, when I was figuring it all out
And I’ve got a handle on how things work better, now in my tranquil maturity
Better than in my excited youth
The world and I sync better
Than my fits to plug into a system I wasn’t fit to engage
In my early becoming adult
So many questions I faced unaware
When to argue
When to articulate a novel thought to stand out before my teachers
The battle to be self at school or workplace—alienation—enforcing conformity
That moment when my professor said I’d better start thinking about a different profession
provoked by my Marxist critique of Wordsworth’s IDIOT BOY
I really don’t know why I don’t fight anymore
Or why I used to
Or why I was never happy no matter where I lived: Ohio, Boston, Charlottesville, Florida
And my contentment, indeed happiness, now in Edmonton
And of the things I no longer let bother me:
Other people disagreeing with me
Things I have to get done by yesterday
Whether people like me
Traffic, specifically tailgaters
I haven’t time nor energy nor inclination to disturb
My peace
The breadth of my awareness
Expanded and expands still from youth’s constrictions
Knowing largely the way it was always done, then,
At home, hometown, Sunday School
Plain, innocent, not knowing things
I remember questioning the merits of my professor’s USC degree, me knowing only UCLA
Making judgments in these facile these days
The young’s flash and intensity of passion
Have calmed, calming me, contenting my present
There was that time when it all lay in front of me
So much to master, to conquer
Most of it’s past now
The challenges I’ve conquered, arts mastered to such as one may
I’ve laid my foundation, a good one
Upon which I stand, build, have built, refine, expand
I burst the bonds that have constrained my heart
As my soul breathes free, breaks free
The future doesn’t beckon anymore
Though I continue leisurely progress in cognition, will, behavior, refinement
Sensibility, sensitivity, sentiment, solidarity
I read now as much as talk
And today, W. H. Auden moved my sensibility, sense, cognition towards where I wasn’t before
And today I’m closer to the time when I’ll die
I ponder whether I’ll die well,
Studying to live well
My measured gait is not due to decrepitude
I carry the weight of my awareness,
Thoughts, contentedness, purpose, perceptions
Measuring my stride through life
Looking back, down from olding heights,
From the altitude afforded by maturing,
On who I was, what I was, how I did what I did
The mysterious ascending current flowing toward my future
Inhabiting my present, my pacific contentment my ever-evolving mentation
And I will die well
THE MEASURE OF MY GAIT
28 Jun 2020 Leave a comment
in Blog Tags: aging, contentedness, death, growth, poem, poetry, youth
But for my body’s vibrancy
Lost from age
I feel time better and better
A tree grows high and wide with time
I know heights, now
I never knew in youth
I understand the way things work better, now in my tranquil maturity
Better than in my excited youth
The world and I sync better
Than my fits to plug into a system I wasn’t fit to engage
In my early becoming adult
So many questions I faced unaware
When to argue
When to articulate a novel thought to stand out before my teachers
The battle to be self at school or workplace seeming enforcing conformity
That moment when my professor said I’d better start thinking about a
different profession
provoked by my Marxist critique of Wordsworth’s IDIOT BOY
I really don’t know why I don’t fight anymore
Or why I used to
Or why I was never happy no matter where I lived: Ohio, Boston, Charlottesville, Florida
And my contentment, indeed happiness, now in Edmonton
And of the things I no longer let bother me:
Other people disagreeing with me
Things I have to get done yesterday
Whether people like me
Traffic, specifically tailgaters
I haven’t time nor energy nor inclination to disturb
Me and my peace
The breadth of my awareness
Expanded and expands still from youth’s constrictions:
Knowing largely the way it was always done
At home, hometown, Sunday School
Plain, innocent, not knowing things
I remember questioning the merits of my professor’s USC degree, me knowing only
UCLA
Making judgments is facile these days
The young’s flash and intensity of passion
Have calmed, calming me, contenting my present
There was that time when it all lay in front of me
So much to master, to conquer
Most of it’s past now
The challenges I’ve conquered, arts mastered to such as one may
(Though mastery knows no terminus)
I’ve laid my foundation, a good one
Upon which I stand, build, have built, refine, expand
I burst the bonds that have constrained my heart
As my soul breathes free, breaks free
The future doesn’t beckon anymore
Though I leisurely progress in cognition, will, behavior, refinement
Sensibility, sensitivity, sentiment, solidarity
I read now as much as talk
And today, W. H. Auden moved my sensibility, sense, cognition towards where I wasn’t before
And today I’m closer to the time when I’ll die
I ponder whether I’ll die well,
As I study to live well
My measured gait is not due to decrepitude
I carry the weight of my awareness,
Thoughts, contentedness, purpose, perceptions
Measuring my stride through life
Enraptured looking back, down from olding heights
From the altitude afforded by maturing on constrained behaviors,
On who I was, what I was, how I did what I did
The mysterious ascending current flowing toward my future
In the present’s contented, open mentation
And I will die well
QUESTIONS OF THE PITUITARY GLAND
15 Jun 2020 Leave a comment
in Blog Tags: age, body, determinism, development, Erikson, Falstaff, fate, Moerae, poetry, relationships, time, youth
What is appropriate in the young makes
What is not appropriate in later years appropriate for them
Ages of life pay their dues to time
Is it the body that counts age and appropriates ideals?
Makes youth intense and mellows age?
Questions of the pituitary gland
Maybe the body ticks time, but can it spawn behaviors?
Mentation, personality, development
Growth hormones dictate our humanity like the lives the three Moerae fated for all humans
Spinning the threads of who we will be
Tied up in bounds of determinism by the pituitary gland
Falstaff and Hal foreshadowing the youthful madcap role I played
In and out of the schoolbooks and classes, such a trope humanity scripted it in Elizabethan drama
Learning lessons of acquiescence in middle-age to gods that held my fate
Metamorphosis of the reading lists of my professors into bosses’ memos
Become pliant, compliant, indeed, obedient, to the machine I used to rage against
I wouldn’t say it was glandular as much as pecuniary forces
That forced me to slog through time in middling age
Chasing my dreams off the ambitious clock
Bouncing through relationships until one remains as if all along it was fate
And now, in arm-chair reflections of it all I ask questions of stories
The storied stages of humanity’s ageless morphology
The taxonomy of the human condition
Authored by us as one glimpse of the whole in the likes of Erikson, the psychologist—
Even the corpus of humanity’s iterations writ large upon our world literature
And I, a person, a representative man, following the trajectories as it seems to me are possible
Narrations of the human genome
YOUTH, AGE, DEATH
13 Jun 2020 Leave a comment
in Blog Tags: age, Being, Charles Taylor, death, ethics, life, living, poem, religion, spirituality, time, youth
I’m not sure the way to think about death
Is to think about death
Mine will be around 30 years or so, likely
Some do not know 30 lived years yet
And to them, now, as it was to me, then, 30 years is a long time
But when your life is twice thirty plus
And 30 years ago means an ethics class on Charles Taylor at the University of Virginia
Vivid in the aging memory
Death is nearer
I say the young should not think about death
But revel in the animée of youth
Nor should anyone think about death
I believe we all should revel in animée
In age you mine the memory for what matters
Looking back over time, so many lives lived
Parent, child, sibling, friend, partner,
Student, apprentice, employee, employer, creator, maker, volunteer
So many ideologies following
Family values, local customs, blindly following the herd,
Breaking free of local customs, assimilating to new traditions
Ethical options adopted, opted for
Spirituality, religion, evolving principles of justice, righteousness
Age has much to sift through, choose, assent to, reject
Evaluating a life lived long
Choosing how to use life in remaining years
Anticipating life, how to live, live well, time that remains well
In remaining years, in future years
Possible eternity outside time and years and then where is death?
Options
Opting for a good life, life lived well, the good life, optimize
Exorcized ghosts of island martinis and beers past
Cast-off pass-times, past times, distractions, dreams of fame, cheering mobs, irascible passions
How to live, live well, care well
Caring for values that ground being
Ground of Being
And it is enough to be
Animée
Youth, age, death
FACES
11 Jun 2020 Leave a comment
in Blog Tags: blues, campfire, faces, Michael Harper, poem, poetry, sacred space, T. S. Eliot, youth
“A man is another man’s face”
An observation I first saw in Michael Harper’s poetry 33 years past
I remember
And find time after time T. S. Eliot’s time
“To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet.”
Eliot even put pale green make-up on his own
Public face
Mask, theatre
The laugh that guy put on in the blues bar
Which signified a laugh more than was one
Signifier, signifiée, semiotics
To my mind
A sign of distance from the center
Signifying
Too much bar
Too much beer
In the sound signifying a laugh that he put on
I was there that night in the blues bar, as so often
Remembering an intense, intensive week for me, year after year
Together face to face all day and into the night
And there’s no putting on of anything
Paulhaven Children’s Camp Pastor, Rec Staff, Cooks, Teens
Campfire, sacred flame, circle, singing
Sacred space, sacred time
They will always remember
Year after year until adulthood when youth and camp end, community yet remains
They remember
I will always remember
I remember
3AM conversations with a few staff around the campfire
When it all comes out
And there’s just us, talking, looking at the fire
And 3AM
But now it’s 3 AM in the blues bar, drinks done
Remembering the laugh that guy put on
The face I put on to meet the faces I meet when they compel a face from me
And the campfire burns only inside me
Behind the faces I now wear
THE MEASURE OF MY GAIT
12 Oct 2019 Leave a comment
in Blog Tags: age, awareness, contentedness, free verse, passion, poem, poetry, time, youth
But for one skill set
Bitterly lost from medical causes
But for my body’s vibrancy
Lost from age
I feel better and better in time’s passing
An ancient tree grows high and wide
I know heights, now
I never knew in youth
The breadth of my awareness
Expanded and expands still from youth’s constrictions
The young’s flash and intensity of passion
Have calmed, calming me, contenting my present
My measured gait is not due to decrepitude
I carry the weight of my awareness,
Thoughts, contentedness, purpose, perceptions
Measuring my stride through life
Enraptured in the valley-view of my past
The mysterious ascending current flowing toward my future
In the present’s contented, open mentation
LIFE IS
06 Aug 2019 Leave a comment
in Blog Tags: adulthood, calling, dream passion, job, life, maturity, money, poem, poetry, power, youth
Life is not
The acquisition of money, material possessions
Life is
The pursuit of a passion
A life’s dream, a contribution to society
In youth, it is the pursuit of a job
A career, a profession, a calling
In adulthood, it is the maintenance of a lifestyle
In maturity, you realize that life is a pastime
And along the way, it can be
The accumulation of experiences you will be happy to remember
But, in truth, life is
The formation of the kind of person you want to be,
Learning who that is
To be and become who that is
By means of and through and despite
What life will bring your way
To be and become who that is
By whatever powers or Power you know
LEARNING TO OUTGROW LIFE HERE
04 Apr 2019 Leave a comment
in Blog Tags: age, Enlightenment, flesh, light, poetry, Spirit, wisdom, youth
Although age slags and weakens my body
Though my agility, flexibility grow heavy and stiff
My soul grows, grows light, fills with light
Enlightenment matters more than matter
Wisdom—age’s donation to
This deteriorating flesh—
Grows as powers fail and hours fill
With matters other than those of the body
Other realms than matter suggest
Youth’s vibrant spirit
Returning in other realms when
This matter has had enough and spirit matters
My purpose here fulfilled
My soul outgrown this flesh and bone
This mortal community, camaraderie
As age passes on its lessons
Learning to outgrow life here