A Selfish Endeavor
Damned and cursed before all the world
That is what I want to be.
—John Wieners
I’m fine. Really.
Not making any
promises, but
it’s been a good
day, I’m not in a
bleak mood, I’ve
been out a bit this
past couple of weeks,
I mean, besides work:
Folsom Fair, Badlands
(first time in maybe 5
or 6 years!). I’m just
thinking about how
John Wieners said “I
try to write the most
embarrassing thing I
can think of.” Which,
to me, begins to app
roach the freedom I
seek at times when
I’m writing, but in a
most limiting and
flabbergasting way.
I do love to complain.
Or one might certainly
think so if they dug in
to my scribbles of the
past decade or so. May
be not so much at the
beginning. How long
did that beginning last?
Depends on how you count
it, I suppose, but it would
have been 16 or 17 years
if I start from that moment
I called myself poet with any
sincerity. One can shift rather
dramatically. And that I’m
counting on, and working
on, and I’m okay, truly.
And I do not like to com
plain. I just do. It isn’t
Not making any
promises, but
it’s been a good
day, I’m not in a
bleak mood, I’ve
been out a bit this
past couple of weeks,
I mean, besides work:
Folsom Fair, Badlands
(first time in maybe 5
or 6 years!). I’m just
thinking about how
John Wieners said “I
try to write the most
embarrassing thing I
can think of.” Which,
to me, begins to app
roach the freedom I
seek at times when
I’m writing, but in a
most limiting and
flabbergasting way.
I do love to complain.
Or one might certainly
think so if they dug in
to my scribbles of the
past decade or so. May
be not so much at the
beginning. How long
did that beginning last?
Depends on how you count
it, I suppose, but it would
have been 16 or 17 years
if I start from that moment
I called myself poet with any
sincerity. One can shift rather
dramatically. And that I’m
counting on, and working
on, and I’m okay, truly.
And I do not like to com
plain. I just do. It isn’t
justice I seek, but perhaps
a bit of fairness, equality.
Or I really don’t know. If
okay is what I am. Or if
I’ll ever get another such
shift. I guess, if I’m talking
to myself, I’d say You’re so
a bit of fairness, equality.
Or I really don’t know. If
okay is what I am. Or if
I’ll ever get another such
shift. I guess, if I’m talking
to myself, I’d say You’re so
much better, that’s for sure.
And I can, with confidence,
concur. Depending on how
I look at it, better than ever.
But mostly I mean these have
been fairly exhausting times.
As compared with the times
that were so stark in their
opposition to these. And
I don’t mind embarrassing
myself here. It’s one way
to stay a bit humble. But
when it feels like humility
is all I’ve got... Well, I can
find other qualities. It’s just
that some tend to stand up and
be heard, are louder and more
demanding than others. But what
I really want is to, in the most
straight-up fashion, tell you how
wonderful I’m doing, or at least
all the good stuff that’s happening.
And I’ll get back to that. I always
do. But today I’m reading JW’s
Supplication, his poetry selection
that came out nearly a decade ago,
back around when I was blindsided
by a stumbling block that I tripped
over and didn’t stop tumbling for
quite some time. And as I continue
to pick myself up and brush myself
off and—for what seems like an
eternity—climb my way back into
a familiar vicinity, I can empathize
with, and play the part of, the
tortured poet. Just not endlessly.
I need my hope and my humor.
Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate
some of the best of us who so rarely
seem to find much of either. But
And I can, with confidence,
concur. Depending on how
I look at it, better than ever.
But mostly I mean these have
been fairly exhausting times.
As compared with the times
that were so stark in their
opposition to these. And
I don’t mind embarrassing
myself here. It’s one way
to stay a bit humble. But
when it feels like humility
is all I’ve got... Well, I can
find other qualities. It’s just
that some tend to stand up and
be heard, are louder and more
demanding than others. But what
I really want is to, in the most
straight-up fashion, tell you how
wonderful I’m doing, or at least
all the good stuff that’s happening.
And I’ll get back to that. I always
do. But today I’m reading JW’s
Supplication, his poetry selection
that came out nearly a decade ago,
back around when I was blindsided
by a stumbling block that I tripped
over and didn’t stop tumbling for
quite some time. And as I continue
to pick myself up and brush myself
off and—for what seems like an
eternity—climb my way back into
a familiar vicinity, I can empathize
with, and play the part of, the
tortured poet. Just not endlessly.
I need my hope and my humor.
Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate
some of the best of us who so rarely
seem to find much of either. But
my heart goes out, it really does.
And with each line I find myself
climbing further and further up.
climbing further and further up.
