Staring at Slides of David in Art 101 

This is creation,

he says,

a work of art out of rubble.

Imagine Michelangelo

chiseling masterworks of the human form

from what amounts to a lump of rock,

a rock teetering on the edge of a cliff,

waiting for the coyote to come along

and push it over the edge,

only for said coyote

to trip and fall and somehow end

up underneath the falling boulder

and they fall together,

fall long enough for the coyote

to pull out a sign saying

“yelp” or “help” or “wouldn’t you just know it?”

before he hits the ground

before the boulder hits him

and together they hit the earth hard,

but the coyote slinks out from underneath

as flat as a pancake

in time to see the dastardly 

road runner speeding by

only to stop long enough

to stick out his tongue--beep, beep--

in a mocking gesture--meep, meep--

only so the coyote can rise

accordion-like--phoenix-like--

from the rubble to do it all again,

but next time he’ll build his own wings

and glide on air, hovering 

over the road runner for miles and miles

only to fly into 

the side of a mountain.

This is what art takes,

he says,

pain and failure

and the ability to get up and do it all again

and for nothing, for no monetary gain whatsoever.

Ah, the coyote, the wild and wily coyote,

a truly respectful figure,

someone out of the days of chivalry,

an idealized form, a person,

a Don Coyote,

whom we all should aspire to.

Forget the fact  

he never gets what he wants,

he never gives up

and there is the art,

there is creation.

But that’s the trouble, isn’t it,

he says,

the never giving up?

It’s not easy to sustain such an attitude

after years and years of pain and failure.

But you must remember

the years and years of pain and failure

will eventually pay off,

maybe not in financial rewards,

but personal rewards,

personal triumphs.

Someone, somewhere, one day,

will see what you have done

and they will respond.

But remember,

the years and years of pain and failure

lead the way to art

and art leads

the way to life.

So I say, to myself,

Is that why you're here, oh Yoda

lecturing us about art 

instead of creating it? 

 

In defense of future posts

"Advice From the Experts"

I lay down in the empty street and parked
My feet against the gutter's curb while from
The building above a bunch of gawkers perched
Along its ledges urged me don't, don't jump.
                                              --Bill Knott

I don't write a lot of poetry. Mainly because I'm not very good at it. And yet, I can't stop writing it.

Poetry is unappreciated in today's world. Not under. Un. Unappreciated to the point of obsolescence. That much is obvious. I get it. I do. But it's a shame, really. Poets used to be highly regarded citizens. The word of a poet could change the world. But that's all disappeared. Writers, in general, have loss their influence. Books, too. No one seems to want to learn anything anymore, not since we've been able to open up a Search engine and find what we're looking for within a few seconds. That's not knowledge. That's laziness. Here's the things: thanks to the Internet, there's so much information out there, more than we've ever had access to before. It's too bad all we use it for is porn and pictures of cats. The cats! The cats!

I'm not any better than anyone else when it comes to laziness (for example, abusing the Internet for a laugh when I really should be writing). But, dang it, there's so much potential at our fingertips.

With our increasingly short attention spans and our need for a quick fix (thanks, again, to the Internet), poetry as an art form should shine on the Internet. Got ten minutes? Pull up a poem. It's that simple. It's that complicated. 

There are poetry phone apps out there. And that's good. But the only people who most likely know about them already read poetry to begin with.

Poetry, like comic books (whoa, where'd that come from?), needs better marketing. (Now that is a phrase I never thought I would say. But there it is.)

In the future, we will all wear sterile silver clothing. No, wait, that's not what I meant.

In the future, I plan to highlight some of my favorite modern(ish) poets who I feel are worth anyone's time and effort to read. And by modern I mean contemporary poets not modernist poets (although a few will more than likely creep in).

Like Bill Knott, for instance.

Poetry seems to be synonymous with "pretentious," with "boring." If people think about it at all. But it doesn't have to be boring. People seem to forget poetry can be funny. Granted, some might disagree with me there, having their own opinion of what "real" or "true" poetry is, but it's true. Poetry can by funny. And fun. Like a trip Cedar Point. Or the Moon. Fun!

And that's what I hope these future blog post will be. Fun.

Remember: a poem a day keeps Alzheimer's at bay.