I became a poet
Posted: October 19th, 2014, 6:23 pm
Little did I know
when I began writing poetry in 1970
and my young life became swept away by the poets
that I read, that I would enter that place where
all hope is cast aside, little did I know what
the rest of my life would become, what I would
have to undergo, what i would see along the way
I simply vaguely recall one day, that I decided
that I would take up the pen, and in turn
the second hand typewriter, and I would make
myself into a poet, I really did not know how long
it would take, or what I would have to make myself do
what nightmares I would have to ride through the dark night
I took my cue from Rimbaud and Baudelaire, Flowers of Evil
A Season in Hell, Baudelaire layed down the foundation
Rimbaud, ah, Rimbaud, invited me to set sail for the unknown
in his drunken boat, I had already taken a cruse on the Crystal
Ship, of Jim Morrison, who really thought of his self as a poet
I had sailed on the H.P. Lovecraft White Ship, through the
psychedelic mist on many poetic trips into the void, on the road
to another time and space, so in 70 when I left home, my parents
apartment in Orange County, and moved up north to Santa Cruz
California, I had no idea what I was going to do with my life
so one day I met a crazy surfer poet from L.A. who showed me
his collection of books of Beat writers and other fellow travelers
in one night of drinking beer and smoking pot I found my calling
from that night on, I became a poet on the streets looking for words
to tell my story, you begin the long slow process of living that life
poetry was not some side thing I picked up in a collage class
it was not a hobby or quaint pass time, it literally became my life
my life became poetry, and everything I experienced from that time
became my life through the eyes of the poet who was writing through
me, in those days, there were no computers, there were poetry readings
there were open mics, there were the university snob poets, and the street
weirdo poets, I was the latter, but I know who the U poets were, and they
know who we were, even though they would not admit it, it was a strange
but wild time to be a poet in a town where students and beatnik become
hippie become beatnik poets flourished, or floundered, it was a season
in hell, it was a drunken party after the poetry reading, when the real
poets drank each other under the table, and told their stories in fleeting
images, before they passed out for ever, before the purple cows came home
yes, I lived in a poem, my world was consumed with reading strange
writing, and of course, a poet has to read everything under the moon
"you walk into the room like a camel and you frown" it was Bob Dylan
that first really got my poetic juices flowing, that Gemini of social commentary
put to folk song, who first show us the poetic connection to Biblical verse
and the jingle jangle utterances of the bums who showed us the signs
of the times a changing, of course Bob Zimmerman had taken his musician name
from Dylan Thomas, who was a famous drinker poet from the British isles
who gave his life for the Death Be Not Proud endless shot of whiskey and beer
to fuel his Celtic war torn mental landscape for the rages and ravages
of the blasted bard, what I discovered as I turned myself inside out
and rearranged all my senses, was that the wind of the sea blows cold and hard
that, like Bukowski said, if you cannot sit at a typewriter all day and all night
long, that not bother to be a poet/writer, better to be a car used salesman
or anything else, and if you just want to write some poetry, to put some words
behind your attempts to appear like you have something to say, or know
something about language, and the king's English, then you ought to picture
who you are writing to, how many so-called poets don't even know who
Rimbaud was, even if they maybe read some of his works for a class in school
Here is the rub, everybody that writes poetry begins where they are at
if you think you are clever, because you have studied some classics in a class
then that is what you will sound like, if you don't live what other poets lived
then that is what you will sound like, you cannot fake it, but you will have to
fake it, until something other kicks in, until you spend that night in the drunken
boat, 'stuck inside of Mobile with the Memphis blues again' and did you imagine
that that song was just about a musician in Memphis Tennessee? really?
when I began writing poetry in 1970
and my young life became swept away by the poets
that I read, that I would enter that place where
all hope is cast aside, little did I know what
the rest of my life would become, what I would
have to undergo, what i would see along the way
I simply vaguely recall one day, that I decided
that I would take up the pen, and in turn
the second hand typewriter, and I would make
myself into a poet, I really did not know how long
it would take, or what I would have to make myself do
what nightmares I would have to ride through the dark night
I took my cue from Rimbaud and Baudelaire, Flowers of Evil
A Season in Hell, Baudelaire layed down the foundation
Rimbaud, ah, Rimbaud, invited me to set sail for the unknown
in his drunken boat, I had already taken a cruse on the Crystal
Ship, of Jim Morrison, who really thought of his self as a poet
I had sailed on the H.P. Lovecraft White Ship, through the
psychedelic mist on many poetic trips into the void, on the road
to another time and space, so in 70 when I left home, my parents
apartment in Orange County, and moved up north to Santa Cruz
California, I had no idea what I was going to do with my life
so one day I met a crazy surfer poet from L.A. who showed me
his collection of books of Beat writers and other fellow travelers
in one night of drinking beer and smoking pot I found my calling
from that night on, I became a poet on the streets looking for words
to tell my story, you begin the long slow process of living that life
poetry was not some side thing I picked up in a collage class
it was not a hobby or quaint pass time, it literally became my life
my life became poetry, and everything I experienced from that time
became my life through the eyes of the poet who was writing through
me, in those days, there were no computers, there were poetry readings
there were open mics, there were the university snob poets, and the street
weirdo poets, I was the latter, but I know who the U poets were, and they
know who we were, even though they would not admit it, it was a strange
but wild time to be a poet in a town where students and beatnik become
hippie become beatnik poets flourished, or floundered, it was a season
in hell, it was a drunken party after the poetry reading, when the real
poets drank each other under the table, and told their stories in fleeting
images, before they passed out for ever, before the purple cows came home
yes, I lived in a poem, my world was consumed with reading strange
writing, and of course, a poet has to read everything under the moon
"you walk into the room like a camel and you frown" it was Bob Dylan
that first really got my poetic juices flowing, that Gemini of social commentary
put to folk song, who first show us the poetic connection to Biblical verse
and the jingle jangle utterances of the bums who showed us the signs
of the times a changing, of course Bob Zimmerman had taken his musician name
from Dylan Thomas, who was a famous drinker poet from the British isles
who gave his life for the Death Be Not Proud endless shot of whiskey and beer
to fuel his Celtic war torn mental landscape for the rages and ravages
of the blasted bard, what I discovered as I turned myself inside out
and rearranged all my senses, was that the wind of the sea blows cold and hard
that, like Bukowski said, if you cannot sit at a typewriter all day and all night
long, that not bother to be a poet/writer, better to be a car used salesman
or anything else, and if you just want to write some poetry, to put some words
behind your attempts to appear like you have something to say, or know
something about language, and the king's English, then you ought to picture
who you are writing to, how many so-called poets don't even know who
Rimbaud was, even if they maybe read some of his works for a class in school
Here is the rub, everybody that writes poetry begins where they are at
if you think you are clever, because you have studied some classics in a class
then that is what you will sound like, if you don't live what other poets lived
then that is what you will sound like, you cannot fake it, but you will have to
fake it, until something other kicks in, until you spend that night in the drunken
boat, 'stuck inside of Mobile with the Memphis blues again' and did you imagine
that that song was just about a musician in Memphis Tennessee? really?