Tuesday, July 27

I’m told I don’t write very often


Its true. I do not. I responded that I don’t consider myself a writer, perse. A poet, but not really a writer. Writers are concerned with a far larger scope in language.

I like to think of myself as an artist. A photographer and a poet, both mediums serve as a foil for helping me articulate and explore life. And while photography remains a pastime I hope to make my living from, poetry is the craft I hope to keep to myself.

There is a phenomenon in experience, when you do something you love, but pursue it for the purpose of gain, where you have to give up a part of your love for the craft in order to share it with someone else. Bloggers who have gone pro have complained of the phenomenon, seeking for a balance between pleasing their readership, and holding onto the joy that drove them to blog before it became about money.

I’m willing to subject myself to that dilemma with my photography, because I believe the joy of being able to use my camera every day without the distraction of another field is worth sharing myself with the public.

But poetry is my private conceit. I write my poetry for myself, and unlike other aspects of my creativity, I enjoy reading my own verse, more so than many greater in this craft than I. This may make me egotistical, perhaps a bit narcissistic, but thats ok. Because its mine you see.

I reveal this to you, not to drive you away. I like your attentions dear reader. I like showing you my poems, and I sincerely hope you find them of worth. But I write them on my own timetable. And I fear to try and rush them. I don’t want to make my poetry about expectations, yours or my own, for expectations rob me of the joy of discovery.



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