I Am Not A Poet.

I appreciate concision and succinctness, but I’ve never imagined mastering it to the level of a poet. Emerson says some wonderful things about poets in his famous essay, Nature. Poets are the epitome of stuff. He articulates it just like that, too.

Also? To do it – poetry – within the confines of a particular structure and meter, especially impressive.

The poetry reading tonight was insightful. People can do some amazing and incredible things with words. Voices bounced and flowed and the words as sound waves were music, a meandering march to custom cadences. I wonder if an activity like tonight’s would have been half as successful outside of a big city or away from an academic setting. Would this have flown in Middleburg, Florida?

Jacksonville is more feasible, though. A group of us had gotten together sometime during the summer of 2001 to share our favorite songs. I contributed an arrangement of “Simple Gifts” by Yo-Yo Ma and Alison Krauss. If you haven’t heard this version. Get it. Play it. Then set the song on repeat.

I should have just read something by someone established, like T.S. Eliot or even Dr. Seuss. But I didn’t. I’m American now: who says I have to keep playing it safe? Sure, what I read may not have been So Awesome, but that’s okay. 

Poetry may not be my thing; my brain has trouble creating along those lines. Even now I’m struggling  producing effective prose. Maybe I need a break. Although I’m not generating much high quality right now, I have gotten into the proper habit of daily vulnerability, which is not only the essence of blogging, but the core of writing.

While I am not an exalted poet, while that kind of word manipulation and presentation is not my cup of tea, I will take what I can do with a little bit of honey. I am a lowly, yet eager writer.