What Lies Beneath?
All through the seasons' ebb and flow,
'neath spring's damp earth and winter's snow -
what's buried deep we never know.
What dormant life awaits below?
Within the heart of friend or foe
what tiny seedlings sprout and grow?
Within my heart what do I sow?
What deeper feelings lie below?
Through waking hours, and hours of sleep,
through joyous times and times we weep;
from secrets shared and those we keep
some scattered seed will settle deep.
Will spring growth make me smile or weep?
What new sprouts from the ground will creep?
We're never certain what we'll reap
from tiny seeds implanted deep.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg (January 2006)
A few weeks back I was startled by two stories I saw online - two very different stories, but with some common elements.
The first story was told in the form of a short video. A young man told how he'd been shot as a teenager by another youth - a boy he'd known for ten years and considered a friend. He had been asked to drive his "friend" to visit relatives who lived in a very bad section of Detroit. Knowing that the area was dangerous he was reluctant, but when the other boy asked repeatedly and promised to pay him generously for the ride he decided to drive him there.
His every instinct told him he shouldn't go, but his head told him not to be silly. It was daylight, his car was running well and had plenty of gas in the tank. He'd drop his friend and turn around promptly for home - he'd be fine.
Of course the scenario didn't play out that way at all. He pulled around behind a house as requested by his "friend", and when he got out of the car to accept the promised cash he was shot three times, pistol whipped and left for dead. His wallet was stolen, as was his car. Through sheer determination (and perhaps divine intervention) he was able to struggle to his feet and make it to the street where he found help.
As shocking as this story is, it ended as well as it could. The shooter (who as it turns out had been told he must kill someone as part of a gang initiation) was caught after bragging about his actions to an acquaintance. The victim recovered quite well from his injuries and was able to make a statement at the sentencing of his assailant. At the end of the video he says he is grateful every day to just be alive.
The second story was written by a young woman who attended a charity event with her grandmother many years ago when her aged relative tripped and cut her leg badly on the sharp edge of a wheelchair ramp. Robert Downey Jr., who was also attending this charity event, came to their assistance. (He was young then - and a bit of a bad boy.) He staunched the woman's bleeding with his suit jacket, called an ambulance and kept both ladies calm until it arrived. Shocked by the accident, and in awe of the way a big star had come to the rescue, she forgot to thank him. But she never forgot his kindness and often hoped she's get the chance to express her gratitude.
Many years later - indeed after Mr. Downey had been through rehab and cleaned up his act after his younger, wilder years - she saw him dining alone in an LA restaurant. She was reluctant to interrupt his meal, but felt the urge to use this perfect opportunity to thank him. She asked him if he remembered the incident years before - he did and asked about her grandmother's recovery. She told him how sorry she was that she'd never thanked him for his kindness that day - indicating that never before that day, or since, had she received such an act of kindness from a stranger. She reported that he was touched and replied, "You don't know how much I needed to hear that today."
Two different stories with very different outcomes, but both loaded with assumptions.
We often assume that we know those around us - when we don't. We assume that those we've rubbed shoulders with have our best interests at heart, and that those who are richer and more "important" than us, don't. And the truth is that all human beings are complicated and unpredictable - for the most part we go through life having no clue what is in anybody's heart but our own. We make snap judgements based our senses - what eyes see and ears hear. We do this without knowing what the other person is experiencing inside. We make all kinds of assumptions about who people are and how they live and what they think - all based on flimsy evidential experiences and observations. We think, we think; we think so much. But when it comes to the depths of others' souls, we know so little.
Our ignorance of the content of hearts around us makes it almost impossible to accurately assess the motives of others. This inability can leave us susceptible to disappointment when we give too much credit to some people - that's the downside. The upside of this ignorance is that we get to be amazed by the unexpected examples of goodness, charity and compassion that we witness and experience. Thus we are continually surprised by the kindness of strangers - and the betrayal of those we had assumed were friends.
My message isn't that we should wary of everyone - living in a state of constant paranoia benefits nobody. I'm also not suggesting that we ignore facts, logic or common sense - on the contrary I believe that for the most part the world would be a much saner and happier place if we all took more time to think things through rationally.
Notice, though, that I stipulated that we need to give logic the upper hand for the most part. There are exceptions because like most things, logic has its limitations. There are times when logic will steer us wrong, simply because our universe is unpredictable, as are our hearts. There are moments in every life where all of the logical arguments for or against any decision simply don't feel right. What I am trying to tell you is to listen deeply to your heart - because it's the heart you should know best. Pay attention to that deep "gut feeling" when you suddenly sense danger, and you feel those hairs stand up on the back of your neck. Listen to your heart when your choice is between looking silly by taking a risk, or walking away from a chance to do something that matters to you. Listen to your heart when not listening could cost you years of wondering "what if", or of regret for letting that opportunity pass you by.
Listen to the depths of your heart when you deal with others. Don't let your head tell you that the small kindness you feel an urge to perform "doesn't matter", that the uneasiness you feel around a person is "ridiculous" or that the person you feel the urge to talk to "doesn't want to be bothered".
Heads make assumptions about people based on their status. Heads say that famous people are all spoiled and selfish and don't pay attention to the problems faced by "ordinary" people. Heads will tell you that your feelings are silly, and that your decisions should all be logical.
Those who related both stories had inner dialogue to work through. The first ignored his instincts and allowed his brain to make the choice based on facts. It was daylight. His car was in good repair and full of gas. He thought he'd be safe, but he wasn't. In the second story the woman faced a dilemma - approach a famous man (and risk being seen as a pest), or ignore an opportunity to express gratitude. She weighed her options decided to risk being seen as an annoyance, and in the end she wasn't. It's probably safe to say that she made the famous man feel really good that day, because rather than asking something of him ("will you pose for a picture with me?" or "can I get your autograph?"), she gave him something - a compliment, and an opportunity to see his own depths. Perhaps for a minute he wasn't a movie star, but just another guy who was having a bad day and needed to be reminded of his capacity for kindness.
We are given brains and should use them, but too often brains assume, based on logic. Hearts feel, they sense things, they rely on intuition that often defies logic. When it seems there's a conflict between the two, dig deeper and listen to the very core of your heart. It knows.
Tuesday, 25 March 2014
Thursday, 13 March 2014
The Poet's Plight, and Why This Poet is a Poetry Critic - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg
The poet, whether bad or good,
is tortured and misunderstood.
He writes - and not because he wants,
he writes because not writing haunts.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, March 13th, 2014
A poet's life isn't easy. Not everyone appreciates my efforts - in fact it's safe to say that most people don't. If my only motivation for writing poetry was to win others' approval I would've stopped a long time ago - or perhaps never started in the first place. But as is the case with many creative people I don't write because I "feel like it", but because I need to write. Like the poet Robert Frost, I am of the belief that "Poetry is a condition, not a profession."
Bob Dylan (not much of a singer, but a pretty impressive poet) identifies himself as a poet first. He says (and I paraphrase) that if you think you're a poet, then you're a poet. By his definition I qualify, just like all the other people out there who scribble down bits and pieces on scrap paper and in designated notebooks. I've written hundreds of poems in the past ten years - a lot of them are quite bad - and only published a few. I write because it gratifies me to write. Poetry spills from the places I overflow and fills up the spaces where I'm empty.
Poetry is a hard sell. When I tell people I write a blog, the conversation often goes something like this:
Them: "What kind of blog do you write?"
Me: "It's a poetry blog called "The Rhyming Muse.""
Them: "Oh." *eyes glaze over* "I don't like poetry, but good luck."
I've lost them on two counts. First of all, poetry, in general, is viewed as a painfully boring art form that you had to study briefly in high school. Other than that forced exposure, few people have had much experience with reading poetry since childhood, when most appreciated the genius of Dr. Seuss and Shel Silverstein. And yet many adults cringe at the mere thought of rhyming poetry. It's seen as childish and silly. Maybe that's because anyone who admits to liking it secretly fears they will be judged as harshly by the literati as those of us who write it.
Let me tell you, unequivocally, that I don't read a whole lot of poetry. That's because (I think) a lot of what passes for poetry in the world today is terrible. Those in the "free verse" camp have largely thrown out the baby with the bathwater. In attempting to write without the constraints of rhythm and rhyme, they've managed to lose the essence of what makes a poem a poem. Poetry should be lyrical, whether or not it rhymes; it should be thought provoking and able to create lush imagery with sparse but carefully chosen words.
I seldom read rhyming verse either - partly because I don't want to unwittingly plagiarize other poets' efforts, and partly because there is so much bad rhyme out there. Rhymers dig their own poetic graves when they don't know when to quit and rhyme just for the sake of rhyming. A good rhyming poem is like a jigsaw puzzle - all of the words fit together neatly and none are forced into place to "make a rhyme". If a poem doesn't flow smoothly, it won't "feel right" to the reader, and all art is about eliciting emotion.
John Keats said, "Poetry should strike the reader as a wording of his own thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance."
Amen Mr. Keats! When people can relate to poems, they like them - and if you've never read a poem you can relate to it seems likely that you haven't read enough poetry. Poetry is like music - different types appeal to different people. Our musical tastes vary, depending on our mood at the time. Some days we appreciate one style or artist over another, but most of us wouldn't ever say that we "just don't like music." Google "poetry" and you'll see that there are as many different forms of poetry as there are genres of music, and chances are you will like one of them.
A modern poet, Adrian Mitchell, spoke truth when he said, "Most people ignore most poetry because most poetry ignores most people."
I wrote a lot of free verse in my youth, and at the time considered myself a passable poet. I could still write without rhyming, if I wanted to, but I've changed a lot over the years. In my twenties I worried about whether I was seen as intelligent and sophisticated. Now I don't care as much about others' perceptions. I know who I am, and I know what I enjoy writing, which for the past decade has been poetry within a strict format. I write "hard rhyme" (the ends of the words sound the same) and with lines that are carefully metered. I think a simple (and yes, some would say unsophisticated) style is melodious, easy to remember and, in my opinion, easy to understand and therefore relate to. As long as poetry is viewed as the literary domain of intellectuals, it will go largely unread and unappreciated. I consider myself woman of reasonable intellect, but I "don't get" a lot of the poetry I see published in journals. That's because so much published poetry is pseudo intellectual gibberish that most of humanity can't relate to. And what we can't understand or connect with, we can't enjoy.
I've written poems both ways now,
free verse and rhyme, but still somehow -
it's rhyme and rhythm I adore,
although most will my verse ignore.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, March 11th, 2014
I actually wrote a whole poem to Joni's "tune" about why I like to write in rhyme, but I'm still working the bugs out of it. You see, that's one of the frustrations of being a poet - we write and rewrite constantly. Recently I read a quote that basically said that no poem is ever complete - just abandoned. Eventually we poets move on to some other topic that inspires. Months later I tend to return to earlier attempts, dust them off, clean them up - then once again forget them as some new idea catches my fancy. I can live with this state of constant revisiting and revision. What's really hard to deal with are those periods without jottings and endless editing - what I call a creative slump.
Creative Slump
Each soul at times will suffer discontent -
while questioning if efforts were misspent -
especially when labours were not blessed,
or doubts were planted deep within the breast.
All will, in moments, woefully lament
and curse ill fortune that does not relent.
But still we know all suffer such a time -
a poet goes a season without rhyme;
and mountaineers regardless of intent
may still be forced to pause in mid ascent.
Although they must be halted in their quest,
they'll quickly reach the summit after rest.
Artistic peoples' tortures don't relent
when their creative slurry won't cement.
A poet will feel punished, have no doubt
when words come scarce as raindrops in a drought.
Poetic souls will wasted days resent
when inspiration isn't imminent,
because when hearts are not in words expressed
there's neither taste to food nor peace in rest.
Thus all must work at fostering content,
and cherish inspiration when it's sent;
its absence we feel like a bitter curse -
and with it we can conquer universe.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, March 11th-13th, 2011.
So, to summarize, being a poet is a thankless job. The pay is non-existent. To quote yet another poet, Robert Graves, "There is no money in poetry, but then there's no poetry in money either!" I'll never make my million selling books of poetry. I do what I do because I feed on the creative energy that getting a poem into a passable unfinished state gives me. I groove on the feeling of ink flowing through my pen when that too often elusive inspiration comes knocking on my brain's door. I write for me, but I can't help hoping that somebody, somewhere and sometime will read something I've written and say,
"I get that! I know exactly what she means!"
That's when the poetic payoff comes - because the only thing better than thinking yourself a poet is having somebody else acknowledge you as one.
is tortured and misunderstood.
He writes - and not because he wants,
he writes because not writing haunts.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, March 13th, 2014
A poet's life isn't easy. Not everyone appreciates my efforts - in fact it's safe to say that most people don't. If my only motivation for writing poetry was to win others' approval I would've stopped a long time ago - or perhaps never started in the first place. But as is the case with many creative people I don't write because I "feel like it", but because I need to write. Like the poet Robert Frost, I am of the belief that "Poetry is a condition, not a profession."
Bob Dylan (not much of a singer, but a pretty impressive poet) identifies himself as a poet first. He says (and I paraphrase) that if you think you're a poet, then you're a poet. By his definition I qualify, just like all the other people out there who scribble down bits and pieces on scrap paper and in designated notebooks. I've written hundreds of poems in the past ten years - a lot of them are quite bad - and only published a few. I write because it gratifies me to write. Poetry spills from the places I overflow and fills up the spaces where I'm empty.
Poetry is a hard sell. When I tell people I write a blog, the conversation often goes something like this:
Them: "What kind of blog do you write?"
Me: "It's a poetry blog called "The Rhyming Muse.""
Them: "Oh." *eyes glaze over* "I don't like poetry, but good luck."
I've lost them on two counts. First of all, poetry, in general, is viewed as a painfully boring art form that you had to study briefly in high school. Other than that forced exposure, few people have had much experience with reading poetry since childhood, when most appreciated the genius of Dr. Seuss and Shel Silverstein. And yet many adults cringe at the mere thought of rhyming poetry. It's seen as childish and silly. Maybe that's because anyone who admits to liking it secretly fears they will be judged as harshly by the literati as those of us who write it.
Let me tell you, unequivocally, that I don't read a whole lot of poetry. That's because (I think) a lot of what passes for poetry in the world today is terrible. Those in the "free verse" camp have largely thrown out the baby with the bathwater. In attempting to write without the constraints of rhythm and rhyme, they've managed to lose the essence of what makes a poem a poem. Poetry should be lyrical, whether or not it rhymes; it should be thought provoking and able to create lush imagery with sparse but carefully chosen words.
I seldom read rhyming verse either - partly because I don't want to unwittingly plagiarize other poets' efforts, and partly because there is so much bad rhyme out there. Rhymers dig their own poetic graves when they don't know when to quit and rhyme just for the sake of rhyming. A good rhyming poem is like a jigsaw puzzle - all of the words fit together neatly and none are forced into place to "make a rhyme". If a poem doesn't flow smoothly, it won't "feel right" to the reader, and all art is about eliciting emotion.
John Keats said, "Poetry should strike the reader as a wording of his own thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance."
Amen Mr. Keats! When people can relate to poems, they like them - and if you've never read a poem you can relate to it seems likely that you haven't read enough poetry. Poetry is like music - different types appeal to different people. Our musical tastes vary, depending on our mood at the time. Some days we appreciate one style or artist over another, but most of us wouldn't ever say that we "just don't like music." Google "poetry" and you'll see that there are as many different forms of poetry as there are genres of music, and chances are you will like one of them.
A modern poet, Adrian Mitchell, spoke truth when he said, "Most people ignore most poetry because most poetry ignores most people."
I wrote a lot of free verse in my youth, and at the time considered myself a passable poet. I could still write without rhyming, if I wanted to, but I've changed a lot over the years. In my twenties I worried about whether I was seen as intelligent and sophisticated. Now I don't care as much about others' perceptions. I know who I am, and I know what I enjoy writing, which for the past decade has been poetry within a strict format. I write "hard rhyme" (the ends of the words sound the same) and with lines that are carefully metered. I think a simple (and yes, some would say unsophisticated) style is melodious, easy to remember and, in my opinion, easy to understand and therefore relate to. As long as poetry is viewed as the literary domain of intellectuals, it will go largely unread and unappreciated. I consider myself woman of reasonable intellect, but I "don't get" a lot of the poetry I see published in journals. That's because so much published poetry is pseudo intellectual gibberish that most of humanity can't relate to. And what we can't understand or connect with, we can't enjoy.
I've written poems both ways now,
free verse and rhyme, but still somehow -
it's rhyme and rhythm I adore,
although most will my verse ignore.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, March 11th, 2014
I actually wrote a whole poem to Joni's "tune" about why I like to write in rhyme, but I'm still working the bugs out of it. You see, that's one of the frustrations of being a poet - we write and rewrite constantly. Recently I read a quote that basically said that no poem is ever complete - just abandoned. Eventually we poets move on to some other topic that inspires. Months later I tend to return to earlier attempts, dust them off, clean them up - then once again forget them as some new idea catches my fancy. I can live with this state of constant revisiting and revision. What's really hard to deal with are those periods without jottings and endless editing - what I call a creative slump.
Creative Slump
Each soul at times will suffer discontent -
while questioning if efforts were misspent -
especially when labours were not blessed,
or doubts were planted deep within the breast.
All will, in moments, woefully lament
and curse ill fortune that does not relent.
But still we know all suffer such a time -
a poet goes a season without rhyme;
and mountaineers regardless of intent
may still be forced to pause in mid ascent.
Although they must be halted in their quest,
they'll quickly reach the summit after rest.
Artistic peoples' tortures don't relent
when their creative slurry won't cement.
A poet will feel punished, have no doubt
when words come scarce as raindrops in a drought.
Poetic souls will wasted days resent
when inspiration isn't imminent,
because when hearts are not in words expressed
there's neither taste to food nor peace in rest.
Thus all must work at fostering content,
and cherish inspiration when it's sent;
its absence we feel like a bitter curse -
and with it we can conquer universe.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, March 11th-13th, 2011.
So, to summarize, being a poet is a thankless job. The pay is non-existent. To quote yet another poet, Robert Graves, "There is no money in poetry, but then there's no poetry in money either!" I'll never make my million selling books of poetry. I do what I do because I feed on the creative energy that getting a poem into a passable unfinished state gives me. I groove on the feeling of ink flowing through my pen when that too often elusive inspiration comes knocking on my brain's door. I write for me, but I can't help hoping that somebody, somewhere and sometime will read something I've written and say,
"I get that! I know exactly what she means!"
That's when the poetic payoff comes - because the only thing better than thinking yourself a poet is having somebody else acknowledge you as one.
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