Poetic Dissection of Sometimes a Wild God

Whilst exploring the electric seas of the interwebs I came across a poem that I had never read before called, "Sometimes a Wild God," by Tom Hirons. 

I read it.

Then I read it again. 

It resonated with me. So, before I color your view of it, I believe it only fair that you have a chance to come to your own conclusions. The poem, read by it's author, Tom Hirons with illustrations by Rima Stains, can be found here: Sometimes a Wild God. 

Now, while you consider this piece please allow me to prattle on for a moment about art.

All art is subjective and a delicate dance between the creator and, for lack of a better word, the consumer. I use the word consumer but I do not mean monetarily, I mean that a piece or work has been discovered, used, and/or experienced. Art is that magical space where these two forces meet - creators and consumers. And this is where magic becomes real. No matter what the art form, it takes two to tango. Art tells us a story and stories connect us to a greater narrative than ourselves. 

As consumers we are all at different places in our journeys and subject to the relentless nature of time. These factors influence the effect that art has on us at different time in our lives. Case in point, we could read a book when we are young and then read that same book ten years later and, due to maturity & life experiences, the book has different things to say to us. Things that we could not appreciate ten years ago. The same shift will happen ten years from now when we read that very same book. There are lessons to be learned - wisdom to be gleaned when we revisit art. That magic place, that dance between creator & consumer, can take on an unexpected depth over the course of years.

The author, the painter, the sculptor, the poet, the filmmaker, the musician, the vlogger, the creator brings it into the world, hones it by sanding down the edges, and eventually, releases it into the wild where it finds or does not find it's audience or those who will consume it. If it is discovered the dance can commence and the magic happens.

All that said, I find this poem magical. For me it speaks of the past and how we deal with things that are too much to process. The narrator is dealing with something from his past either some deep regret that he has done or some trauma laced abuse that was done to him. This is the Wild God. The Wild God is not in itself a force for evil - it is only a specter that the narrator has buried deep from himself and the world. He hasn't told his wife. The Wild God gets into the narrator's house even though he rejects him and while he is there the narrator avoids eye contact, gives him the "worst of his food," and ultimately pours the Wild God and himself a glass of whiskey - in effect drinking two glasses for himself all to push the Wild God away, to bury him again. The Wild God is a force of nature that wants the narrator to grow. "Why did you leave me?" the god asks. The answer is that the narrator does not want to face his own past. He would rather 'move on' with his life, but the Wild God is persistent and visits him when he least expects it. The narrator refers to scores of undead soldiers emerging from their tombs to fight the Wild God and these soldiers could easily be other defense mechanisms - other embattlements that he has put in place to protect himself from the past - from the Wild God. The psychological factor of the abuse that the narrator has suffered rings fresh with the final line of the poem, "His voice makes vinegar from wine and brings the dead to life." This shows that the narrator lives with his abuse at all times and the lengths he has gone to distance himself from it. Unfortunately for him, the trauma poisons his present tense and moments that he finds respite or joy are hijacked as his wine turns to vinegar at the memory of it all. And, in that moment the authors of said abuse, of said trauma, may even be dead now but his reluctance and/or inability to deal with his past ensures that they still live. 

We all have our own Wild God. Perhaps it is trauma done to us or trauma that we have done to others. Coming to terms with the past is a deeply personal thing. I heard a wise man once say, "Love everyone. Forgive everyone. Especially yourself." Forgiveness can be acknowledgment of horror visited upon oneself, an opportunity for us to make peace with the past - not to pretend that all is well or to let the purveyors of said horrors off the hook, but to get oneself off the hook. A moment in time to say it was a moment in time and I will not let it define me. A moment to stop the past from defining ones future.

I found "Sometimes a Wild God' a thoughtful work. I hope you did too. I hope it moved you and I hope that you have peace. I encourage you to look further into Tom Hirons and Rima Staines. Two interesting artists that are most certainly worth your time to investigate in depth.

Until next time, Gentle Reader, I bid you adieu. 

Lessons Learned or an Ode to Vogon Poetry

April was National Poetry Writing Month.  I threw my hat in the ring.  I wrote thirty poems.  Most are not fit for human consumption.  Not because they are particularly bad (although they are pretty bad) but because they come from places that I don’t like to or have been forced to explore at this particular time. 

If one were to contrast this year’s to last year’s one would find a distinct line of demarcation in content & meaning.  I released a few into the wild on my blog last year.  This year, not so much.  Last year I was in protecting mode, uplifting mode, I had hope.  This year’s NaPoWriMo was more about survival & revelation.  Things that I don’t deem fit for human consumption and, unlike the Vogon’s from, “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” I will not subject you, Gentle Reader, to them.  With very few exceptions, these words are all mine and they are better off locked away where they are.

I’ll be curious to see what other people’s experiences have been concerning this year’s event.  For this I’ll turn to others writers I know, bloggers, and – of course, the poets on Twitter.  National Poetry Writing Month, is an interesting experience and I highly recommend it to anyone who would like to give it a whirl.  I recommend writing to anyone who can hold a pen and poetry as well.  You don’t have to wait until next April until you write a poem.  Find a pen and some paper and have at it!  However, be warned, poetry is dangerous and it can take you places that you may not be ready to go.  To do so or not is up to you, Gentle Reader.  I, for one, believe that it is worth the ride – even with the potholes and lack of pavement from time to time.

Enjoy the ride.

 

Vexed by Verse?

April is a big month for poetry.  No, really. 

This is due to a few happenings and not the least of which is National Poetry Writing Month or NaPoWriMo.  The object of this activity is to write one poem a day, each day in the month of April, until said month is over.  You walk into April full of vim & vigor and you walk out of the month 30 poems richer. 

You’ve never written poetry?  No problem.  Yes, it can be done.  Yes, you can do it if you feel it may be something that you would like to do.  No, it does not have to rhyme. 

“But what is it all for?  What does it mean – nothing, everything, or something in between?”

You are the only one who can answer that, Gentle Reader.  What can I tell you?  Try it, you might surprise yourself.  If you are feeling a bit weak in the knees there is help out there; the internet and social media are our friends and then, every now and again, something unexpected comes out of the blue and an opportunity presents itself and THAT is why I would be remiss if I did not tell you about another poetry related activity that is happening on April 3^rd, at 7:00 PM at the Atlantic County Library in Mays Landing.  Poet, Penny Harter, is going to conduct a workshop where YOU will be, “encouraged to write haiku, free verse and haibun.”  This one is limited to only 15 participants so if you are so inclined you need to register at this email address:  smarx@aclsys.org. 

It sounds like fun.  Who knows, if you get a taste for it and you want to dip your toes in the water there will be an Open Mike Night on April 15^th, at 7:00 at the Library hosted by Penny Harter and Cole Eubanks. 

For a full list of upcoming activites & events within the whole of the Atlantic County Library System click and explore right here: http://atlanticlibrary.org/. 

My favorite branch is where the poetry is gonna happen in April.  You can find them right here: http://atlanticlibrary.org/mays_landing_branch.  

Enjoy, Gentle Reader; I hope to see you there.

April is National Poetry Writing Month

Here is another writing exercise that some of you may like to give a whirl.  April is National Poetry Writing Month or, NaPoWriMo.  While I don’t believe it is sponsored by the Office of Letters & Light (the brain trust behind, National Novel Writing Month), I do believe that it has their blessing.  The goal is to write a poem, every day during the month of April.  Here is where you can find all the details: http://www.napowrimo.net/.

As the, ‘About’ section explains that, “NaPoWriMo, or National Poetry Writing Month, is an annual project in which participating poets attempt to write a poem a day for the month of April.  NaPoWriMo was founded in 2003, when poet Maureen Thorson decided to take up the challenge (modeled after NaNoWriMo, or National Novel Writing Month), and challenged other poets to join her. Since then, the number of participants has gotten larger every year, and many writers’ organizations, local, national and even international, organize NaPoWriMo activities.”

A wise carpenter once told me that, “You have to have the right tool for the job.”  This is true with any job – including writing poetry.  I am not going to boor you with a review of iambic pentameter or the difference between a Haiku and an Ode; you can review that for yourself here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Poetry.  It will help you choose the right tool for the job.  That said, beware.  Poetry is a dangerous thing.  For me it is best when it uses the least amount of words to convey the greatest amount of meaning.  It is raw.  Like the emotions that it represents.  Stark naked and quivering finding its strength by putting one word in front of the next.  Poetry looks into the corners and shins a light.  It helps us to explore these dark places to nurture or to kill whatever may be living there.  It does not have to rhyme nor does it have to have meter – but it must be honest.  It must tell the truth.  Illustrate.  Illuminate.  Poetry; however, can mean different things to different people.  It becomes truly dangerous when it means something to you. 

Case in point, Charles Bukowski, in his collection of poems, “Love is a Dog From Hell”, could have told you about a woman that he is in love with.  He could have said that her behavior is just this side of normal at times but that he is captivated by her.  He could say that her passion, her soul is honest and true but instead he wrote…

…she’s mad but she’s magic, there is no lie in her fire.

That’s dangerous.  That’s real.  In those two sentences from, “An Almost Made Up Poem”, Bukowski illustrates not only the truth about her but also a truth about himself.  He is in love with this woman and he says so in these two beautifully crafted lines.  It illustrates the raw truth & emotion that a well-crafted line can evoke.

So, am I in?  I’m thinking seriously about it.  If I decide to press onward then I will only do so for myself.  As I have already established, poetry is dangerous and while I am pretty much an open book there is some writing that is just for me.  Poems are like that.  It’s just less hazardous that way.

April, it appears, is shaping up to be a dangerous month.  As always, misery loves company, if you’re in welcome to the madness.  If not, I understand.  It is dangerous work.

“Danger’s my middle name.” – Austin Powers

Gil Scott-Heron has Passed

A voice that had something to say went silent yesterday. Gil Scott-Heron voiced emotions & ideas that went above and beyond the times that he spoke them. Listen to his work and it is evident that it remains on point & relevant even though the names (Nixon, Agnew & Regan) have slipped into history. There is timelessness found in his work. Did his work make people comfortable? No. Did it make people think? Always. Mark Twain / Samuel Clemons once said about writing, “A writer’s job is to comfort the afflicted and to afflict the comfortable.” Gil Scott-Heron did just that. You may not have agreed with what he had to say but words he spoke had an edge and an honesty that refused to be ignored.

Here is what Gil Scott-Heron’s website tells you about him: http://gilscottheron.net/about/ - “Gil Scott-Heron (born April 1, 1949) is an American poet, musician, and author known primarily for his late 1960s and early 1970s work as a spoken word soul performer and his collaborative work with musician Brian Jackson. His collaborative efforts with Jackson featured a musical fusion of jazz, blues and soul music, as well as lyrical content concerning social and political issues of the time, delivered in both rapping and melismatic vocal styles by Scott-Heron. The music of these albums, most notably Pieces of a Man and Winter in America in the early 1970s, influenced and helped engender later African-American music genres such as hip hop and neo soul. Scott-Heron’s recording work is often associated with black militant activism and has received much critical acclaim for one of his most well-known compositions “The Revolution Will Not Be Televised”. On his influence, Allmusic wrote “Scott-Heron’s unique proto-rap style influenced a generation of hip-hop artists”.”

Here are some examples of his work from Boing Boing, “In Memoriam: Gil Scott-Heron, ‘The People’s Poet’”: http://www.boingboing.net/2011/05/27/gil-scott-heron-rip.html?dlvrit=36761.

Once I read the Twitter feed this AM that Scott-Heron had passed I, admittedly, had to tap into the deep recesses of my memory banks. I first became aware of his work with, “Whitey on the Moon.” I was a little too young for, “The Revolution will Not be Televised”, and I was just a kid with the poignant, “B-Movie” was birthed. Gil Scott-Heron most recent album, “I’m New Here,” was his first album in 16 years and was released in February of 2010.

Here is a great article by Alan Wilkinson from the New Yorker entitled, “New York is Killing Me”: http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2010/08/09/100809fa_fact_wilkinson?currentPage=all

Dependency can blind. Classically someone who is addicted does not see it. They believe, whole heartedly, that the next high will achieve some new level of consciousness (for artistic or spiritual awareness), relieve the pain that they feel (real or conjured) or they simply have the taste for oblivion. The worst part is that while they perceive it to be a victimless crime the people who pay the cost are those closest to them; their closest family members, their children, their significant other. The individual can not see this price paid in full by their loved ones. It just does not register. Monique de Latour (his ex-girlfriend at the time from the New Yorker piece); when she says, “There is a very gentle person inside Gil,” she said, “but very remote. It’s the little boy who lived with his grandmother in Jackson. He used to say to me, ‘I wish you knew me before I was like this.’ ” By “this” he meant before his addiction to crack cocaine.

In the Wikipedia, my favorite second brain has a great quote from Fairfax New Zealand (February 2010) that reads, “Gil Scott-Heron released poems as songs, recorded songs that were based on his earliest poems and writings, wrote novels and became a hero to many for his music, activism and his anger. There is always the anger - an often beautiful, passionate anger. An often awkward anger. A very soulful anger. And often it is a very sad anger. But it is the pervasive mood, theme and feeling within his work - and around his work, hovering, piercing, occasionally weighing down; often lifting the work up, helping to place it in your face. And for all the preaching and warning signs in his work, the last two decades of Gil Scott-Heron's life to date have seen him succumb to the pressures and demons he has so often warned others about.”

My prayers go out to his family & loved ones at this time.



…Picture of Ms. Scott-Heron from Wikipedia

A Poet and Didn’t Know It

GACK! That’s a horrible title for a blog. More importantly – yesterday was a blast!

“Why’s that?”

I’ll tell you all about it – you see, Gentle Reader I had the pleasure of meeting, listening to, and performing with a large community (I’d say of about 24 souls) of poets / musicians / artists right here (in the South Jersey area) at Bogart’s Books and Coffee (http://www.bogartsbookstore.com/). The talent there just blew my socks off. Which is exactly what I told them when it was my turn to perform “Script Frenzy – The Poem”. Now I have never participated in a “poetry slam” before so it was uncharted waters for yours truly. It went well, very well; in fact it was a blast. That community of artists that I mentioned at the beginning is also, apparently, quite forgiving. I am truly looking forward to next months gathering. Ms. Rita Lyman is the master of ceremonies and what a wonderful job she does. The group meets every third Sunday so if you are at Third Friday celebration know that Sunday afternoon is going to be cool too.

That’s not all. The poetry group formed a few years ago to support a 30-day poetry-writing event; POEWAR (I think); and they have been meeting ever since. Ms. Lyman as I was stepping down from the microphone mentioned that some of the group also participates in something called, “NANOWRIMO”. She pronounced it “Na No REE Mo” – I’ve always said, “Na No RYE Mo”. At the end of the day we’re both right; Potatoes – Potatoes. Still hearing it made me smile.

“No Way!” I said, “This (meaning Script Frenzy) is from the same people!” We were no longer poets or playwrights at that moment – we were writers. There are more of us here than I was aware of and that makes this particular purveyor of chicken scratch quite happy. I do believe some writers will be joining the Frenzy. So thank you to Bogart’s and thanks to Ms. Lyman.

I can’t wait for next time.