Cheating On Poetry

It had to happen after all these years. I mean before poetry there had been short fiction. And even after I committed to poetry I would sometimes wander off to write an occasional story or maybe even lose a couple of weeks with a screenplay. Poetry wasn’t possessive. It would often show up unannounced and distract me from work. It would come to me in the shower or in those wispy waking moments.

I guess things started to slide a few years ago when I realized that no matter how hard or how often I tried, publishers would never accept my relationship with poetry. I was an interloper not good enough for their prized daughter. No matter that poetry still came to me and so often resurrected all those old feelings, I would put down the pen and the brief high from writing would pass more quickly than it used to. Were we just star-crossed?

Lately I’ve taken up with photography and I’ve been feeling those things that were once commonplace with poetry – the sense of time rushing by, the giddiness at doing something that seems irresponsible and even bad. The ideas for new pictures keep coming and there’s always a place like Flickr where I can post my latest work and get some feedback. Photography (especially digital) is so immediate, whereas with poetry I can’t really get a sense of a poem until I’ve introduced it to an audience at a reading.

Am I upset with poetry to be doing something like this? I don’t think so. I’m upset with a publishing industry that is too narrow-minded, too anxious that poetry be protected like some nature preserve or the silence at a memorial service. Like any other relationship, so much depends on the family.

Meanwhile, all I can think about these days is when I’ll have my next chance to take some pictures – to get at photography’s buttons and peel veils of light from the ever-so-shy day.