I am frequently paralysed by
the choices of the modern world: from how to spend $50 to how to spend my own life which streaming service to keep? which show to binge next? Leaves me flailing on my back, like a slater Perhaps this has always been a problem on some level, no doubt exacerbated, by optical fibre but, how do you choose what you do with these ticking hours? Mary Oliver phrased it beautifully; ‘What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?’ But sometimes I want to say back to Mary ‘What is it you plan to do with this one wild selection of Netflix originals?’ Of course, Mary Oliver, Saint that she was, probably wouldn’t have made the first choice to even entertain the notion of the Netflix scroll She was just choosing which flower to write her next poem about and would probably gently encourage me towards the hum out the window of life pulsing electric through stardust and soil Ghost Mary reminds me the choice was never just whether to rewatch the Matrix trilogy or try something new The choice was (and is) to show up and write some words on this page or to distract myself, from myself catching up to myself. Of course you can watch movies and show up to your creative life (arguably, it’s essential) but I know when my own scales are tipped. So Mary, here I am beneath a thumping fan in the kitchen writing. I want to write the poems, like you.
1 Comment
Every now and then
in quiet moments, the desire for ‘greatness’ wells up to my surface and takes the open mic in my mind’s stage ‘Where is your magnum opus? Your mass following? Your literary agent? Your flowing royalties? What have you been doing?! How come you have not been ‘found’ yet? Why have you not toured the world yet? Why are you not publicly adored yet? Well…what will you do about it?’ It is like my ego has had a few too many drinks and become narcissistically confident and deeply self-critical simultaneously I feel both berated and intoxicated remembering that I am apparently someone special Worthy of best-seller status and viral TED talk fame a bulging bank account Though I have also slacked off missed the boat, the train, the spaceship I have turned at the wrong times paused when I should have moved moved when I should have paused I have failed the all-important and never-satisfied god of hustle. The crushing weight of my not-so-specialness presses down upon me And I’m washed by a wave of disappointment anxiety sadness that I have not become great yet that I have not yet risen from the ranks of apparent mediocrity I’m still just here where life is happening steadily and quietly And then, I pour my ego a glass of water gently caress the microphone from his trembling hand sit him down at the bar I slap him hug him, look him in the eye and say, You are loved. and forgetful, and arrogant, and afraid. Do you think something is only great if a million people see it? Do you think being known by strangers would make you feel more seen than the eyes of your own children? Do you think there’s anything out there you don’t already have, right here? Do you really think the wildly successful version of you in an alternative universe isn’t still losing sleep over your crap? Sober up, Chin up. And let’s keep walking the beautiful path before us. He drinks his water, wipes a small tear from the corner of his eye and nods. I breathe deeply in the wonder of my life and walk outside. It is happening just like they said it would:
they are growing up fast I used to hold him like a football Yesterday he kicked one over the fence He used to know no words Yesterday he told me he could see ‘The soft-feathered wings of the day’ 6 and he already spins better poetry than me His brother, dresses up like a pirate like a paramedic like an astronaut And I’m still wondering is he dressing up as a 4 year old? or has that much time actually passed since we first met? They are growing up fast And you find yourself uttering that phrase even though you know how cliche it sounds And I wonder, if it is just an easy-to-reach-for substitute for things that are more difficult to say If you pause too long to ponder the volumes you’ve already forgotten the mispronounced words the day before walking the night after coming home it’s dizzying to think about the rollercoaster tracks in the rearview And when I say they’re growing up fast I think what I really want to say is that I’m horrified by how casually I am passing through this gift shop And I know, it’s easy to be sentimental when the household is asleep and you are writing poems in the quiet hour And I don’t want to romanticise the slog of it the shit of it the thousand little deaths of it There are honestly days when I fantasise about going back to before back to morning sex and midday movies and deciding to go to the beach and then just going, straight away And, maybe this is what horrifies me more than my kids growing up It’s the curse of casually spending every season of your life wanting to space-jump backwards or forwards when the miracle, in all its bloody wonder is always and only ever happening where you are now. And you casually let it play like background music. You are skim reading the body of your life You are swallowing without chewing your life You are driving on auto-pilot through the rich landscapes of your one life, Sometimes I feel like every poem I write is the same I only really talk about trying to be present trying to see the wonder trying to live and give from a deep well of gratitude I write about it so often because it is as important as it is difficult And the best things are often so like raising these kids who are growing up at the pace of growing up And maybe all you can show them is that none of it is casual none of it is granted none of it is cheap Every time oxygen fills those God-given tanks Every beat that is thumped from that drum in your chest every blink, every tear, every word, every touch It is all more dazzlingly wondrous than any Sci-Fi reality anyone’s ever dreamed of It is nothing to be casual about. This everyday miracle. For Leo my son, named after lion May your roar be unleashed; you were not made to be silent May your roar be unleashed, but may your claws stay in hiding Last month I did something I don't often do.
As in, I don't ever do. I read a poem I had written off my phone. In front of a crowd. And it was how I set the tone for the monthly spoken word night I host. I have so many mental reasons why I tell myself I don't do this. 'You're a professional! Real performance poets memorise everything! People expect a certain standard from you!' And I'm not chucking the baby out with the bathwater. There are good reasons I memorise my poems. I want to wear them like skin for the audiences I share with. I want to know I can look into people's eyes while I share what I have carved out with care. I want to be able to breathe the full life I intended into the phrases I crafted. But, in all of those reasons, what am I saying about others? What am I role modelling to the student I urged to share, even if it was just one shakey line from a phone, even if it was just saying their name, even if was just sharing their breath on a stage? I am saying I am past that. That I am bigger than that. Above that. Beyond that. But, here and now, I am calling myself out. I am the student, who sometimes needs to urge myself to share, even if it's just one shakey line from a phone, even if it's just saying my name, even if it's just sharing my breath on a stage. I'm a learner. I'm small. I'm a work in progress. So, I did this. I took my own advice. I became vulnerable. I made a confession. So, I haven't written a blog entry for a couple weeks.
But a little over a year ago I recorded some of my poetry in a little EP called 'Things I Don't Understand'. I've still got a few copies, and I'll post you one if you'd like (click here)! Anyway, I thought in lieu of written words this week I'd share one of those recorded poems - I wrote this a while ago now (2009) but it seems more relevant than ever as I watch my little boy learning about the world, surely forming a million questions just waiting for the language he can wrap them in. This poem is for the child in us, and the 'grown-up' in us, that continue to have conversations in the depths of us. It’s ironic - even a little idiotic - but I think, the most religious person I know is an atheist And I can already hear the objections to that sentiment The crowd switch-off, the flare-up of ‘faith vs. evidence’! But try to stay with me - this may be relevant whether you’re a ‘right-wing evangelical’ a ‘progressive intellectual’ or a ‘lefty vegan’ smoking the botanical I’m not a fan of the labels - trust me; I try to avoid them (Can’t we just agree we’re all human, and we’re all kind of annoying?) But I do find it funny that my friend, a Facebook activist atheistic strategist, trying to save the world with surprisingly violent words for a pacifist loves to remind me how backwards my passion is He’s a university student; he’s doing an arts degree (So we’ve got something in common; I’ve got an arts degree) But if you’re asking me - doesn’t matter if you’ve got an arts degree or a PhD in some form of scientific mastery Either way, you can still a bastard, be. Don’t take that as an accusation I just have some simple observations the same temptation for self-righteous proclamation and broad, sweeping condemnation can be wielded by every variation of information interpretation We all want to be right, right? We all want to lift our hands or fall to our knees sing, pray, preach, proselytise, lecture gather in conferences, forums, theatres rejoice and lament about the wonder and the agony and the mystery, of it all. about Higgs Bosons, protons, photons, the complex language of DNA the injustice of all the pain the hope of a tomorrow better than today! Surely these impulses are as human as believing you’re the ant the universe revolves around? But religion is a funny concept with myriad meanings Did you know Jesus seemed to only fight with religious leaders? Did you know every university textbook was written by someone, or some crew as grand and flawed as me and you? Did you know first-class academics have been in favour of eugenics and beautiful work has been done by ‘uneducated peasants’? Did you not know that all the boxes break? We’re all a little messy, a little religious a little pretentious a little evangelical a little lost a little in need of comfort a little in need of restraint I’m not a fan of the labels - trust me, I try to avoid them Can we just agree we’re all human, and we’re all kind of annoying? Beautiful, frustrating, growing children asking question after question thinking with our stomach, our scratches, our exhaustion trying to sneak in a bite when we get in a fight crying for a parent to intervene because our knees are bruised. So, how about we put ourselves aside for a moment dress each other’s wounds make some fairy-bread and play in the streets again. 'SpeakUP' is one of the things I am most excited about for 2015. I'm absolutely frothing for it.
I've been to a lot of Poetry Slams and Spoken Word nights in the past - and a lot of these events have had a significant influence on my approach to poetry and my continued pursuit of spoken word opportunities. The poetry scene in Australia is amazing, and it just continues to increase in depth and quality, as great events and performers pop up all over the place. But as I've said to people in the past, I used to struggle with feeling a little too 'hip-hop' at poetry events and a little too 'poetic' at hip-hop events. This wasn't because of anything that anyone said or did - it was just my own insecurity and self-consciousness as someone who didn't feel like I fit cleanly into a specific category. In the last year or two I've embraced my distinct style and felt more confident being someone with influences in both categories. I'm not strictly hip-hop, but as a spoken word artist I can't separate myself from hip-hop. I'm drawn to complex rhyme schemes, fast-paced rhythmic delivery and melodic, hypnotic flows. Hip-hop is the culture and music that has shaped me most significantly as an artist. So part of the reason I'm particularly excited about SpeakUP is that it represents what I used to crave. As a High School student I would spend my hours on YouTube watching Def Poetry Jam. To see some of my favourite rappers step away from the beat and come out on a stage looking so raw and vulnerable was a powerful thing to behold. I love the openness of spoken word and the myriad of styles that it brings to the table. But, I really LOVE this particular place where the VALUES of hip-hop (flippin' something out of nothin', keeping it real, confronting power imbalances), and the STYLE of hip-hop meet the SIMPLICITY of spoken word and the BEAUTY of poetry. That's unique. That's fresh. That's a place that resonates with my soul. SpeakUP is an attempt to develop a place and space that is distinctively hip-hop influenced, whilst remaining a very open, welcoming spoken word night. It's likely that the critical mass of performers at these events will generally have a hip-hop background. And yet, having said that I don't want anyone to have the opposite experience I used to feel - I don't want any poets who don't have a hip-hop background to feel like they need to imitate or conform to that style just because the event has a distinctive flavour that is different to their own. I want every writer who steps up to the mic to walk away feeling energized, encouraged and affirmed. The great draw of spoken word has always been (and will always be) its openness and ability to bring together very diverse stories and styles. So, this is an open event, with a lot of room for the unexpected. But, should you choose to find yourself at The Lounge Room in Gosford on the 14th of March at 7pm, there are a few things you CAN expect. Fresh coffee beans, friendly baristas, home-baked treats. Hip-hop beats and smooth melodies. Emcees, poets and people who have never performed spoken word before, getting vulnerable on a mic. A creative community representing some of the best the Central Coast has to offer. Sounds good, right? I'm frothing. See you there. https://www.facebook.com/speakupnight Ben Procter and I used to sit in our year 7 classroom and chat about things we wanted to do in the future. Our list included travelling overseas together, living together, working together and buying a lifetime's supply of Starburst Squirts (not even sure they make those anymore?) We've ticked off the most important ones in that list - and apart from our sugar cravings our year 7 dreams were fairly aligned with where we are at in our lives today. It always excited me having any opportunity to do something creative with my best mate, who all bias aside, is incredibly talented in all areas of film and media. Do yourself a favour and peruse through his website and see what I mean. We've both recently decided to take the plunge and dedicate ourselves to having a serious attempt at developing our artistic passions and profiles. This video represents a new season for us. It's a very simple, one-shot video, but for Ben it was a chance to try out some new equipment (a gimbal) and for myself this was a poem I wrote to launch 'SpeakUP', a monthly spoken word gathering on the Central Coast which kicked off with a bang in February. So, simple as it may be this is representative of the season ahead and the projects it will bring. And at the heart of it is the simple thought that our lives are cluttered, chaotic and complex - and maybe things would be a little less off-balance in this world if we all took a moment to breathe.... Grace and peace to you. |
Categories
All
Archives
September 2023
|