spleen

When I was alone, poetry comforted me. When I was utterly doomed, poetry saved me. When I was lost, poetry led me home. What more could I possibly ask of art?

κάλλιστον μὲν ἐγὼ λείπω φάος ἠελίοιο, δεύτερον ἄστρα φαεινὰ σεληναίης τε πρόσωπον ἠδὲ καὶ ὡραίους σικύους καὶ μῆλα καὶ ὄγχνας· Loveliest of what I leave behind is sunlight, Then the constellations and the moon’s brilliant face, But also apples, and pears, and cucumbers that are ripe. – Praxilla of Sicyon (poorly translated by me)

To step away from the self and into something like ash or moonlight, to descend to the street and feel the winter sun drop a fat snowy paw onto your back – these are great reasons for waking up and returning to your silly body. Every morning, I am spun back into my mind, and [...]

Things that are not important when you make a poem: Fame. Anonymity. Praise. Blame. Success. Failure. Happiness. Sadness. Why these things are not important: Being famous does not make you a good poet. Being unknown does not make you a good poet. Being praised as a poet does not make you a good poet. Shouldering [...]

I am fortunate enough to possess one of the most ridiculed degrees in all academia: the MFA in writing. I obtained this degree from a prestigious school, so that somewhat lessens the level of condescension I have to tolerate at those snooty parties where my MA/MS/JD/M.Phil/etc friends swill various French concoctions and trade classroom war [...]