OBS POST #50: A Poet's Last Dance

The story of a Poetic Life

Editor’s Note:

I started writing when I was 8 years old. I even dressed up like a beatnik for Halloween in my early years. It was not a costume but the lifestyle I aspired to.

Words have been of significant importance my entire life. As a poet, I have created my body of work based on several vital premises. The first was to be relevant. It is vital that artists be relevant to their readers and what is going on in the world. While it is perfectly all right to be lovey dovey and moon in June poetry, this was not my objective. I perceived myself as a poet – one who breathed in letters and breathed out words but the words must be magical and miraculously change the world. Okay, I know what you might be thinking, but I am a poet, damn it! Please bear with the meandering nature of this post. There was a lot to meander through.

I’ve been bitten by the whole concept of Menshness, look for the book called MENSCH THE REVOLUTION. I hope to finish it soon.

Finding Purpose Through Words

As a great fan of Woody Guthrie, I wanted my words to have the same type of relevance and impact. Printed on Woody's guitar were these words — This machine kills fascists. This simple phrase has inspired me throughout my life. These words kill nazis, I thought to myself.

What is the role of a poet in the 21st Century? I ask myself this question on a daily basis. It seems to me that poetry has been diminished and obfuscated throughout most of this century. I have even questioned the importance of poetry in today's modern world, where poets seem to be reading more to other poets and not the public at large. I have strived to change that through my own work and by creating poetry readings that are open to a wider audience.

Poetry haunts me. I think poetically. There is no getting around that. Poetry has been a calling, not a job. I am sure that most poets feel that way. The unemployed poet category would be enormous were it a job. I see poets as doctors of the soul!

Photo by History in HD on Unsplash

Poetry's Power in Times of Crisis

This was exemplified on September 11, 2001. When 9/11 hit there was a huge resurgence of poetry, people looked to it for comfort during those trying times. I had been heavily involved in the Los Angeles poetry scene for many years back then. My compatriots (Don Deedon and Brandon Backhaus) hosted the incredible weekly readings at the infamous Moondog Café on Melrose Avenue. We packed that venue every Tuesday night. Folks were sitting on tables, under tables, and it was so interactive as audience members transformed themselves into poets.

The Church of Spoken Word

These readings were like church, so spiritual was the experience, with local poets and poets from all over the world appearing there. And there were folks there that just came to listen to our bards. It was immensely gratifying to see and hear live poetry exploding from the stage and have an appreciative audience. One night, a young woman who had never written poetry before stood up after hearing my poem about social justice and shared her own story through verse – raw, unpolished, but profound in its honesty. That moment crystallized for me what poetry could be: a torch passing from one soul to another.

I then went on to be Poet in Residence at the Autry Museum of Western Heritage in Los Angeles and am now the Poet in Residence at the Jack Kerouac House of St. Petersburg and a Lifetime Beat Poet Laureate.

The Decline of Poetic Culture

But things have changed a lot since then. Poetry was no longer the go-to experience it once was. So many other things were competing for attention and truly it saddens me. It seemed like poetry was an oppressed artform and no one really seemed to care anymore. This was not a new experience for an old art. Poetry seems to have lost its place in our civilization and then some historic moment takes place, and the populace once again turns to poetry.

No Respect: The Poet's Dilemma

Nevertheless, in current times, poets became the "Rodney Dangerfields" of the art world. There was no or extraordinarily little respect. It felt like poets were writing for each other and not the world. Poetry was becoming a very insular society. Poetry was becoming verbal masturbation, and honestly, I was growing tired of it. This is how it appeared to me.

Fighting for Relevance

I was determined to write poetry that shook the rafters and made a better world. I wanted to create beauty with my words and change attitudes of intolerance and prejudice. I often felt like I was shouting to deaf ears. But still that ember was burning deep inside me, looking for an outlet. I was still writing and publishing some to critical acclaim. I knew I needed to do more. Poetry readings had become rarer than diamonds and I knew I had to create a new reading series. I did and it was just starting to go great guns, nothing like I had in L.A. but still there was an audience of listeners as well as poets. Then COVID–19 hit and well, that was that.

The Irreplaceable Magic of Live Readings

I love the feeling of a live reading. It is so spontaneous and yes, so freakin alive! I don't think it could be simulated on Zoom, etc. If you have never experienced a live poetry reading, put it on your to-do list as it is a fantastic experience. It is the only art form where the interactivity between artist and audience is not just profound, it is interchangeable. The audience member suddenly slips into the persona of the artist then resumes their position in the audience. It is a sublime experience, and I hope to get our reading going again in March.

When Words Fail: Poetry in the Face of Tragedy

And then October 7, 2023 happened, and I am still feeling the pain and anguish and all the poetry in the world does not seem to heal me. But I forage on putting a positive step one foot in front of the other. I feel for the remaining hostages, I feel and love Israel and yes, I feel for the Palestinian people that have been oppressed by Hamas since 2005. These are not just monsters that have sullied our lives but complete evil.

In times like these, poetry serves not as an immediate balm but as a long-term witness – documenting, processing, remembering. My own response has been to write through the pain, to capture the complexity of human suffering without simplifying it. One poem I wrote began, "Today words fail me / Yet silence is not an option." Sometimes the poet's role is to acknowledge that neat resolutions aren't possible, but bearing witness is essential.

The Poet's Eternal Role

I know somehow with restless determination we will get through this. We always have! It is the role of the poet – to speak up for the voiceless, to interpret the future and create a new tomorrow. This is the role of a poet, to roll back the past to heal it, to cut through the jargon of the present and speak of the future honoring humanity.

A Dance That Never Ends

Poetry endures because in our most joyful celebrations and our darkest hours, humans need more than information – we need meaning. We need not just facts, but interpretation. Not just news, but perspective. As long as there are hearts that break and spirits that soar, poetry will find its audience. And I will be here, pen in hand, breathing in letters and breathing out words, continuing this dance that began when I was eight years old – a dance that I hope never ends.

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