Sunday, October 31, 2010

poets

i am in a class where i feel i don't belong
i don't know what a tercet is, though i gather it means three
nor do i know how to write a sonnet
and i do not give thought to how many lines and syllables are in my poems
nor what types of consonants, gerunds, or speech tenses i am using
i don't immediately recognize if my poem is between the "I" and "you"
or if the relationship of my pronouns are clear
i am not traveling from southern california every week to take this class
i do not take a bus from massachusetts or a train from connecticut
i take the subway from brooklyn
and still i found myself twenty minutes late today.
i am trying to see if i am not that passionate about it because for once i am not the best in the class or even one of the best in the class
if i don't like it because i am not being praised or if it is just not my thing.
pride is tricky.
pride is what gets in the way when there is something we need to see but don't want to look at.
that feeling of our own congratulatory pat on the back when maybe a slap in the face would be more helpful.
i am happy to have now taken a workshop or been in a writing group for every major form of writing:
non-fiction
memoir
playwriting
screenwriting
fiction
poetry
adaptation
but what does that make me other than a proud jack of all trades?
master of none, as they say.
or maybe i am a poet,
and i don't even know it.
the time for choosing is upon me i feel.
i am wanting to strip myself of all that i put before me
in order to understand the one thing that i actually want before me
happiness. truth. love.
the ability to turn off my pride, that beating of my ego that thumps so loudly in my chest,
and ask myself
"just what is it that you want, dear?"
maybe i will stop doing what everyone tells me i am good at
and choose for myself what it is that i want to be good at.