poet brain

I've talked often of how I became a writer--my fascination with paper and pens, with putting marks on paper that I was convinced were stories before I knew even my alphabet or how to write actual words.  My love of reading and books and stories that persisted through childhood and made me into an English major. My first bad poems in my diary and high school English classes, and many more bad poems through young adulthood (and sometimes even now.) But maybe I haven't gotten to the heart of it--why I became a poet, like by nature--outside of passions and behavior and in my bones. Writing poems not so much a habit or hobby, but a way of seeing and being in the world. A way of thinking and understanding--that crops up in very non-poetry and non-literary places as much as it happens within them. 

In the regular world, away from poems and books and literary journals, most people might not even know I am a poet.  Often, I've compared it to being a mermaid or a unicorn, not something that most people have any reference with. Maybe less reference than even those strange, mythological things.  No children (at least none I've see) when asked what they want to be when they grow up say poet (though they might say mermaid or unicorn readily.) I did not meet an actual published poet creature until I was in college.  There was a Poetry Club I skirted in high school, but missed most meetings b/c of play rehearsal. and/or newspaper work nights.  It's denizens mostly girls--the kind of black clad moody girls you would expect.   I guess there were poets there, and in books.  Not much else in the late 80's early 90's. At the time, I wanted to be a marine scientist or maybe a Broadway star, neither of which I was cut out for. 

But probably the seeds were there--beyond the bad diary poems and teenage moodiness. I was good with words--acing 5 paragraph essays and writing contests. I would remain so, and still am pretty good at non-poetry type writing endeavors.  But this is not necessarily what makes me a poet.  Nor is an ear to rhythm--both prose and verse.  To sentences, no matter what they contain. My ability to make something clunky sound cleaner. To make something clean sound more flowery if needed. To clip sentences that clod. To change the pace and movement of a segment of prose.  To organize and make things make sense. But this too is not necessarily what makes me a poet (though maybe it makes me a better one.)

I have a vivid imagination and so many stories inside me.  These could easily be translated into all sorts of things--well, maybe not by me--but novels, screenplays. I funnel them into visual art and poems, but I've long relied on a certain disposition that lends itself to fantasy and inner life more than the outer world.  This does not make one a poet necessarily--since these things can exist within many media--songs and music, even things like social media platform storytelling and game design. And sometimes, media stories are better suited for--like film. Or have the widest reach beyond a small crowd of afficionados like music. (I am listening again to Folklore/Evermore today and its awesomeness.)  These tendencies and inner life maybe make me a certain kind of poet where story is paramount (as opposed to lyric-I driven work, protest/political poems, or language experiments.) But I don't think that's all.

I notice maybe what does sometimes in conversations. I am the queen of analogies--in conveying something, in thinking things out. For me, for others.  In how I communicate about anything- -terrible things in the news, my own feelings, job frustrations. Sometimes it's good--for my understanding.  For theirs.  I once sat in a rough staff meeting with a toxic co-worker and captured what we were all feeling with the best analogy about a worm in the apple. The person was still super toxic and it was lost on her, but the rest of us understood. Lately, my boss is no doubt tired of my analogy of a strip club--how we're waitresses capable of dancing the pole, but we're too busy slinging chicken wings and fetching drinks to reach full potential.  And the pole beckons, but I am so very tired and overwrought. And I am GOOD on the pole..lol..I should be there more but hiring freezes and general academic shut pocket books persist. I am also too tired to do my best when I get there, even if I get there. What worse is I keep throwing myself up there and feeling resentful of it at the same time. And worse, am expected to keep doing it, though I am being paid like a waitress and not a stripper. There are probably more PG-rated ways to convey it (thus I don't talk to everyone in these terms) but it so appropriate for how I fee most days. 

Last year, I had a million analogies for Covid-times. . I also like other people's--,memes and social media posts.  The one about he pandemic being the worst group project ever. Another recent one about being on silent lunch and everyone else (the unvaxxed)  still misbehaving and making punishment even longer. In the spring, one that felt like the last few minutes of a horror movie with the killer dead, but too long to be completely out of danger.   These people, also thinking like poets even if they are not. In metaphors, in similes.  In the short thing, the small thing, that captures complexity. And that may be the truest thing about poet-brain I can pin down. Those sorts of connections and understanding are the ones I think poetry is born from within. Whatever that comes in the form or genre of poetry. The more strange and unexpected, the better the poem. 

Though in the real world I just sound a little crazy and talking about all sorts of unrelated shit sometimes, but I blame my nature...but occasionally in all the flailing, I hit the target dead-on.