THE RAMBLE

COVER LETTER

A PREAMBLE TO THE RAMBLE

the notions of why I write, how poetry came into my life, and what it means to me,

all feel separate in my head,

I guess I’ll to break this down into pieces, like some ancient epic with Roman numerals

as someone who has judged a poetry contest, I apologize if my length is a hurtle. I imagine that a short and concise poem on this subject would be a beautiful break. Still, I feel differently.

To be sure, this is one poem. But there are three parts. Each part is overlapping, but I feel that they are distinct enough to merit some separation. Anyways, have at it!

THE RAMBLE

I. HOW POETRY CAME INTO MY LIFE

was an ordinary classroom

the earliest ought shining brightly

teacher teacher. o subject screecher

a contest, a contest!

much like this one here

mandatory or voluntary, of what nature I don’t recall

a rhyme was set forth,

dedicated to the passion, of wood, metal, and urethane beneath your feet,

a cute verse it was!

the seedling of a poem,

I like to think the tree has grown,

a tree of word documents, note scribbles, bad penmanship, and a one afternoon stand with a typewriter

gargantuan and sprawling

this is the tree, of what? oh yes,

my poetry

II. WHAT POETRY MEANS TO ME

poets poets poems!

poesy!

the art of words

word art

not to be confined to prose, logic, form

poetry

the art of Bukowski

of Baudelaire and Whitman

Shakespeare and Neruda

Ginsberg and Poe

the only foes are confinement

the questions of what life meant

answers? o no!

struggle not for contentment, hold no resentment

not a way to be, not a philosophy

but a desire to create

to throw words and phrases together like…..like

damn the cliché, like paint on a canvas

yes…word art I call it

word art it will be

III. WHY I WRITE

hasn’t Orwell already covered this one?

should I just quote him?

yes, I write because of my ego

I am so egotistical, I believe that my thoughts are so important, that I will commit them to paper for posterity

well, that’s not all old George said, and it can’t be the only reason I write,

even if I am somewhat arrogant

what about a Darwinian perspective then?

do I write this poem solely for the purpose of gaining a financial advantage?

a competitive edge? maybe

but is there a more primal desire? Is there any evolutionary advantage to writing?

I suppose clear communication is an advantage, but that hardly explains poetry

hmmm, I don’t think Charles has got the full answer here, maybe Freud does

what does my sub-conscious id have to say?

will this poem get me laid?

nice as it would be, actually more humorous than anything, that still feels hardly sufficient for explaining why I write

Now,

I do not dare equivocate or capitulate at this moment

I will not fall back into the ranks of the hive and cite ignorance,

that I do not know why I write, that for me it is natural, like breathing

that I was born to do it, that I’ve always done it

that is not only an answer that is too easy, too common, but it is a lie

until a few years ago I never wrote outside of school

moreover, writing is not easy, unless some alcohol is involved

so why do I write?

well I have had some tangible encouragement,

I won a poetry contest when I was in fourth grade, my senior English teacher told me I was her favorite writer in the class

and, while I feel daunted and silly when referring to myself as a writer, I certainly do not mind calling myself a reader

the more I read, the more I consume, the more I feel a need to create

to absorb ideas from a variety of places and synthesize them into something new

the creative spirit of humanity

I suppose I’ve always felt this desire, only its tangible manifestations have varied throughout the years

drawing, skateboarding, film, painting, and of course writing

writing I feel, is the most direct, the most revealing

even in poetry, the goal is hardly to obfuscate,

but to try, to try and communicate something that is incomprehensible in any other form

I’m better at writing than I am at speaking, this I feel strongly

but when I do write, what makes me choose the form of poetry rather than an essay?

what separates the two?

well, I must say I am fascinated by the literal idea of an essay,

to literally try out an idea,

an essay can be tentative, creative, explorative, speculative,

it need not be loud and bombastic, although this may be entertaining

but what about poetry?

if to write an essay is to try out an idea, then to write a poem is to already have an idea

an idea so strong, so consuming, so passionate, that the only way to express is it is to bark it out in whatever form fits it

Ginsberg got it right,

to write a poem is literally to howl

this is why I write poetry I suppose,

it’s the best alternative to running down the street at night barking and howling like a mad man