Who the Hell do I think I Am?

1 10 2012

I mean, who the hell do i think i am?

It took me a long time to realize that poetry is integral to our lives. I happily acknowledge the influence of poets from classical to contemporary: their eloquence and elegance have inspired my own writing and editing, but as a hedge-bard with no court-poet ambitions, I don’t really know much about poetry.

My work is mostly instinctive. I use simple forms like William’s iambic pentameter and Percy/Robert/Edna’s sonnets, and aaba songs (thanks to traditional folk music and tin-pan alley): I value content over form, the message over the medium, and the use of simple rhythm to aid memory. Sometimes the Goddess dictates finished verse to me as fast as I can record it.

Though I’ve performed my stuff throughout my adult life, I only accepted the word ‘poet’ as a personal definition a few years ago when a woman in the front row of the audience suddenly stood up and announced to the audience that I was a poet. I’ve accepted the definition gratefully because one of my life-projects has been to work against the black-white dualism that cripples our thinking and the cultural maya that imprisons our minds. Call me a propagandist if you will, but I often try to use poetry and song to counter the state of illusion in which most of us live.

Please forgive my pretensions.