By Dale Favier Kalu Rinpoche, a Buddhist meditation master, was once asked, "will I have to give up being a Christian in order to achieve enlightenment?"
He was famous for his inclusive, ecumenical bent. So it surprised and dismayed his Western audience when he firmly said: "Yes."
After a pause, he added, "Of course, you will also have to give up being a Buddhist."
I would urge you, in the same vein, to give up being a poet. Ambitions to write are ordinarily marbled with all kinds of fantasies about what sort of person you'll be when you succeed at it. You'll be wise, attractive, free of convention. You'll be interesting. You'll get respect, maybe not from the general public, but from a secret coterie of people who live passionately and authentically.
Nothing, nothing will kill your writing faster than these fantasies. Don't hope for your poetry to make you a different person (one that's worthwhile, this time.) Writing poetry doesn't do that. It doesn't change you from an ordinary person into a special one. Don't look for it to change your circumstances. It doesn't do that either. Don't let it get tangled up in all that.
Resolve at once: poetry is going to live in a different place. It's going to have a different cupboard in your mind. It's not going to get jumbled in with the stuff in the career anxiety drawer, along with ideas of going for a master's in electrical engineering or getting certified in Thai massage. It's not going into broom closet of defunct tools for finding the love of your life, along with speed dating and subscribing to match.com. It's not going to join the exercise bicycle and the yoga mat down in the basement of self-improvement equipment.
Poetry is going to be perfectly useless. It's going to be nothing but fun. It's going into the cupboard of forbidden delights, along with the chocolate. You're not going to "be a poet." You're going to indulge in poetry. Poetry is going to be your secret vice. You're going to grow sleek and fat on poetry. You're going to have online dalliances with other poets. You're going to put their words in your mouth, without fretting for a moment about where else they might have been, and you're going to pop your own words in their mouths, wantonly and unexpectedly.
And resolve: you are not going to be good poet. You're not going to be a dignified poet. You're not going to be a disciplined poet. You're not going to win the National Book Award.
Pick a person to write to. No, no, not your high school English teacher. Not someone you want to impress. Someone who's impressed by you. Someone who hangs on your every word. Someone who wants to know what you mean, no matter how long it takes, who wants to whisper your words over and over and get all of the juice out of them. Someone who always gets it and who never wants you to be anything but you.
(Well, all right, sure, we're talking about an imaginary friend here. Didn't I say this was going to be an indulgence?)
And now, if you've really done that -- have you really done that? -- write a poem. Write a bad poem. Make it maudlin, ridiculous, ornate, politically incorrect. Make it incomprehensible. Make it obvious. Take all the cheap shots.
It's going to be a fabulous poem. Or not. Who cares?
* * * * *
Dale Favier has taught poetry, chopped vegetables, and written software for a living. Currently he works half-time as a massage therapist and half-time running a database for a non-profit in Portland, Oregon. He is a Buddhist, in the Tibetan tradition. He writes about meditation and poetry, and whatever ever else he may be interested in at the moment, at Mole.
He has an M.Phil. in English Literature from Yale, but he never wrote much poetry until he began blogging, a few years ago, and fell in with bad companions. With them he eventually brought out an anthology, Brilliant Coroners. His poems have also appeared in Qarrtsiluni and The Ouroborus Review. His first chapbook, Opening the World, will be coming out next year from Pindrop Press.





Wow, thank you so much for sharing this. Everything said resonates so true, definitely something to take to heart.
Posted by: S.km Wilson | May 20, 2009 at 08:41 PM
Well put, Dale! This resonates too with what Elizabeth Kate Switaj wrote a little while ago, Minor Poet: a Declaration. Between the two of you, I think my own feelings about poetry and ambition have been quite adequately expressed.
Posted by: Dave | May 22, 2009 at 11:32 AM
The HTML didn't work. Here's the link:
http://blog.elizabethkateswitaj.net/?p=875
Posted by: Dave | May 22, 2009 at 11:32 AM
Don't like poetry like I don't like country music. But I'm always willing to make an exception for the individual examples that transcend the genre. Yours slip through all the time, like Johnny Cash songs.
Posted by: zhoen | May 23, 2009 at 06:31 AM
Wait: I'm imaginary?
Time to resubmit that real estate tax appeal.
Posted by: JMartin | May 23, 2009 at 03:19 PM
I've been in need of a secret vice. Hmmm....
Posted by: barb jensen | May 24, 2009 at 09:23 AM
I thought you were my person.....now you tell me I've imagined it *grin*? Great post, love that cupboard of forbidden delights.
Posted by: Jo | May 27, 2009 at 11:12 PM
Yes, yes, yes!
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Stop talking about online dating, we are talking about poetry here!
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i met my current partner through a poetry speed dating challenge, we had 5 minutes to write a poem to the person we wanted to meet again and thank god it worked now we have been together for a year now and i still right her poems. poetry is the way to the heart.
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